The party throbbed behind the height-ceiling doors, a jabbering mix of chatter, laughter, and music sending Amaya's mind into dizziness. She stood before the carved oak, wondering how long it would take for the two guards standing at each side of the door to catch her if she was to run down the hallway. Not too long, she supposed. Her stamina wasn't in so much great shape since her Father decided to keep her inside the castle, her only workout being waltz lessons.

She fought the urge away with a steady breath. With the way her corset constricted her lungs and all her other organs, she wouldn't have the endurance to do so in any case.

She found solace in the coldness of her pendant inside her palm, and her heartbeat slowed down. Still, her crown was a heavy reminder of what was to come. As soon as she was to pass those doors, her entire life would flee from her hands, slipping between her fingers and gathering in the palm of an unknown man. But did she ever was the one keeping it in her hands? No. Her Father, the institution, the crown had decided every movement since the moment she saw the light.

The realization stung her eyes. She closed them as she inhaled deeply, trying to gather every piece of herself, wanting to run away.

Two knocks resonated from the other sides of the doors, and her heart went into a frenzy again. The jabbering died down as a clear and concise male voice rose. Her name was mentioned, and she straightened her back.

That was it.

The two guards grabbed the handle on each side of the door, and she molded her face into an impassive mask.

Hinges creaked, and light poured onto her, scintillating the gold of her eyeshadow, dress, jewelry, and crown. A bright halo surrounded her, reminding of a divinity.

A collective gasp echoed from the crowd as thousands of eyes gawked at her. She froze, taking in the mass. She had counted the carriages but never visualized that many people.

The man with the staff eyed her, and it was her cue to trace the carmine carpet, her steps carrying her like a feather in a dancing breeze, graceful and light as she had learned since she was a little girl.

Their eyes scrutinized, dissected every of her movement in deafening silence, and weirdly, they roared louder than the boisterous chatter a moment ago. An offered lamb to sharp canines. That was what she was at that moment. She didn't let them deter her and kept a slow, poised, and calculated cadence as she passed between the split crowd. Her outward calmness opposed the raging storm of her hammering heart.

Whispers bounced from every side, and she kept her lips tight.

The council members welcomed her with tight, overstretched smiles, which didn't help to calm her nerves. Still, Commander Zakrus was another story. His scars were more prominent over his tight features as a pointy stare bore into her. Even in the crowd of a thousand, he didn't fail to make her feel unguarded. She quickly looked away.

Salvation was offered when she reached the end of the carpet. The gold throne carved with the sweat of the ancient rulers for centuries loomed over her like the destiny she couldn't escape.

The lingering whispers fall back as the King rose from the throne, his imposing figure towering over the guests. Though he was all toughness and command, his deep gaze was warm and benevolent at the sight of his daughter. She climbed the few steps separating them and bowed graciously in front of the ruler, the hem of her gown gathering together on the carpeted floor. He nodded, and she stood beside him, facing the scrutinizing orbs.

"Dear guests." The King's voice grave voice resonated across the room, stringing the eyes on him. "I welcome you all in Ornuv to celebrate Princess Amaya of Ornuv's passage to adulthood." His gaze panned over the room.

"The God Sun graced her one more year tonight." The King glanced at Amaya, and she curved her lips slightly.

"As you know, the eighteenth winter is a turning point for our youth. The Princess will pledge fidelity to the Sun God and his institution, preparing her for her ultimate role as the Queen of Ornuv." Amaya inhaled softly.

"For that, she will need a brave and valiant King by her side to help her in her duty whom she will choose among you all." The first row of men puffed out their chests, and Amaya contained her contempt behind stiff lips.

A shadow darkened the King's features. "The history of this continent is filled with sorrow and grief." The words dragged heavily across the crowd, settling cheerful faces into gloomy remembering. "The war left the continent in shambles and separated for ten long years. "The Favor was the one thing keeping us fighting, but the Sun God punished us all and took away."

"A war that he started." Amaya gazed down at a man with tight features as he scoffed. She blinked the comment away. Deep down, she couldn't believe he wasn't right.

The King stretched a hand to the colorful and glimmering sea of people. "The Peace Treaty signed by all the countries present tonight will enable a new breath of life on the continent." The grumpy man scoffed again, and Amaya frowned slightly.

"Because together we are stronger!" The crowd roared. "May the Sun God protect this alliance." His words traveled over the eager claps.

He turned to the High Priest with a nod, whose thick fingers draped the Princess' shoulders with a long and heavy fur coat swallowing her form before holding an open manuscript in front of her.

Amaya inhaled deeply before reading the cursive letters on the yellowish page. "As a child of Ornuv, I pledge my life to the Sun God, his institution, his commandment." She paused, sensing a weight plummeting down her stomach. Her gaze flickered to the crowd. A thousand pairs of eyes stared at her back, paralyzing her whole being.

"Amaya." A soft murmur. She glanced to her side and met her Father's encouraging nod.

She swallowed thickly before her eyes dropped to the next line. "I will follow the principles of the Sun God and promise to take care of the people of Ornuv by- by finding a King to rule by my side until the end of my... life." The last word died down in her throat.

The crowds hatched in loud claps, and she barely felt it when the coat and manuscript were removed from her. All the cheers, the claps, and the voice of her Father blurred in a haze as realization sank stony and deep.

"Friends of the Continent. Please enjoy this evening!" The King shouted, launching the party as the musicians started to work their instruments into a dancing and vivid symphony of a synchronized mixture of drum, flute, trumpet, and tuba.

Relief flickered in the King's gaze as he observed the mingling crowd.

"Father..." Amaya approached him.

His features softened. "My daughter." He englobed her shoulders with massive palms. "Tonight is the night," he declared with a pointy gaze. "You will find the one for you." She opened her mouth, ready to fight back. There certainly was a way to get out of this nightmare. But she had no time to do so before her Father spoke again. This time gravely. "Amaya. You have to do this," A flicker of fear passed through his eyes.

"What's going on?" An uneasy sensation sank in her stomach. "Father?"

"You have to do this," he stated without further explanation as he turned away to sit on the throne.

Amaya was left with more questions than answers, but Lily grabbed her by the arm before she could ask for further explanation. Her thrilling voice pierced Amaya's ears. "You were absolutely wonderful! A bit hesitant in your speech, but it doesn't matter; everyone is in awe of you." She dragged her down the stairs.

"Wait, Lily. I need to talk to Father," Amaya insisted as she kept glancing at the man. "There's something wrong-"

Lily shook his head. "Princess. Time is of the essence tonight. Look." Lily tilted her head to the side, and Amaya's stance stiffened. The horde of men gathered at the bottom of the stairs pushed at each other to be the first to talk to her. Lily squealed. "How exciting!"

"Oh, Sun God," Amaya murmured, horrified.

One night. She could go through this for one night.

**

The night was only starting, but the guest's noses were already deep inside golden cups as servants poured down dark crimson liquor like a fountain under thirsty eyes.

Everyone was already in their role, whether served or serving, but Lach's feet were stuck to the floor, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

His brain still hadn't registered that the girl from the stables, who sparkled warm tingles on his skin, was the same stoic Princess with a sorrowful expression. Her eyes were dull and absent, and despite wearing the most sparkling gown in the room, she seemed erased. Something sank into him at the contrast. An ounce of pity almost clouded his gaze.

Almost.

Because he was a fool. A fool to have ever believed the possibility of an idyllic respite inside his tough life. That he could savor a moment of sweetness, unclogged by his circumstances. He looked down at himself and his uniform; all he could taste was bitterness.

"What are you doing?" Lach gazed up to the stern stare of the Steward before darting around him. All the servants had left the line, including Rid but him. A plate full of miniature-colored food was shoved into his calloused hands. The plate tilted dangerously to the side, the food brushing a deadly fall on the marble floor. Still, he balanced the plate quickly, preventing an imminent catastrophe. "Go now!" the man threw a hand toward the crowd, prompting Lach to jump and mingle with the guests.

The plate swirled around the guest as his eyes kept looking for her. It momentarily slowed Lach down each time some greedy hands reached for its delicacies.

The Princess kept entering his vision to be gone the next moment, someone attacked his plate.

He didn't know why he was doing that. Deep down, he just wouldn't believe it. The images of the two girls, the Princess and the girl from the stables, wouldn't juxtapose in his mind.

"I thank you, my Lord, but the promise of jewelry isn't enough for accepting your hand."

That voice. Lach twisted his neck. The woman stood in all her golden glory only a few feet away from Lach, facing a man with skin so pale it was almost bluish and greyish hair. His eyes were about to burst out of their sockets as he spread all his belongings to the Princess in a rapid speech. Lach sneered, and the man's veiny eyes turned to him, attracting the Princess's gaze toward him. She opened her mouth slightly.

Shit.

Lach spun around and let his feet carry him in the opposite direction. Did she recognize him? He hadn't meant to bring attention to himself, and all he could do now was get as far away as possible. His dark locks covered his eyes as he tilted his head down so much he hadn't noticed the man coming his way.

A bump against his shoulder made his plate sway, the appetizers sliding to one side. Some of them, unfortunately, taking the fall.

Shit. The Steward would get his ass for that.

"For the love of the Sun God!" The man's voice rose.

"Apologies, my lord." Lach tried his best to balance his plate to prevent more messiness.

"You..." the voice drawled out, and Lach's slowly looked up.

The icy glare of Lord Harrington thunder on him.

Shit.