The Festival of Royal Swords was only a week away. Whispers of it had already begun to ripple through every corner of Vernia. It was not just another event, it was a sacred day when princes from across the known nations came together to showcase their fighting prowess, clashing blade against blade in a dazzling display of skill, pride, and rivalry.
Prince Xander was always the one everyone came to see. He was the master of swords, the kind of man who sparred with his soldiers for fun, carving his dominance into every duel. He had a presence that commanded both respect and longing, and even in practice his movements were as sharp and fluid as a storm. Prince Raide, on the other hand, was the opposite. He'd rather charm and talk an opponent into submission than waste sweat and steel on them. Where Xander burned like fire, Raide glided like wind. Together, they made the festival unpredictable, drawing crowds that filled the Big Bowl of Knights until its walls trembled with cheers.
The Big Bowl itself was a marvel, a colossal open stadium with high stone arches and wide tiers that curved around a central battleground. From every corner of Vernia, and even beyond, people poured in just for this festival, eager to be dazzled by swords flashing under the sun.
For the servants, though, the festival was only another burden. My mistress had us all up and doing, running errands from dawn till night, polishing floors, preparing uniforms, cooking for officials, and ensuring the palace gleamed like a crown before the event began. The whole week was madness.
Ever since I had arrived in Vernia as a child captive, I had seen the festival five times. Though "seen" is too generous a word. We servants were never allowed inside. Instead, we were herded outside to a certain corner, crammed together like homeless beggars, catching muffled roars of the crowd without a single glimpse of the battlefield. Every cheer, every gasp from within the walls felt like an insult, reminding us of the joy and glory we would never touch.
It was on one of those forgotten days, standing outside among the other servants, that my heart betrayed me. I found myself drawn to Prince Xander. At first, it was nothing, just the common fascination most women had for him. But over time, it grew heavier, a weight on my chest. My heartbeat would halt at the sight of him in the courtyard. Goosebumps would sweep over me when he walked past, his scent of steel and smoke lingering in the air. I tried to push it down, to crush it, because I knew it could ruin me.
How could I ever allow myself to fall for him? His father was the king who wiped out my family, who destroyed my homeland and turned me into a servant girl. My thirst for revenge had been my compass for years, the only thing keeping me alive. Yet here I was, fighting an impossible war inside myself, vengeance against the father, and love blooming toward the son. It was foolish. Dangerous. But no matter how many times I whispered to myself that I stood no chance, the feeling clung to me like a leech.
The D-Day arrived. The entire city throbbed with excitement. Trumpets blared in the distance. The streets buzzed with chatter as families hurried toward the Big Bowl, dressed in their finest. Vendors lined the roads, selling roasted meats, fruits, and carved trinkets of miniature swords.
And me? I stood outside the arena as usual, cramped with the other servants. Hunger gnawed at me, and the heat from the midday sun pressed down like a curse. Still, my heart thudded against my ribs, knowing that just beyond those walls, Prince Xander was wielding his blade.
But something else gnawed at me that day. Sir Dean.
He was a soldier of the army, young and broad-shouldered, his face carved with the arrogance of someone who thought the world owed him. Worse, he was the son of one of the men who had slaughtered my family. From the first day he laid eyes on me, his gaze had burned with something dark; obsession, lust, hunger. For weeks, he hadn't stopped giving me those looks, the kind that made my skin crawl.
That day, he lingered at a distance with his friends, but his eyes never left me. My stomach knotted with unease. Yes, he was handsome, but so what? Handsome or not, blood stained his lineage, and I owed him nothing. If anything, I should be plotting his death. Instead, here I was, trapped under his gaze like prey watched by a predator.
Cheers erupted from within the stadium, a wave of sound so strong it felt like the air itself shook. The crowd must have just witnessed a breathtaking clash. My heart ached to be inside, to catch even a glimpse of Xander in his element. But all I could do was circle the outside, tired and restless, my longing eating me alive.
Then it happened. Sir Dean spoke briefly with my mistress, his smirk lingering in my direction the whole time. My blood ran cold. Moments later, Mistress came marching up to me.
"Hera," she said sharply, "you are of importance in the building right now. The palace guards need someone to run errands, food and drink. You'll go."
I froze. My knees nearly buckled. I wanted to protest, but I dared not. To refuse an order was to risk the dungeon, or worse, the gallows. I had seen it before, servants dragged away, never to return.
So I bowed my head, swallowing my dread, and forced courage into my steps.
As I walked toward the towering gates of the Big Bowl, I caught sight of Sir Dean again. His sly smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something sinister. He knew. He knew I was walking straight into danger, and he relished it.
Still, a different fire burned inside me. For the first time, I was entering the building I had only ever dreamed of. For the first time, I might glimpse Xander up close, not as a passing figure in the courtyard, but as the warrior who ruled the festival.
If I was clever, perhaps I could slip into the crowd, vanish among them, and finally watch the battle without anyone noticing.
I drew in a breath, bracing myself as the gates opened. Danger awaited me. Desire awaited me. And between them, I knew my life was about to change forever.