The gates of the palace groaned open with the weight of centuries. Meredith kept her body slack as the horse carried her through, iron chains biting at her wrists. She dared not look up, though she sensed the stares—guards in steel helms, servants with wide, fearful eyes, even the peasants who had gathered at the sight of their princess's return.
Don't wake up. Don't wake up, she told herself.
The knight's boots struck the cobblestones as he dismounted. His grip was brutal as he lifted her from the saddle and slung her over his shoulder, as though she weighed nothing. The air smelled faintly of roses and incense—an almost mocking contrast to the dank caves she had escaped.
They entered the grand hall.
Meredith risked a peek through her lashes. The throne room stretched before her like something out of a painting: marble floors streaked with crimson veins, chandeliers of molten gold, banners of deep blue bearing the crest of the kingdom—a lion clutching a rose.
And there, upon the throne, sat her father.
The king's beard was streaked with silver, his robes heavy with embroidery, yet his eyes—dark and sharp—held none of the softness she expected of a grieving parent. He leaned forward, fingers gripping the armrest, his voice booming.
"Who dares return her so?"
The knight knelt, lowering Meredith onto the floor with surprising care. Chains clinked.
"I have done as decreed," he said. His voice was muffled through the mask, but cold as iron. "The princess lives. She is unharmed. And the prize you promised is mine."
The hall erupted in murmurs. Knights shifted uneasily. Advisors whispered behind their sleeves.
Meredith fought the urge to sit up, to scream that this was all a mistake, that she wasn't the princess they thought she was. But fear rooted her to the floor. She had no allies here—only half-borrowed memories of a girl who had scorned every man in this room.
The king's eyes flickered to her, then to the knight. His lips curled in a grim line.
"You claim the right to marry her," the king said slowly. "And yet you hide your face. A man who would be king must show the kingdom who he is. Remove your mask."
A hush fell over the hall.
The knight did not move. His hand brushed the iron plate at his jaw, then lowered again.
"No," he said. "The mask stays."
Gasps rippled through the court.
Meredith's heart pounded. Why would he refuse? What was he hiding?
The king rose from his throne, his voice low and dangerous."Then you will never have her."
But before the words could settle, Meredith did something reckless. She sat up, chains rattling, and croaked with a parched voice that was half her own, half the princess's:
"Father… let him be."
The room froze.
The king's gaze snapped to her. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes—relief, suspicion, or perhaps fear.
And Meredith, who just days ago had worried about cheerleading pyramids and pep rallies, now realized she had stepped into a game far more dangerous than anything she had ever known.
A game of crowns, masks, and lies.