The morning sun rose pale and shy, its light filtering through mist that clung to Frizington like a veil. The castle grounds were quiet, wrapped in that fragile stillness that always came before a great departure.
Ronita Tamra moved through the corridors with the soft, purposeful grace her mother had taught her. Her travel cloak swept behind her in muted blue folds, the hood shadowing her eyes. Each step echoed faintly off the marble floor, and with every sound, her heart sank a little lower.
She had been awake since before dawn, unable to sleep. The thought of leaving — of never again hearing the familiar hum of the court, of her father's laughter, of her mother's quiet songs — filled her with a loneliness she could not name.
But there was one person she could not leave without seeing.
The doors to the Sacred Haven opened with a whisper. The room beyond shimmered with soft golden light — a blend of healing magic and morning sun. Incense burned in a basin by the window, filling the air with the scent of amber and sage.
There, upon the silken bed, lay Princess Eleanor Rhodes, her skin pale but warm, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Beside her, the healers had woven protective charms into her hair — white ribbons laced with symbols of purity and endurance.
Ronita's throat tightened.
The princess turned her head at the sound of footsteps. Her eyes fluttered open — soft, glassy blue, rimmed with exhaustion. When she saw Ronita, her lips trembled into a weak smile.
"You should be resting," Eleanor whispered, her voice still fragile.
"So should you," Ronita said, managing a small smile of her own. She sat beside the bed, taking Eleanor's hand in both of hers. It was cool to the touch, yet alive — a quiet miracle after days of uncertainty.
"They told me this morning," Eleanor said after a moment. "That you'll be going in my place."
Ronita's grip tightened slightly. "I wanted you to hear it from me. I couldn't leave without saying goodbye."
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears. "This isn't fair. You shouldn't have to—"
"Neither should you," Ronita interrupted softly. "But if this is the path the gods have chosen, then I will walk it — for you, for Frizington."
For a long moment, they said nothing. The silence was full — not empty — carrying the weight of friendship, loyalty, and fear. Then Eleanor reached up weakly, brushing her fingers against Ronita's cheek.
"You've always been the brave one," she whispered. "Promise me something?"
Ronita nodded.
"When you reach Blueshire," Eleanor said, her voice trembling, "don't let them break your light. No matter how dark that place is, remember who you are."
Ronita smiled through her tears. "I'll remember. And I'll come back — when the moon turns red again, we'll walk through the Yellow Forest together."
The two girls laughed softly, though their laughter was wet with tears. When they finally let go of each other's hands, it felt like releasing something sacred.
From there, Ronita went to the Great Hall, where the King and Queen of Frizington awaited her. The Queen rose first, her silken robes glinting like starlight.
"My child," she said gently, stepping forward to touch Ronita's head. "You have been chosen to carry peace upon your shoulders. May the light of the White Moon Goddess watch over your steps."
The King's voice was lower, rougher. "The journey to Blueshire is long and treacherous. You will be guarded and protected by Frizington's blessing — and by the loyalty of our allies."
Ronita bowed deeply. "Your Majesties, I will not fail you."
The Queen smiled, but it was a sorrowful smile. "No, my dear. You already have done more than anyone could ask."
When Ronita turned to leave, the Queen's hand lingered on hers — a mother's touch that needed no words.
She found herself wandering the eastern corridors, hoping to find her father. But the halls were empty, save for a few passing guards. The training grounds were silent. The courtyard echoed with the sound of distant bells.
It was only when she reached the old library that she stopped and leaned against the wall, the exhaustion finally catching her.
That was when Prince Alaric appeared.
He stepped out from behind a pillar, dressed in his dark riding clothes, his cloak clasped with a silver emblem shaped like a crescent moon. His expression softened when he saw her.
"You were looking for your father?," he said quietly.
Ronita nodded. "Do you know where he is?"
Alaric hesitated before answering. "He couldn't bring himself to see you off."
Her breath caught. "What?"
"He said that if he sees you leave, it will make it real," Alaric continued, his voice gentle. "He asked me to tell you that he's proud — and that you are the light that shamed his fears."
Ronita lowered her gaze, blinking hard. "That sounds like him."
"He's a good man," Alaric said softly. "He just... wasn't ready to let go."
They stood in silence for a moment, the distance between them shrinking by inches. The corridor was quiet but for the faint hum of magic that always lingered in Frizington's halls.
When Ronita finally looked up, their eyes met — hers glistening with tears, his shadowed with something deeper, something unspoken, something raw.
"I wish things were different," she said.
"So do I," Alaric replied.
There was no warning. No rush. No declaration. Only a moment — fragile and inevitable — when their grief met halfway, and their lips brushed in a soft, trembling kiss.
It lasted no longer than a breath, but it carried everything they could not say.
When they pulled apart, Ronita's eyes were wide, her heart thundering. Alaric stepped back first, his jaw tense. "Forgive me," he murmured. "That was selfish."
Ronita shook her head. "No. It's alright "
Alaric's lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then let it stay here — between us. For safety's sake."
He turned then, composing himself. "I won't be traveling with you," he said, his voice quiet again. "The King has asked that I remain until Princess Eleanor recovers. But you won't go alone."
He gestured toward the doorway, where a tall, dark-haired man stood at attention. His armor gleamed faintly under the light of the stained glass windows.
"This is Jerome, my personal guard," Alaric explained. "He's the most loyal man I know. He'll see you safely to Blueshire."
Jerome bowed deeply. "My lady."
Ronita nodded, still reeling from everything — the goodbye, the kiss, the weight of the journey ahead.
"Thank you," she whispered to Alaric.
He gave her a single nod, his eyes searching hers for a final moment. "Travel safely, Ronita Tamra. And don't lose your light."
The sun had climbed higher when the royal carriage was finally prepared. Horses with silver-plaited manes stamped restlessly at the gates, their breath fogging in the cool air.
Ronita stood at the edge of the courtyard, her cloak drawn tightly around her. Her mother stood nearby, her silver hair glinting like frost, her expression unreadable.
"You'll write to me," Laura said, voice calm but shaking at the edges.
"I will," Ronita promised.
Laura reached out and fixed a loose strand of her daughter's hair. "The world beyond Frizington will try to change you. Don't let it."
Ronita nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying. "I'll come back, Mother."
Laura's eyes softened. "I know."
The sound of hooves and clattering wheels filled the air. Guards lined the road, their banners fluttering. Ronita climbed into the carriage, her fingers trembling as she clutched the small charm her mother had pressed into her palm — a crystal shaped like a tear, glowing faintly with Argadun's light.
As the carriage door closed, Laura stepped back, her face lifting toward the wind. From across the courtyard, unseen by all but her, Commander Tony Tamra stood hidden among the shadows of the barracks — his broad shoulders bent, his face streaked with silent tears.
When the carriage rolled forward, Laura's eyes found his. Neither of them spoke. They didn't have to.
The wind carried the sound of the wheels fading into the distance — and with it, the echo of everything they could not say.