Notices for the upcoming competition are posted all around the surrounding kingdoms, calling all potential suitors to come to Livaria for one of the largest events in our history. The last thing that had been advertised like this was the funeral for my mother, which stirred the lands with the unrest that it had brought to us.

The notices for the competition are simply stated, listing the rules for entering as well as a hand drawn picture of me, as if that would inspire the young men to come try and claim my hand.

"Calling all Noblemen, Gentlemen, and Royalty." I read the title of the notice with disdain.

Despite my bitterness, however, the notice seems to work, and young men from all over the world pour into the castle walls. It makes me sick to see each of them ride up, flashing their bright smiles and their papers of identification, heads held high.

One thing I know for sure is that I will never be happy marrying someone who is this eager to claim the hand of a person without knowing them. Though the more I think about it, the less I think this is about me.

The true prize in this competition is a chance to sit on the Livarian throne, a chance to claim a kingdom. All of these men will be shallow, pompous, and greedy, their only desire to have even more power than they already possess.

I begin to hide in my room more often than not, angry that I have to stoop so low as to confine myself to my own quarters. However, this is the only place in the entire castle that I am guaranteed not to run into one of my 'wonderful potential suitors'.

So, I keep myself busy, sending Rose to the library to fetch me books to read and staring out of my window for endless hours.

I avoid them as long as I can until the day arrives. The opening feast.

Feasts have always been exciting to me. When I was younger, I remember watching the court jesters play little card tricks and perform skits, their pointy hats jingling with bells and their faces always plastered with a fabricated smile.

Here, a feast always symbolizes something good, whether it be a positive change coming or the end of difficult times. My mother always had the halls decorated with beautiful flowers and expensive ribbons, a tradition that still stands today. The music and dancing was always enjoyable and it was one of the few times I can ever remember seeing my parents so happy and carefree.

This feast is different. It symbolizes something more sinister and more frightening to me. It is the end of my childhood and the beginning of my life on the throne.

I am not ready.

My heart is dark as I stand outside the Great Hall, waiting to be announced. The huge double doors tower above me, wood carved in intricate patterns. Animals dance around the border, wood vines wrapping around the handles as if they were really growing there. In the center, a dragon rests on its haunches, wings outspread and mouth open with fire.

A desire to be anywhere but here fills my heart, but I know if I run now, it will be worse for me later. So when the doors are pushed open for me, I step inside, my head held high.

One of the largest rooms in the castle, second only to the Throne Room, the Great Hall is always decorated for the occasion. Today, fine purple silk curtains are pulled back from the windows, allowing the waning sunlight to illuminate the hall. Vases of flowers stand on each of the tables, white and red petals blending together like blood mixing with the snow.

The room, already full of people, erupts in cheers. Chairs scrape against stone as everyone stands up. I take a step back, feeling as if the force of the shouting has physically pushed me.

There are almost two dozen men in the room, all of varying ages, and all wearing absurdly expensive clothing. For a second, I can't get my bearings, can't figure out what to look at or what to focus on.

"My daughter!" It's almost a relief to hear the king's voice.

He walks over to me with a huge smile, taking my hand and kissing it gently. I resist the urge to wipe it on the purple fabric of my dress.

"You will all have ample time to talk with her after the food is served," the king calls, taking a seat at the head of the table. "Please sit down and celebrate with us on this joyous occasion!"

I am directed to a platform, where steps lead up to a separate table at the front of the hall. I am alone at the table, but it allows me to see the entire room and observe each of the people I see.

I barely have time to sit down before the line of suitors forms, each eager to boast about their "wonderful achievements" among other things.

The first man walks up to me and I glare at him, resolving that if I was forced into this, I wouldn't sit still and play nice. A servant at my left pours me a bowl of soup with a little bow. I push it out of the way, mouth dry.

Maybe if I am as unappealing as possible, they will all go away? I know the thought is improbable and slightly childish, but it gives me a little comfort to have a clear plan.

The first suitor has blonde hair, swept back from his young face. His smile is bright, teeth flashing white. A red cloak swishes around his broad shoulders, and a circle of gold rests on his head.

I scowl. Unfortunately, he doesn't take the hint and gives a flourishing bow, his cloak sweeping around his feet.

"My name is Prince Silas Heathcliff, my lady. You are truly as beautiful as all the stories of the land," he says, voice smooth and sliding. For some reason, I can't look away from the deep brown of his eyes, my gaze frozen in the intensity of his own. I can, however, respond with a snarky comment or two.

"You're not achieving your intended purpose," I say to him.

Instead of being flustered, Silas immediately replies. "I have no ulterior motive, my dear." He gives a little tilt of his head and I am reminded of the palace dogs, who no matter how many times you yell at, always come back with a little wiggly tail and bright happy eyes.

This somehow makes me dislike him even more, but now, underneath that dislike, something else stirs. I don't dwell on it.

"All of you here have some sort of motive that doesn't appease me," I respond, fingers tapping lightly on the wood of the table. Silas just laughs, giving another little bow.

"You are very honest," he says. "I admire that."

"I pride myself in my honesty. I understand it's a quality that not many noblemen posses," I say, keeping my tone cold and icy.

I can't decide what kind of a person this man is. He isn't taken back by my rudeness in the least, answering my bitter words with a sincere and bright tone.

"You should pride yourself in many things, my lady. I hope to get to know you more in the future," Silas says with a bow, and with that he is gone, allowing for the next man in line to waltz forwards.

This man has dark hair and dark eyes. He wears no gold crown to signify his status. However, the cloak he wears is trimmed with gold, blue fabric shimmering many different colors.

"My name is Lord Baldric from..."

I interrupt him, hoping to speed things along. "Thank you, all I need to know is your name. Please for the love of everything, just leave," I snap.

To my relief, he listens to me without comment. As he walks away, I see the image of a roaring lion sewn into the back of his cloak. He must be some sort of knight from a nearby kingdom, I think to myself.

I manage to shoo off the next few suitors without problems, but the fifth man proves to be more difficult than the rest.

He walks up the steps slowly, and I can tell that he is different from the rest. For one, he doesn't saunter, his stride modest. At the same time, however, he has an obvious air of importance, as if he is used to being listened to, used to being watched.

"Hello, my lady. I am Lord Leopold Arnette.... but just 'Leo' is fine for me."

I intend to brush him off just like the rest but something he says stops me.

"I am sorry." The words are so genuine that all I can do is gape, my mouth hanging wide open in a very unladylike manner.

"What?" I can only squeak out this single word in my shock.

"I'm sorry that you have to be put through this... It's obvious that you do not want to be here, nor do you want to be forced into a marriage and I am sorry for that." If these words were said any other way, they would have been offensive. Yet this man says them with such gentleness and honesty, that I can only sit there in silence.

Who is this person?

His curly copper hair is a mess, falling over his forehead and sticking up in odd places. His skin is tanned and the corners of his eyes are creased as if he's used to smiling. It is a face that I am naturally drawn to, that I am inclined to trust.

When I remember why he's here, I shake the feeling away and scowl.

"If you're sorry, why are you still here?" I ask him, not caring for the answer.

He gave a little smile, his eyes twinkling. "Because when I saw your face, my lady, I knew I simply could not leave."

I give him a pointed glare, but it is halfhearted. His face turns a beet red and he lowers his head.

"Sorry... sorry... I didn't mean to imply... I just..." He can't finish the stuttered sentence, spinning on his heel and walking hurriedly away. I find myself smiling as I watch him go.

He isn't like the rest.

My good mood again dwindles as men come up one by one to talk to me. I can barely remember their names, and later, I am sure I will barely even be able to recall their faces.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the last one in the line steps up. He is also different from the rest, but I am so tired at this point, I can't put my finger on why. I'm even too tired to glower, instead just nodding wearily at him.

His hair is a dark brown, pulled back from his angular face with some sort of gel. He stands in front of me with a strange sort of casualness about him that screamed uncaring and uncivilized. He wore a sword at his belt, a simple object with no jewels in its pommel, hilt wrapped in black leather.

"My name is Lord Colin de Vaux," he says. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you."

My spoon falls out of my hand and clatters to the floor.

"Excuse me?" I say.

The man just stares at me, eyes such a dark blue they look almost black. "I don't wish to repeat myself."

With that statement, he walks away, not giving me a chance to respond in any manner. Anger ripples through my my body, sending little shivers up and down my spine.

I'm not used to being the one who gets spoken down to by a stranger. I pride myself in always getting the last word, always speaking everything on my mind before walking away. But this man, this vile human being, didn't even allow me to get more than three words out.

The things I didn't have a chance to say still rest on my lips, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. The only other person who has managed to make me feel this terribly has been my father.

I watch him go, my stomach churning. "How pleasant," I mumble to myself. I pretend I don't feel angry at his coldness, focusing on my relief that the night is finally over.