THE AGREEMENT
For she knew that even the holy messengers of paradise could not sway her from refusing the hand of the Last Prince of Tolem's Realm.
Standing before her father, the highest councilor and ruler of Renile, Larisa's breath quivered with scorn. She clutched her gown with white-knuckled resolve, her stance unyielding.
"The arrangement is settled!" her father thundered.
"No, Father, no!" she cried, her voice breaking, before fleeing from the chamber.
Ruler Fredinard exhaled a heavy sigh and rose from his throne, dismissing the councilors still seated.
"Are we to ignore the fact that your daughter is dismantling our plans of reconciling with Tolem?" Councilor Jorn spat, his eyes blazing at Fredinard.
"I know well enough you cannot force a woman into life-bond with a stranger—especially one from among our oppressors, Councilor Jornnn," Fredinard retorted.
"Oh yes? And shall we have our people slaughtered all because almighty Princess Larisa refuses a foreign suitor? Wonderful!"
The very title of "Princess" sounded like mockery on Jorn's tongue, and with a bitter laugh, he stormed out of the chamber.
Tolem. The name itself carried terror. The strongest of realms, feared by all men. Its lord was a savage, cunning tyrant; his warriors unmatched, needing no allies to wage war. They fought alone—and nine times out of ten, they triumphed.
Deep within, Larisa knew: war was coming. And she was not ready. She loathed battle, had never even cared to hear its tales. The mere thought of Tolem's hunger for her land filled her with fury. Now they dared to trade her away to the last prince of Tolem—a man she had never seen, never heard of.
Pressing her hands to her face in anguish, Larisa felt the weight of despair. To be bound to a stranger prince was a fate she could not accept. On the day of union, she knew she would fail them all—bring shame upon her people, her crown, her name.
Her chalice trembled as she lifted it to her lips. The water caught in her throat. Rising unsteadily, she slipped past the inner guards, her steps light as shadow. Then, with one final glance at the towering castle walls, she vanished into the fog of the village beyond.
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Before her stretched a shimmering, vermarine stream. She halted at its bank, the water opening before her like glass, offering a view of the far shore painted in soft light. Drawing in the harsh breath of freedom, she unlaced her boots and set them beneath a small hibiscus bloom, its petals a deep royal purple. Slowly, she let her garments slip from her body until only her underclothes clung to her skin. From her dark, gleaming curls she plucked the petals she had tucked there, letting them fall to the earth. Then, stepping forward, she waded into the stream, sighing at the chill of the current as it stroked her skin.
And then—she sank beneath the surface.
On the opposite bank, Acer stood watching. Hands on hips, he had tethered his steed, Brad, to the branch of an oak. A smile played across his lips as his eyes followed the young dark-haired woman in the water. Stripping down until only his worn leather trousers remained, he slipped easily into the stream.
Larisa rose again, her eyes darting restlessly about the banks. Reaching for the fine sand, she worked it into her long hair, scrubbing carefully, rinsing, then sweeping her thirty-six-inch tresses forward to shield her chest.
Acer chuckled. Folding his arms, he sent a spray of water splashing toward her.
Larisa gasped and shrieked. Biting her lower lip when she finally saw him, she hastily spread her hair wider across her shoulders to hide herself.
"Turn around, will you?" she demanded.
But Acer only met her command with a bashful grin.
She shot him a fiery glare.
Unbothered, Acer waded closer, a flirtatious smile curling on his lips, his gaze darting—bold and piercing—toward her chest. She stepped backward in alarm, stumbling as the rush of the current tangled around her legs. And yet he strode forward as though the water bent willingly to his will.
"Why are you doing that?" she screeched.
"Doing what?" he asked, grinning playfully.
"That! Stop it!" she cried.
He stopped. She looked at him then, truly looked. He was… captivating. Striking. His pale, nearly white hair fell neatly against his hawkish nose and strong cheekbones. His eyes—an endless blue, like the heart of the ocean—stirred a thought in her she dared not voice.
"I wonder," he said at last, his voice carrying across the water, "what a young lady is doing beyond the palace walls, bathing in an abandoned stream."
He left the water then, his figure dripping and glistening as though he were some angel cast from the heavens. Larisa's breath caught as he loosened his trousers and let them fall, and she quickly averted her gaze, gasping.
"Have you no shame?" she shouted, her voice breaking with outrage.
A guttural laugh rolled from him, deep and careless, and she flushed crimson with indignation.
"I… I live around here," she lied stiffly.
"Hmm." He tilted his head, studying her with a half-smile. "You look very much like one of society's finest…" He leaned closer, his tone turning mocking. "…You can look now, little bird." His laughter rang bright.
"It's not written across my forehead, is it?" she snapped.
"Yes. Beyond all doubt." His voice dropped low, assured. "Princess Larisa, only daughter of Ruler Fredinard. Your skin, your boots, your garments—they told me everything I needed to know. Your Highness."
He bowed deeply at the waist, water dripping from him like jewels.
She grunted.
"Will you come out of the water now?" he asked.
"Not while you stand there staring at me like that," she shot back.
He nodded, turning his back. He listened instead to the splashes as she stepped ashore, the faint gasp of her breath as she wrestled with her boots, the soft grunt as she pulled her gown back over her frame. When he suddenly turned, she met him with a glare sharp enough to pierce.
"But you are done," he teased, sneering faintly.
"You already knew I was the Princess of Renile, yet you show no respect."
"Didn't I?" His smile curled. "Or did I not? I bowed, after all."
She shook her head in scorn. "I need to go."
But before she could step away, he seized her wrist and drew her sharply against him. Her body pressed against his chest, her eyes blazing.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling back in fury.
"I heard," he said calmly, "that you are pledged to Ruler Acer of Tolem."
Her lashes fluttered in disbelief.
"H-how did you hear that?" she stammered, her eyes lifting to his.
"The news is all over Nama's town," he replied, releasing her wrist and turning aside. "I also heard he is handsome. Strong. Prince Acer—surely he will protect you."
"Strange, the way you speak of him," she whispered, biting hard on her lip. "As if you knew him. Everyone from Tolem is wicked. I will never wed one of them."
"Well," he said with a shrug, "that is not for you to decide. The fate of Renile—and all its six towns—rests upon your grace, my Princess. Tolem does not deal in kindness. Should you refuse this betrothal, I fear even your father, the ruler, will fall with his people."
Her gaze locked onto his. "And if you were in my place, what would you do?"
"I would wed the last prince of Tolem," he said simply. His words struck with unsettling weight.
He stepped away then, moving toward his steed. With a fluid grace that mesmerized her, he unfastened the saddle and mounted in one effortless motion. For a fleeting second, Larisa found herself caught—lost in the sheer elegance of the act.
"Shall I give you a ride back to the castle?" he asked, adjusting the reins. "It is dangerous to wander alone."
"What is your name?" she asked instead.
"Brad," he lied smoothly, without hesitation.
"Oh… well, thank you for the offer. I know my way from here."
"Very well. I ride toward Kitania town—closer to the palace. I will be around the realm for some time."
"I suppose," she said with the faintest smile, "I wouldn't mind seeing you again someday."
His grin widened, warm and sharp at once. "It would be my greatest pleasure to see you again, my Lady." He dipped into a slight bow.
"Then ride carefully," she murmured, inclining her head.
"Farewell, Larisa."
With a snap of the reins, the stallion kicked in protest before surging forward, carrying them both away in a trail of dust and rhythm.
"Farewell… Brad," she whispered, her voice soft against the wind.
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"Father, don't you think we should withdraw now? I see no wisdom in attempting to seize Renile," Prince Acer said sharply, his foot striking the marble floor of the imperial chamber.
He sat with his father, King Haman, and his four elder brothers—the princes who were his seniors by birth and rank.
"Acer," said Prince Pedro, the heir apparent, shifting in his seat, "we ought to focus on Renile for what it offers us, not simply for the kingdom itself."
"Yes, I agree," Prince Carlos sneered. "Renile has oil…"
"Samult had oil as well," Acer countered, clapping a hand against his face in frustration. "Wasn't that our sole aim when we waged war against it? Yet look at the blood on our hands—too much already. And enemies besides. Do not be surprised if some kingdoms are already gathering allies to strike us down."
"Renile will make us whole," King Haman declared, his voice deep and unyielding. "It is rich, fertile land. A land flowing with milk and honey—gold, oil, palm trees—"
"Taroh has gold," Acer snapped. "Hebor has both gold and palm trees. How many more realms must we oppress before we realize we are doomed?"
"I am not entirely certain," said Prince Eleazar, the fourth son, leaning forward, "but Acer seems to be making sense here."
"That is because you all lack the mind of a true ruler!" King Haman thundered, slamming his fist on the arm of his throne.
"Then so be it!" Acer burst out. "I will not marry the princess either. I cannot wed a woman I do not love."
"Father has always exploited us—we all know it," muttered Prince Diego, the third son. He gave a low chuckle. "Still, I hear she is a beauty. That alone may be worth the trouble."
Acer's rage flared hot, but before he could speak, his father's voice cut through.
"The Princess is the very image of beauty," King Haman mused coldly. "I could send my soldiers to slaughter her people and keep her as my concubine. She would bear pretty daughters, no doubt."
Acer's jaw clenched, fury burning in his chest.
"My son," the king said then, his tone softening as though in counsel, "I seek only to bind our realms. Tolem and Renile share blood—your great-great-grandfather's mother was Renilian. Would you insult the name of Lord Nam, our ancestor? They are still part of us."
But Acer could bear no more. With a growl, he rose and left the chamber, his words muttered in a faint, angry whisper.
Through the gilded hallways toward his quarters, his thoughts turned traitorously to her—the angelic face of Larisa. Her perfect curves, her radiant beauty, the round softness of her form…
He laughed under his breath, though shame pulled at him. He knew he should not have seen her that way, should not imagine her in such manner—yet the vision of her plagued him, stoking heat low in his body.
"Enough of Larisa Fredinard," he warned himself with a tight smile. But even as he tried to banish her, her image clung to him like flame.