But what could I do? I didn't know. My hope felt shattered, like something inside me had cracked. Was this despair?
Haha. What a joke. Despair? Me?
I threw my head back and laughed, loud and sharp.
No. I would not sit here and drown. I would go there myself. I would beat the hell out of every monster in my path and absorb their mana until it burnt inside me.
Just the thought sent a shiver through me. A thrill. Anyone looking at me right then would have seen it crawling under my skin.
I don't need permission or validation from men who sit behind chairs, soft in their velvet seats, throwing orders at those beneath them.
Men who lift not a sword, but their tongues, and think themselves warriors for it. Their mouths only spill nonsense the moment they open their mouths, yet they believe their voices carry the weight of truth.
What do they know of fear? What do they know of pain? They sit safe in their towers while others bleed for them. And still they dare laugh at me. Still they dare call me weak.
I would show them. I would show them what I was capable of.
So I went to the stables, straight to the saddle keeper.
He looked startled when he saw me; his hands froze mid-motion. "Y-Your Highness… Forgive me, I wasn't expecting—what brings you to the stables?"
I met his eyes for a brief moment, then straightened my voice. "Bring me a horse."
He didn't mock me. Didn't dare taunt me. He knew who he was—a servant, too low even to meet my eyes unless I allowed it.
And I liked him for that. A man who knew his place. A true gentleman, in his own way.
He was young too. Not more than a few years older than me.
His hair was golden, soft, and neatly parted down the middle so it framed his face just right.
His skin was pale, smooth, and almost glowing in the lantern light. His eyes were dark and steady, and they matched the faint sharpness of his jaw.
There was a certain charm to him — youthful, refined, the kind of beauty that didn't need arrogance to be seen.
He bowed his head, then gestured to the rows of stalls.
"We have strong mounts, Princess. Warhorses bred for the front lines, swift mares fit for scouting. I will show you each, if you please."
"Do so," I said.
He led me down the line, his words careful, clipped, as if each syllable was measured before it left his lips.
"This one, a Serathian steed," he said, laying a hand on the stall. "Tall, black-coated, bred for endurance. They never tire, not even after days on the march."
We moved on. "Here, a Kaelthar Ironmane. Dwarven-bred. Stocky, heavy, but unbreakable. Like living stone."
Onwards again. "An Eryndor Moonhoof. Silver coat, elven blood. Swift, graceful. They say they run faster than the wind itself."
At the last stall, his voice dropped low. "And this one — a Dravon Bloodrunner. Crimson-brown, fierce, untamed. They choose their rider, not the other way around."
He spoke like a man reciting truths carved in stone.
He was only saying the facts. There was no flattery in his voice, no foolish attempt to sweeten his words. He didn't waste my time with nonsense. He was straight to the point, and I could tell — he knew his work.
And I listened. I watched him. He never lingered on my face, never once questioned me, and never once asked why the princess of Valtheris was standing in his stable.
That was odd.
Odd — and refreshing.
After a while I stopped him. "What is your name?"
He bowed his head deeper. "Caelum, Your Highness."
Caelum. The name was short, clean, and sharp. It fit him. Almost too perfect.
"Caelum," I said again, letting it roll on my tongue. "You speak better than the fools who sit in the council hall, pretending to be men."
His lips twitched — not a smile, but close enough. "I only speak when needed, Princess. Horses do not care for empty words."
I knew it already. The choice was clear. Dravon Bloodrunner.
The moment I stood before it, I felt it. A strange pull, a sharp familiarity.
This horse wasn't just any beast. It felt like it was born for me. Like its only reason for existence was to carry me forward — to fulfil my destiny.
But this horse… this Bloodrunner chose its own master.
Would it allow me? Could I even be worthy of such a creature?
Its mane was dark crimson, the strands flowing like fire in the wind. Its coat gleamed brown-red, every muscle beneath it sharp and strong like carved stone.
Its eyes — golden, burning, proud. They looked at me, not like I was a princess, but like I was being weighed and judged.
And its tail… gods, its tail. Long and smooth, swaying like silk, like a banner of blood trailing behind it. Beautiful. Deadly.
This was no ordinary beast. It was a king among horses.
"I desire this horse," I said, my eyes locked on the Bloodrunner.
Caelum's shoulders stiffened. His lips parted, then closed again. For a moment, his calm face faltered.
He knew this horse. I could see it in his eyes.
No one had ever ridden it. Many tried — knights, captains, even a lord's son once. All mocked. All thrown aside. The beast chose no one.
Caelum's fingers brushed the stall door. He looked at me, then down, like he wanted to speak but didn't dare.
Should he warn me? Should he tell me to choose another? Or should he let me try and be torn apart like the rest?
He stayed silent.
I almost smiled. Silence was the right choice.
But he didn't dare to stop me. Or maybe he couldn't.
Maybe he was only startled because if I failed, I'd become another joke. Another clown among clowns.
And yet… in the end, he smiled.
It wasn't a mocking smile, nor one of pity. His eyes shifted, steady, glowing with something I couldn't name. He didn't stop me. He didn't raise a single question. He let me try.
He allowed me to tame the beast.
Like a true gentleman.
For a moment, my chest ached. My hand pressed against my heart, just for a breath. It was strange — this was the first time, outside of my father and mother, that someone respected me.
Truly respected me. Not as a doll. Not as a fragile little thing. But as someone who could choose.
"What happened, Your Highness?" Caelum asked, his voice soft, almost careful.
"Ah… nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head.