RAELYN AND I STROLL ACROSS THE MEADOW. I’M STILL WAITING TO HEAR what he needs to tell me. We reach the edge of the meadow and stand in the shade of a pine tree. He turns to face me, slipping his hand into mine.
“Samira…” he begins, and I can hear conflicting emotions in his voice.
I’m slightly annoyed. If what he has to tell me is so important, he would have said it by now. But I wait patiently.
“We’ve been friends a long time, right?”
It’s a dumb question but I play along for his sake. “Yes.”
He takes a deep breath. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, I’ve just never been brave—” he stops. “I’m in love with you. And I have been since the day I met you.”
I gape at him. “Seriously? You must be joking.” After a moment, I add, “You were in love with me when I was five?”
He grins. “Okay, maybe not the day I met you, but I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me until the day you have to leave?” I ask, incredulous.
“It never seemed to be the right time,” he says. “Besides, I didn’t want to threaten our friendship.”
My hand burns in his grip. He steps closer, his face only inches from mine. I feel his warm breath on my cheek. He leans in and kisses me, his lips warm and soft. His hands move to my lower back, then to my waist. He kisses me gently at first, but then he kisses me hard-er, pushing me up against the tree. His lips travel to my neck, before returning to my mouth. His lips leave a trail of fire across my skin.
“Ahem.”
Raelyn pulls away, both of us breathing heavily, and we turn to see Ren’s friend, Paltas, watching us. How long has he been standing there? I feel the heat rise to my face.
“Well, well. What do we have here? I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says crossing his arms.
“Not a word, Paltas,” Raelyn says, pointing a finger at Paltas. “The king would have my head.”
Paltas pantomimes locking his lips and throwing away the key. “It’s time to go, Raelyn. I’ll give you two another minute to say goodbye.” He winks at me, before walking away.
Raelyn turns toward me and bites his lip. “Sorry I kissed you. I just couldn’t help it.”
I laugh nervously. “It’s okay.”
He hugs me. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He gently tilts my head up with his sword-calloused hands, and kisses me long and sweetly.
“I wish that were true,” I whisper when he pulls away.
He steps away and strides over to his horse, and I follow. Once he’s in the saddle, he turns back to me. “I love you, Samira,” he says, before riding away.
“Take care, Raelyn!” I call after him.

IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE RAELYN’S PATROL LEFT. OVER THOSE TWO weeks, my thoughts have strayed to our day in the meadow. I would be sitting in on an important council meet-ing thinking about our kiss, and someone would ask me a question that I wouldn’t even hear.
Or like right now, when Ren is asking me something. He snaps his fingers inches from my face. “Hello? Anyone home?”
I swat his hand away. “What?”
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
I force a smile. “Nope.”
“I said Ollia’s leaving today. She’s waiting for us at the gates. Agrian’s already there,” he says.
As we walk through the streets of Kelworth, Ren slings his arm around my shoulders. “What’s been keeping you so distracted?” he asks.
I pick right then to find my feet fascinating. “Nothing,” I mumble.
Ren drops it. “What were you and Raelyn doing in the meadow that day, anyway?”
He glances sideways at me. I try to force the heat from my cheeks, but it’s too late.
Ren grins. “Oh…” he says. “So that’s what you’ve been thinking about. What hap-pened when Paltas came to get Raelyn?”
I pretend I hadn’t heard him, and that’s all the answer Ren needed. “I better keep an eye on you two,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking.
I roll my eyes.
When we reach the city gates, Ollia and Agrian seem to be having some kind of argu-ment, which is rare for them. They’re usually two peas in a pod. They stop when they see us.
“Ugh, I’m gonna miss you guys,” Ollia says, rushing towards us. She wraps her arms around Ren and whispers something to him. He smiles and nods. She turns to me and straightens the pendant around my neck. The pendant that was given to me five years ago by our late mother, the day before she died. Ollia sighs before wrapping me in a hug. “I wish Mother could see us now. I wish she could see how big you’ve gotten. And how pretty.” Ollia steps back and reaches up to straighten a few stray hairs on my head. I now realize how tall I really am. The top of Ollia’s head is even with my nose, and she’s not short. I guess everyone but her got Father’s height.
Ollia embraces Agrian last. Those two had always been close. I hear them whispering, but I only catch a few words: “…he better be good to you,” Agrian’s saying.
“I just don’t love him, and he knows that. But he’s still always very good to me. It’s the king you need to worry about,” Ollia whispers back. I assume they’re talking about her husband, Brethen, and his father, King Welaf.
Ollia pulls away. “Well, I better get going. Prince Brethen will be waiting. Tell Father goodbye for me.”
I can hear the bitterness in her last few words. She never really forgave our father for just selling her to another kingdom like livestock. For all I know, the same fate could be awaiting me.

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

MY BROTHERS AND I ARE NOW ATTENDING A COUNCIL MEETING WITH
our father and most of his court. Right now they are debating what our course of action should be against recent sightings of Surovonion patrols. In the past, Surovonions rarely crossed the treacherous River of Souls, but their patrols have begun to venture further, even into the heart of the other kingdoms. While Valcrath remains neutral; Algwyn, Brenmor, and the lesser kingdoms have been hostile towards Surovon for as long as our histories dates back. I had always been taught that Surovon is full of power-hungry murderers, set on con-quering our land for themselves.
“We should send their heads back to Surovon as a message!” Lord Vincarger exclaims, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. There are murmurs of agreement.
“We do not want to start a war we can’t win,” Agrian counters.
“Oh, look. The little prince finally has something to say,” Vincarger sneers.
“Careful, Lord Vincarger,” I say, glaring at him.
I catch ex-general Arviragus’s eye from across the hall. He gives a small shake of his head, warning me not to get involved. The general has always kind of looked out for me and my brothers, but over the past few years, he and I have gotten especially close. He’s kind of like a mentor to me.
The hall explodes into argument, most agreeing with Agrian.
“Silence!” the king bellows. Everyone falls silent and turns to look at the king, who is now standing. My father is quite an imposing figure when he’s angry. And even when he’s not. He is one of the tallest men I’ve ever seen, and I’d say the majority of his weight is pure muscle. His graying light brown hair glows with the afternoon light streaming through the painted glass window behind him, and his brown eyes shine with authority.
“How will we ever do anything if we quarrel amongst ourselves?” Father’s voice ech-oes against the stone walls, and carries out into the corridor beyond. “If we continue to bicker, aren’t they winning? We must stand together in a time like this, not show are weak-nesses. The next patrol that enters our kingdom will be dealt with accordingly.”
No one dares to argue with the king. As everyone files out of the hall, Arviragus plac-es a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I wait until we’re alone before turning around to face him.
“You must learn to hold your tongue, Princess,” he says softly, a lock of his white-blond hair falling into his face. The general is young for his position, barely older than Ollia.
“I barely said anything!” I protest.
“But you wanted to say more. And you almost did.”
I cross my arms. “And how would you know that, General?”
“I’ve known you since you were a child, Princess Samira. I could see it in your eyes.”
I raise a brow at him. “Oh, really? What am I thinking now, then?”
He snorts. “I’m not a mind-reader. I’m just saying you need to hide your emotions better. You’ll never be a good diplomat if you can’t.”
Diplomat. As if I’ll want to spend my life bargaining. But, I’m expected to be a diplo-mat, like countless princesses before me, all the way back to our founder, Queen Algwyria.

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

I’M SITTING IN MY BEDCHAMBER, MY HANDMAIDEN AMARRA BRUSHING my hair in preparation for dinner.
Although she and I are the same age, Amarra has been my handmaid for a few years, and we’ve grown to be quite close friends. Her mother was my mother’s handmaid years ago, but fell ill shortly after my mother’s death, and later died.
Amarra lays the comb aside and sighs. “You’re so pretty,” she says, twisting back my dark hair. “I wish I were half as pretty as you. No boy will ever want me.”
I reply, “Why? You’re beautiful, kind, and sweet. Any man would be beyond lucky to get you.”
I stand up so she can sit in the chair, and I begin braiding her blond locks.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, you know,” Amarra says. “Raelyn. He’s crazy for you. To be honest, I think you’re too good for him. He’s a stuck-up noble like his father. His father got him to where he is, he didn’t do anything himself. All nobles and royals are the same.”
“I’m sitting right here.”
“No, no. You’re different. I come from a long line of handmaids, and I bet none of them got their hair braided by a princess. You actually care about my well-being and the well-being of the citizens. You don’t just see me as some lowly servant girl,” Amarra takes on a more teasing tone. “Right?”
I smile, and do my best imitation of my father, “Know you’re place, servant.” We both start giggling at my surprisingly good impression.
I arrive in the dining hall, and take my place at the long table, between Agrian and Ren. The king sits on the other side of Agrian.
Tonight, many of the nobles and their families will be attending dinner, along with some high-ranking military officials. My father wants to unite the nobles of Kelworth.
Servants place platters on the table; displaying colored jellies of pheasants, adorned with their feathers. One of the servants drops my mug on my lap as she pours ale.
“I-I’m sorry, my lady,” she stammers, reaching for the mug with trembling fingers. She glances at me fearfully, and hands me a cloth to clean the spilled ale off my dress.
“It’s okay,” I reply, giving her a kind smile. She seems to relax a bit.
Throughout dinner, I can’t help noticing the youngest of Commander Atwood’s sons staring at me. I pretend not to notice.
Ren leans over. “I think somebody likes you,” he whispers, tilting his head toward the boy.
I glance at the commander’s son, who sits directly across from me. He’s handsome, I suppose. He has red hair and eyes the color of seaweed, with freckles dotting his nose. He looks up and our eyes meet. I redden and look away. When I look back, he’s still watching me. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted when the doors at the end of the hall open, and a guard rushes in.
“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head to the king. “A courier has arrived from a small town near our border with Brenmor.”
Father puts his fork down. “And?”
“She says she needs to speak with you,” the guard says nervously.
“She?” my father frowns. “I didn’t know we had any woman couriers. Are you sure she’s a courier?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. She wears the emblem.”
“Doesn’t she know I’m busy? Tell her to come back later.”
The guard shifts his feet. “She says it’s very important, Your Majesty. She also said she’d force her way in here if she had to.”
Father sighs. “Fine. Let her in.”
The guard leaves the dining hall and returns a few moments later with a hooded fig-ure. From this angle, I can’t see her face. As she passes by me, she glances at me, and I see her in the depths of the shadows and hood creates. She has dark, gold-flecked eyes that chill me to the bone. They’re unnerving, and I have to look away. I still can’t see her face.
She kneels in front of the king, and removes her hood. Now I can’t see her because of where Agrian’s sitting.
“Your Majesty,” she says, head bowed.
Father motions for her to stand. “You better not waste my time, courier.”
“I have grave news,” she begins. “I was riding to a remote village on the Brenmor bor-der, when I came across an Algwynian patrol,” she pauses. Raelyn’s patrol, I realize. “They were ambushed by a Brenmor patrol—” I suck in my breath—“and slaughtered. Twenty-seven Algwynian soldiers killed. I saw it with my own eyes.”
My heart stops. Raelyn. Twenty-seven killed. The patrol had twenty-eight soldiers when it left Kelworth. “What of the twenty-eighth?” I ask frantically. “Who is it?”
The courier keeps her gaze trained on the king. “The only Algwynian survivor was Lieutenant Raelyn thaer Faloan.”

I BREATHE A SIGH OF RELIEF. HE’S ALIVE. I LEAN FORWARD AND LOOK
down the table at Raelyn’s father, Faloan. He pales at the news.
My father squeezes the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. “We will begin negotia-tions with King Thaedon of Brenmor immediately to try and free Lieutenant Raelyn thaer Fa-loan.”
Thaer means son in the Ancient Language—the language of our ancestors who first lived in Algwyn and even before then. It’s rarely used now, usually only to distinguish our names. Raelyn thaer Faloan means Raelyn, son of Faloan, just as firith is daughter in my name, Samira firith Verlun.
The courier scurries out of the room, leaving the dining hall in a shocked silence.

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

IT’S BEEN A WEEK SINCE THE NEWS OF RAELYN’S PATROL, AND FATHER JUST received a letter from King Thaedon, and has called a council meeting.
I arrive with Ren at the council meeting, Agrian right behind us. As we take our seats near the king, the rest of the council arrives, Faloan raking a hand through his hair anxiously.
“Negotiations with Brenmor are not going all that well,” Father begins. “I understand my daughter, Samira, is quite close with the young captain,” he adds, nodding in my direc-tion.
My cheeks flush as everyone in the chamber looks toward me, some raising an eye-brow questioningly. I notice Ren shift uncomfortably beside me.
“King Thaedon demands the Western Hills, which make up almost a quarter of our kingdom,” Father continues.
Hushed whispers fill the room. The king raises his hand for silence, and the hushed whispers cease.
“I am sad to say, that that is far too high a price for one captain, no matter how skilled he may be.”
My blood turns to ice in my veins, and my vision blurs with tears. Ren’s hands start shaking beside me, and he grips his knees tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white.
“Father, please!” I beg. “We need to free him!”
I know it is selfish of me to expect him to give up the Western Hills merely because I begged for it, but I fear it is the only way to make the growing hole in my chest disappear.
Father simply shakes his head. “I sincerely hope that when he left, you two were on good terms, Samira.”
Ren suddenly stands up. “Father, isn’t there anything you can do?” I am surprised to see that he looks almost as pained as I do, maybe even more so. Is he trying to convince Fa-ther for me, or for his own personal reasons? Ren has never been particularly close with Raelyn, as far as I know anyway, so why is he so worried? Did he care for Raelyn?
The king shakes his head sadly. “Nothing more can be done, my son. We must move on.” He said it in a way that brooked no argument.
One council member stands. “When will we launch a counterattack?”
“I will discuss that further with my generals and Arviragus,” Father says, nodding to-wards Arviragus. Arviragus once served in the Algwynian army, and had even reached the rank of general—there were only four generals in the Algwynian army—before suffering a serious leg wound that left him without his position as general and a nasty limp. He now serves as Warfare Advisor to the king.
When the meeting adjourns and everyone begins to file out of the chamber, Agrian and Ren approach me. Arviragus casts me a sympathetic look as he strides by.
“I’m really sorry, Sam,” Agrian says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Thanks, but I think I need to be alone right now.”
He nods before turning away and following the rest of the council. I turn to Ren, who is as pale as plaster, and staring into the distance, clearly deep in thought. Any trace of his usually humorous demeanor is gone.
“Are you okay, Ren?” I ask worriedly.
He seems reluctant to acknowledge me. “What?” he responds distractedly. “Oh…yes, I’m fine. It’s just, Raelyn’s…gone. And there was something I wanted to say to him.” Ren presses his lips into a thin line, as if to stop the flow of words.
“Was there something between you two?”
“I can’t talk about this right know,” he says, looking like he might be sick.
Eager to change the subject, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m sorry about Paltas, I know he was on that patrol.” I wince inwardly. This topic isn’t any better. “A memo-rial for the dead soldiers is being held in Kelworth Square tomorrow evening, if you want to go.”
“I might,” Ren says noncommittally before turning and walking away.
I excuse myself early from dinner that night—having barely stomached any food—retiring to my bedchamber, where Amarra waits for me.
“You’re back early,” she comments, pausing to look closer at my face. “Everything all right, my lady?”
I drop into a chair across from her, and tell her the news of Raelyn’s patrol.
“Oh, that’s terrible! Let’s get you into bed—everything will look better in the morn-ing.” I oblige as she rises and helps me to get ready for bed.
That night, I cry myself to sleep, the loss of Raelyn leaving a hollow, aching void in my middle.

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

THREE WEEKS HAVE COME AND GONE SINCE KING THAEDON’S DEMAND. Three weeks that I’ve spent mostly in my chamber, relying on the food Amarra brings me.
“Your Highness?” Amarra says for the second time. I turn to look at her. “I understand you’re grieving, Your Highness, but you really should get some fresh air.”
“Today would have been the day he came home.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness—”
“For the hundredth time, would you please stop with the whole Your Highness and my lady? It’s me, Amarra,” I utter.
“Of course, my—Samira,” she twitches nervously. “As I was saying, it would do you good to get out of this chamber—perhaps a ride through the woods? I could fetch someone to ready Flym, and I’m sure one of the princes would accompany you along with your guard. If you like,” she added as an afterthought.
“Yes, that will do. Thank you, Amarra, you’re a good friend.”
“As are you,” she answers, backing towards the door. “I’ll retrieve you when your horse is ready.”
Agrian joins me as I ride through the meadow, toward the heavily-patrolled trails in the woods; each of us assigned several more of the King’s Guard than usual, given our knack for slipping away from them.
“It’s good to see you out again,” he remarks.
We ride on in silence until we reach the edge of the woods, and begin down the well-worn trail twisting through the oaks. The trail is narrow, so we travel single-file, save the guard squeezed onto the trail on either side of me and Agrian. Several more of the King’s Guard scout ahead or drop back, but most stay clustered around us, constantly on the look-out for danger. Agrian had trained alongside one or two of the guards as a cadet, years back, before climbing the ladder that was the Algwynian army. Many kings and princes in Algwyn were soldiers first, and so both of my brothers had and continued to have military training; learning, training, and occasionally fighting alongside the other soldiers. While not given a formal rank, royal soldiers attend Kelworth Ford—the best barracks in Algwyn, which was only a day’s journey from Kelworth—like many other soldiers, spending the year at the academy; only leaving to return home during the summer, or when they graduated the academy. Ren started attending the academy when he was thirteen—a common age for first-years—leaving me behind, alone and envious. Raelyn had left the year before, and Agrian a year before that. I wanted nothing more than to attend Kelworth Ford with the boys, but instead, I was stuck in the castle close, learning to be a lady. Ren was home for the summer, and when he returns to the academy in a month, he will be starting his sixth and final year. Raelyn and Agrian both graduated the same year, four years ago, with Raelyn at the head of his class.
Agrian, riding alongside me, still buzzes with the happiness of a recently married man. His wedding was in the spring, and the bride a wonderful girl by the name of Aeris, now the future queen of Algwyn. It seems unfair to me, that I, daughter of the king, have no claim to the throne, but that Aeris halwyr Agrian—halwyr meaning wife of—a twenty-year-old woman of no royal lineage, need only marry the eldest son of the king to inherit the throne. Most royal marriages were purely for political reasons, but Agrian and Aeris had married simply for love. I don’t suppose I’ll be so lucky.
“You’re awfully quiet today, Sam,” Agrian comments, pulling me from my thoughts. There are a few more minutes of silence. “He loved you, Sam,” he blurts. “I just thought you should know.”
Without asking, I know he means Raelyn. “I knew. He told me that day in the mead-ow. But don’t make it sound like he’s dead, all right?”
Agrian grunts in acknowledgement. “Did he…do anything else?”
“Come on, Agrian, you know Raelyn almost as well as I do.”
“Yes, it’s that almost that has me a little worried.”
I sigh, exasperated. “Don’t worry, he didn’t do what you’re thinking.”
He nods, looking slightly relieved. “Did—Do you love him?”
“I don’t know! Will you stop interrogating me?”
He raises his hand, palm out. “Fine. Let’s talk about something else. Did you hear that Aeris is pregnant?”
“Really? You couldn’t have lead with that?” I reach out and pat him on the shoulder. “That’s great, Agrian. Congratulations. When’s the baby due?”
“Not until spring.”
“Sweet Alessa, you’re going to be a father! I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks, Sam. I know this must be hard for you, though. I mean, I have good news, and you—well, you don’t have the best news. I’m really sorry about Raelyn, truly.”
I twitch with annoyance. “I thought we were done talking about Raelyn.”
“We are.” He pauses, casting about for something else to say. “So, um, have you been practicing with the knife much? Do you remember the way I showed you?”
He gave me a knife for my fifteenth birthday, and showed me how to throw it. I al-ways carry it with me, and I’ve been practicing with it ever since, and Ren tells me I’m not half bad. Raelyn would often help me get better with it.
“Yes, I remember,” I say, patting the knife, which is currently strapped at my waist.
A gentle breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders. The faintest tint of orange on the leaves of the trees, hints that autumn is just around the corner. While Algwyn very rarely gets snow, it gets a lot of wind and rain in the winter.
“Don’t forget, the name day celebration for Commander Atwood’s youngest son, is tomorrow night,” Agrian reminds me. “We’re all expected to be there.”
“Ugh. I’ll have to find a dress,” I mutter.
“Just borrow one of Ren’s,” he says, his mouth forming a half-smile. Did Agrian just make a joke? He doesn’t do that often. His smile fades as his eyes stray to my neck. “You still wear it, eh?” He nods at my locket.
“Of course.” My mother’s words come back to me as if she were standing beside me now. Never take off the locket, it protects you. Always wear it so you never forget me. That was the day before she died. The way she said it, made it sound like she knew she was going to die. But she couldn’t have—her throat was slit in the middle of the night. Never take off the locket, it protects you. My mother was always superstitious.
After a moment’s silence, Agrian turns to me again. “One last thing about Raelyn,” he pauses, waiting for me to finish my sigh. “I know you two were close, but you can’t mourn him forever. You need to move on.”
I life up my hand, palm out, gesturing for him to stop. “For the last time, Raelyn’s not dead! Do you hear me? He. Is. Not. Dead.”
I can tell Agrian’s patience is wearing thin, but then again, so is mine. “He might as well be,” he snaps, “and you need to come to terms with that. You’re never going to see him again, and even if you did, you wouldn’t recognize him because he would have been so hor-rendously tortured. You need to forget him, and move on.”
I stare at him, stunned, tears welling in my eyes.
He sighs and brings a hand to his forehead, massaging it as if he has a headache. “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I shake my head. “No, you said exactly what you meant to.” I spur Flym into a full gal-lop, heading for the shortcut back to the castle, my escort struggling to keep up.
“Sam! Sam, wait!” Agrian calls after me, but I don’t look back.