THE King was in the war room. Leyva stopped to watch him frown over maps on the table, worry stretching itself over her face as it did his.

"Father?"

He hummed, his attention remaining on the parchments, so very unlike himself. Running her fingers carefully over the vellum laid atop the parchment, she noted fresh marks her father had made. Strategic points and areas needing fortifying. Plans, denoting every move that would be made to defend their home from the expected onslaught of the Loricai.

Loricus, the kingdom to the southeast, had been a former ally and Levya could hardly begin to understand why the relationship had soured. In this time of relative peace, it was difficult to understand the sudden thirst for war.

"Father, we should cancel the festivities."

The skin edging her father's eyes crinkled as he looked up at her. "It's tradition, Leyva! One you deserve to have."

Tradition. A tradition that served to trap her in a life with a man she didn't even know.

"If I know our daughter, and I do, she would rather be in here strategizing war with you, than in the grand hall dancing with suitors." The Queen floated into the room, her skirts making almost no noise.

Most would wonder how her mother moved with such grace, but not Levya; it was a walk she had spent ages perfecting, under the eye of her mother and etiquette tutor. The walk, posture, gentle smile, and all the finer points of being a woman of court.

It was who she was—Princess Leyva Saren Katis of Aradanas—and she would proudly do whatever it took to be the princess, and then queen, her kingdom deserved.

"It's not the suitors I take issue with, Mother. It's the notion that I must choose someone tomorrow. You and father were already in love before, and he would have chosen no one other than you, even under a mask."

The King smiled softly as he regarded her mother, "I would never have chosen another."

Leyva watched her parents share a tender moment she knew she would only dream about for the rest of her life. Her mother leaned down to kiss her father's forehead and run her fingers along rose-tinged hair on his jaw.

But, it was the way her father held her mother that broke her heart; it was a love she knew she'd never have. With eyes that drank in only her face, his lungs filled only with her scent and every fibre of his being wrapped up in their moment.

Leyva's heart mourned the loss of a love she'd never hold; tomorrow she would choose her future king.

"Is this your gown?" her father asked, just noticing the extravagant dress she wore.

"Yes. I wanted to show you before I took it off." Leyva preened, knowing the frivolity of the action would make him happy.

"And now that's been accomplished, we must be off before someone sees her in it!"

Leyva allowed her mother to fuss over making sure corridors were empty the whole way back to her suites, while she was silently seething.

Frustrated. There were no other words to express her emotions; she wanted to scream. Scream at the oncoming war, at the ball taking place, and at expectations that awaited her. She wanted to scream, but she wouldn't. She couldn't. She was infuriatingly calm.

What kind of blessing was that anyway? Calm in the face of troubles? She supposed it served her well all her younger life. The novelty of a child who was not quarrelsome or petulant seemed to win her favour.

But still, she often wished the feyrie had blessed her with something else; charm, beauty, or being fair, all of which made sense for a future ruler. No, she was given the nonsensical gift of calmness in the face of trouble and a mind that would be untouched by magic.

"You may think I'm being overly cautious, Leyva, but no one must know it's you," her mother said, ushering her past Lady Fee and into her suites.

"Then we should have had less ostentatious dresses made. Besides, my hair will surely give me away."

The colour of seashells and faded coral, her hair denoted her as being a true royal of Aradanas—undoubtedly her father's daughter.

"Such dramatics, Leyva! Your cousins will be in attendance! But we will need to do something about this hair. Fee?"

"Certainly, my Queen." Leyva's lady-in-waiting bowed and quickly pulled the length of peculiar rose gold hair back and began brushing it. It would have been much preferred for both if the action was as it normally was, with the two of them giggling over trivial things and eating sweets.

Leyva watched through the mirror as her mother fiddled with the array of masks. They shared many of the same qualities, their tall slender build, their bronzed skin, and their tumbled waves of hair, so long it kissed the tops of their buttocks. But her eyes, shrewd and blue like the water on their shores, were like her father's. Just like the muscle built from years of training at his side.

"Smile Princess!" The rare formal address was simply for the Queen's benefit. "Your current expression speaks too much."

A touch of annoyance overtook Leyva's face; as her closest friend, Fee already knew her qualm with the festivities. "Apologies, Fee, I cannot find too much to smile about today."

Like sisters from different mothers, she and Fee spent much time admiring her parent's love. If anyone could understand the turmoil she felt at having to give up the dream of that kind of bond, it was Fee.

"Princess, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but you are completing your eighteenth year. The masquerade ball is tradition. One that this kingdom has upheld since the exiled Mermine King was granted asylum by the feyrie on the very shores your kingdom was built upon. You would be insulting your family's legacy by not throwing the ball, Princess."

Leyva gaped at Lady Fee; how dare she give her a history lesson! She was well aware of the tradition and what it spoke to; her own ancestor, risen from the ocean, finding his bride among humans.

It was irksome that her own mother, despite being surprised at Fee's words, nodded in agreement.

"I simply do not want to choose from the suitors," Leyva grumbled quietly. "Do I really have to?"

"If you intend to rule Aradanas, then yes. Your birthright is hardly the right thing to be stubborn over. You will not win this battle." The Queen was resolute and Leyva had to fight a pout so she wouldn't look childish.

"There must be a way! No one was ever great by bowing to convention. I know everything there is about Aradanas and I've learned all the other lands, too. I know the histories, the secrets, the maps, written and not! No one, no one, will ever be more right to rule this land than I."

"And you won't do that until you are wed," Fee reminded her firmly, tugging an errant lock of hair into place. "Again, forgive me Princess, but perhaps all your previous victories on somewhat set issues have fooled you into thinking that you will win this too."

"That will be enough, Lady Erena." The Queen's voice did not hold as much bite as it should have given the tiny smile she wore.

"Leyva, my dearest love, I hate to say this, but Fee is right; you have been indulged all your life. However, you are also right, no one became great by bowing to convention. Regardless of your status of betrothal, you are certainly someone who can achieve greatness. But, to challenge convention, you need to hold conviction, and the kind of strength only difficulty can encourage. You need to learn when to hold and when to cede, my darling girl."

Words evaded Leyva. Her mother somehow managed to stand on both sides of the argument at once, and she didn't know how to feel; they'd called her spoiled!

"Let tomorrow be your first lesson in concessions." Her mother's hand cupped her cheek before she excused herself.

"Maybe Prince Leif can help you with that, Princess?"

The Queen's back stiffened at Fee's words, and she shot a sharp glare back at them as she left.