Tension hung in the castle air like fog before dawn, when even the birds fall silent, sensing something amiss. We clung to the alliance pact like drowning men to a straw. Our king assured his subjects: there would be no war, just the mischief of passing knights.
I wonder, did he even believe it himself?
Everyone wanted to believe the king's words—who would refuse comforting lies? Deep in their hearts, everyone knew: the emperor of Criver was playing cat-and-mouse with us, wearing us down, provoking the first strike. We, like noble fools, didn't rise to the provocations, though we saw the whole game clearly.
Later, I learned Monaria's order: "Defend only the cities. The villages are a necessary sacrifice." Cynical wisdom of power—save what's important, sacrifice the secondary. We simply didn't have the strength to stand against the vast empire.
And yet, what empire didn't seem vast to a twelve-year-old boy?
Life in the castle taught me one main thing: proximity to power doesn't make you part of it. I often saw the princess; we were the same age and occasionally—oh, the generosity of fate!—even talked. About the weather, a lost kitten, delicious compote. Childish trifles that seemed like a whole world back then.
The king didn't like our chats. Of course not—his daughter, the heir to the throne, and the cook's son! Perhaps that's why I was sent to knight's school. Though who knows what motives guide kings?
In our world, there was magic, and mine was ice. What irony of fate—my ice was purple, which meant it was fragile, like my position. Sounds beautiful, doesn't it? Ice spears, glittering blades, winter chill... But fate had a trick up its sleeve here too. My ice was brittle, thin as glass, crumbling at the first serious blow.
Most people had simple magics: wind, fire, water, earth. Only twenty-five percent of the population could boast a magical gift—we, the chosen unfortunates, marked by a power that more often hindered than helped.
And the princess... She was the best even among the best. Plant magic—the rarest of the rare. With a wave of her hand, she could grow any plant. There was one drawback, though—she needed seeds or roots. Magic with conditions, like everything in this life.
The nobles considered her magic useless, even plebeian. What fools they were! To me, her gift seemed perfect for such a delicate girl—power that creates life, not takes it.