Soft hands shook me gently awake.
"My lady, it is morning."
I blinked against the sunlight pouring through the tall windows. The maids were already bustling quietly about the room, their movements practiced and graceful. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, surprised by how deeply I'd slept. The heavy sheets and soft mattress had swallowed me whole.
One of the maids pulled back a curtain to reveal a small adjoining chamber I hadn't noticed before. Steam curled faintly through the doorway.
"There is a bath prepared for you," she said with a warm smile.
A bath… here? I stood, still stiff with sleep, and followed them. The adjoining room was tiled with pale stone, and at its center was a sunken bath, the water clear and faintly scented with herbs. The steam kissed my skin the moment I entered.
I slipped into the water slowly, hissing as the heat seeped into me. It was almost overwhelming after years of cold streams and hurried washes. I let myself sink deeper, closing my eyes. For a moment, I almost forgot I was a stranger in a palace that didn't trust me.
When I was clean, the maids helped me out and wrapped me in soft towels. Before I could even breathe, they were tugging a dress over my head, smoothing the fabric, tightening laces. The gown was lighter than the red one from yesterday, pale cream with golden embroidery.
"Sit," one of them instructed, gesturing toward a chair near the mirror.
I obeyed, and soon they were fussing with my hair. My short, uneven cut seemed to frustrate them. They tried combing it one way, then another, finally settling on pinning back a few strands with delicate clips. Then came the powders and paints, light touches on my cheeks, a brush of color on my lips.
I stared at my reflection. My face looked softer, less like the girl who had grown used to surviving shadows, and more like a doll dressed for display. I didn't hate it… but I didn't like it either.
The maids stepped back proudly, admiring their work. "Perfect," one whispered.
I wasn't so sure.
A knock came at the door. The older maid went to open it, bowing quickly.
In the doorway stood the prince.
He wore a dark tunic trimmed in silver, his posture confident but not unkind. His gaze flickered over me, and for the first time, he smiled faintly.
"I never properly introduced myself yesterday," he said. "I am Prince Darius." His voice carried the weight of formality, but there was a trace of warmth beneath it.
I shifted awkwardly, clutching at the folds of my gown. "My name is Elara," I told him softly, the syllables of my name feeling strangely fragile here, in this world of gold and stone.
"Elara," he repeated, as if testing the sound. He nodded. "Good. Now I know the name of the girl who caused such a stir."
His eyes glinted with something between amusement and curiosity. Then he added, "From today forward, your door will no longer be locked. But understand this—you must not run away, nor cause trouble within these walls. Do we have an agreement?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
"Good." His smile widened, small but genuine. "Come. I'll give you a proper tour of the palace."
---
The gardens were first. The prince led me through wide doors onto paths lined with roses, lilies, and tall hedges shaped into arcs and spirals. Sunlight gleamed off marble fountains where water spilled like liquid glass. Birds darted between branches, their songs carried by the breeze.
"This is my mother's favorite place," he said quietly. "She spends hours here when the court grows heavy."
I inhaled deeply. The air smelled fresh, like flowers and dew, so unlike the dirt and smoke I was used to.
Next, he guided me inside the main palace.
The throne room came first, vast and overwhelming. High pillars climbed toward painted ceilings, and two golden thrones sat upon a dais, symbols of power that made my stomach twist uneasily.
From there, we passed into the dining hall, long tables polished until they gleamed. "This is where banquets are held," he explained.
The library followed, its shelves stretching endlessly, the scent of parchment thick in the air. My eyes widened, drinking in the sight.
We passed smaller chambers too—rooms for studies, discussions, even one for magic practice. Each space hummed with a purpose I didn't fully understand.
Eventually, he brought me to the servants' hall. The atmosphere shifted here—simpler, warmer. Maids hurried past carrying baskets, trays, and linens. Darius spoke briefly with one, a tall woman with steady eyes. She nodded and disappeared into a side corridor.
When she returned, my heart nearly stopped.
"June! July! Skylar!" I rushed forward as the three girls appeared, each dressed in neat maid uniforms. Relief flooded me at the sight of them unharmed, their faces bright.
They ran to me, and for a moment we forgot where we were, clinging to each other.
"We've been treated kindly," July said quickly. "The other maids are so nice to us."
Skylar nodded. "It's strange, but… not bad."
June squeezed my hand. "And you? You look so… different."
I glanced away, embarrassed. "It's… a long story."
Darius watched the exchange quietly, his expression unreadable. Then he cleared his throat. "Come. There is more to see."
---
The barracks were next. The moment we stepped inside, the air changed—thicker, heavier, filled with sweat and steel. Soldiers sparred in the training yard, their shouts echoing.
I felt eyes on me immediately, dozens of them. The guards paused, their gazes sharp and curious.
"Women rarely come here," Darius murmured, noticing my discomfort. "Don't mind their stares."
We walked further in, until the clatter of wooden swords reached my ears. My gaze snapped toward the training ground—
And there he was.
"Jakie…" I whispered.
He stood with a wooden sword in his hands, his stance awkward, his swings clumsy but determined. His face was flushed with effort, sweat dripping down his brow.
But he was alive. He was fine.
Something tight inside me finally loosened.
After the long tour, Darius led me through a quieter corridor to a smaller, well-lit room. Tall shelves lined the walls, stacked with books of all sizes, and a sturdy desk sat near a window, sunlight spilling across the polished wood. A few chairs were tucked neatly against the walls, and the scent of ink and parchment filled the air.
"This will be your study room," he said, stopping at the door. "From now on, this is where you'll learn."
I blinked at him. "Learn? What… what do you mean?"
He glanced at me with those calm blue eyes, as if expecting my confusion. "You will be tutored. I will teach you to read and write, Elara. You will also learn proper etiquette, how to conduct yourself in court… and how to dance."
I swallowed hard, feeling my chest tighten. "All of that? Why… why do I have to learn all of this? I… I'm not a princess. I don't have a kingdom. I don't—"
"You are still of royal blood," he interrupted gently, but firmly. "Even if your kingdom no longer exists, even if the Fire Country was destroyed, it does not change who you are. It is your duty to learn. You must know how to read and write, how to present yourself, how to carry yourself in any court. People will judge you by your knowledge and manners, not just by your hair or your looks."
I blinked at him, overwhelmed. "That's… that's a lot."
He gave a small, patient smile. "Yes, it is. But we will start slowly. First, reading. You will learn to recognize letters, words, and sentences. Once you can read, you will learn to write. Each step builds upon the last."
"And the etiquette… and dancing?" I asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
He nodded. "Those will come later. But they are just as important. In the palace, in public, even in negotiations, your appearance and behavior matter. People will judge you. And as someone of royal blood—even if your kingdom is gone—you must carry yourself with dignity."
I sank into one of the chairs near the desk, my hands clutching the edge. "It feels… too much. I've never done any of this. I can barely hold a pen."
"That's exactly why you must learn," he said. "You have spent your life surviving in shadows, Elara. Here, you will have the tools to shape your future. Knowledge is as important as strength, as important as courage."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the swirl of fear and excitement inside me. "And… you're going to teach me?"
"Yes," he said simply. "I will be your tutor. We will have lessons two or three days a week for reading and writing. The other days will be for etiquette and dance lessons. You will not be alone in this. I will guide you, step by step. Tomorrow morning, I will be here, waiting. We start early."
I looked down at my hands, twisting the fabric of my dress. "And if I… if I can't do it?"
Darius knelt slightly so that we were eye level. "You will do it. Not because you want to, but because it is your duty. You are a princess, Elara. It is in your blood. You cannot escape it."
"Even though my kingdom doesn't exist anymore?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Even so," he replied firmly. "Royal blood carries responsibilities, whether or not you have a crown. And one day, people may depend on you, whether you know it or not. You must be ready."
I let the weight of his words settle, sinking into me like a stone. I had never considered that my life could be more than survival, that I might have a place where I mattered. And yet… the responsibility frightened me almost as much as it inspired a small flicker of hope.
He stood and gave me a small nod, signaling that our conversation was done for now. "Rest tonight, Elara. Tomorrow, we begin."
I watched him leave, the click of the door echoing in the empty study room. My stomach churned with nerves and anticipation. I didn't know how I could possibly manage all of this—the lessons, the expectations, the constant feeling of being observed—but for the first time, I felt like I might have a chance to learn, to grow.
I sat there a long while, my eyes tracing the shelves full of books, imagining what it might be like to read the words, to understand the stories inside them, to write my own. And somewhere deep down, a small, stubborn part of me whispered that maybe… I could do this.
Maybe, just maybe, I could become more than the girl who had survived on the streets.