"No! Absolutely not! This is outrageous. How could you decide to marry me off, without my consent to a dastardly, blood thirsty Prince of a godforsaken kingdom! Adding on to the fact that I have, on multiple occasions emphasized that he shall be the last man I would marry..."

"Elizabeth Conway, I'm sure we have taught you better. It shall be a shame if you present such uncouth behavior in front of the Warnian nobility." The Duke of Yardwell said, flipping the pages of the book in his hand dismissively.

"And I certainly haven't arranged your marriage to the prince, if that is what you are worried about. It's a season that is going to be held. Stop assuming things, Elizabeth. Its unbecoming of a lady." The Duke's loud, commanding voice echoed in the lonely hallway.

" Season of the Warnian Crown Prince!" Eliza started, quite taken aback to hear such news. Surely her lady friends, the greatest gossipmongers in entire Demonire, could not have overlooked this insignificant detail in the elaborate accounts of their daily news barrage. Of ballrooms and parties and gossips and lady friends she was not fond of, but to have the knowledge of the world and politics brewing in Demonire, with a formidable father such as the Duke of Yardwell, she needed to befriend a lady or two and appear to revel in their stupid small talks in order to get the real happenings out.

"The Kingdom of Warnia is devoid of an actual king. The former king, King Latvio will be unable to rule after a year because of a deadly disease he's prey of. He has given most, if not all, of his responsibilities to Prince Thomas. But as per the Warnian law..."

"No prince can become king unless he acquires a wife for himself and queen for Warnia. If he is unable to do so in a year's time after being given the title of Prince Regent, the title should pass on to the second son, if he is able to get a wife for himself in the meantime," Elizabeth recited one of her history lessons where they were studying about their neighboring kingdoms and their matrimony and succession laws.

"Precisely the reason why the King is eager to hold the Crown Prince's season where he is to choose a wife as early as possible," her father, the Duke completed his recital of the what had transpired in the the Council meeting which had left every Noble in a state of weariness. 

The King of Demonire, Edward Louis Herald Ainsley had insisted that there be maximum participation by the nobility so that they could foster good relations and mend the strained diplomatic relations they had with the Trade Kingdom. This accompanied with the fact that Demonire's royal treasury had been, as of late, declared bankrupt and needed funds to run their country. 

Capturing the best interests of the Trade Kingdom would mean that trade negotiations would forge between the two kingdoms and their economy would flourish. Since the king himself did not have any daughters, only masculine sons, it thus came upon the nobles to give their daughters away for the sake of the kingdom's goodwill. 

"So this indicates that there is to be a season held for the prince, in which he would make his choice and wed the most eligible of the ladies in presence." Elizabeth regarded the situation and sighed in relief.

 After all, she wasn't the most eligible of the ladies and her chances at the royal court we meagre. Or was that an understatement? However her sceptical brain couldn't resist asking the one question that was plaguing her mind. Surely her father had not been mistaken when he told her of her meeting with the foreign prince and his family tomorrow. She couldn't help but think that there is more to the story. Assuredly, her father was not indicating that  she was going to leave for Warnia tomorrow, was she? 

Before she could interrogate her father further, she saw him striding soundlessly towards his study. Anger surged through her as she thought of her father's indifference and nonchalance towards her. She counted up to ten and followed her father in the study. 

When she saw him settled comfortably in his chair, she began-

"Father, may I have the honor of knowing as to when is this season going to begin and how is it, as you had mentioned earlier that I am to meet the royal family of Warnia tomorrow?" Elizabeth tried to keep the sarcasm in her voice hidden, but the Duke was no fool as to not deduce the fact that his daughter was displeased with the said arrangements. 

Well, her disappointment is going to grow all the more as we speak.  

"You may, Elizabeth. It seems that you are to leave for Cueva Cascada tomorrow at dawn, since the season is to begin the next day," the Duke's calm voice filled the room.

Elizabeth visibly stilled. Everything now fell in place.

The coming of Miss Anne, the tailor and the suspicious upgradation of her wardrobe, her father's increased time at the palace- it had been in the process of planning at days length now, and yet she is being informed not more than 12 hours prior to her departure. 

As she fought to keep her countenance steady and calm, her mind figured out that all this had to do something with the king himself, or else she knew her father well enough to understand that he was in no way interested in hunting for prospective grooms for his only daughter. 

He had, in fact freed himself of this responsibility by handing it over to his sister, who was more than eager to take it up on his behalf.

"I believe that all the arrangements of my departure have been already taken care of then," Elizabeth continued. 

"You think correctly."

"Then pray, father tell me, am I right in thinking that all this has to do something with King Edward himself?" 

"You are," he replied as he regarded his daughter with slight admiration and awe. He knew that his daughter possessed the intelligence of ten distinguished men's intelligence put together. As he stared at the pair of deep blue eyes which mirrored his in a way that he couldn't fathom, he was reminded of the fact that his daughter was alike him in every possible manner. 

She was nothing like her mother.  Her mother, Duchess Annette Margaret Conway was the epitome of perfection, kindness, submissionand demure beauty. She had not possessed a single aristocratic trait that usually came along with the nobles by blood. 

Elizabeth, however possessed every single trait of his. Sharp features exuding power and strength, deep blue eyes, intellect and intelligence matching that of his, anger which could make the person in front quake in his boots; all but one quality she had of her mother's-her kindness. 

The Duke of Yardwell woke from his trance only to see Elizabeth still standing besides the chair, her hands crossed behind her back in submission and obedience. He knew his daughter. His daughter was many things, but never submissive and obedient.

"What is it that you want to know, Eliza?"

Elizabeth let out a triumphant sigh. 

"The reason why I am being sent to Warnia, and insisted to at least make a Warnian Duke or noble, if not the Prince falsely fall in love with me and marry me, when it is a well known fact that you seeking matrimonial prospects for me is as strange and precarious as hunting for snow in blooming summer."

Of course, she had read between the lines. It was impossible to have a conversation with her father without looking for more between the meager lines the Duke spoke.

The Duke gave up the pretense. "Our Kingdom's economy is at its worst." His one simple statement spoke everything. 

The King of Demonire was famous but for one thing-stripping off age-old noble families of their titles should they, in any way, opt to displease him. It had been many years since the talks of a coup had been running through the nobility, but nothing worthwhile had come out of it. 

The King had a huge army at his disposal-an army no one was privy to. The army was under his immediate command; the nobles had no say in it. 

Yet Elizabeth knew that Warnia was not any ordinary kingdom. It was a place dreaded by all of Demonire. The reason being its extrinsic inter-family politics, shrewd court and most importantly, the involvement of beautiful scheming ladies of the nobility in the sphere of politics. 

"At what time do I leave for Cueva Cuscuta in the morrow, father?" Elizabeth asked.

"Eight in the morrow is the time when you load the ship."

"Well, I shall take my leave then. Good night, father."

As she turned to leave, her father spoke for the last time before she was to leave for Warnia, his voice peculiarly soft, almost tender. Something she had never heard in her father's voice. 

"They don't have a blood thirsty prince, they have a blood thirsty kingdom."

And with that, the warrior lady, heir to the strongest and largest estate of Demonire, prepared herself for everything that she was to face in precarious kingdom.