The nobles and the heralds,

who hold the Crown up high,

never could they see,

the Princess’s quiet sigh.

DESTINY

A thousand names echoed in these ancient halls.

The stained-glass windows depicted scenes of royal history – the defeat of the old Golden Golems, the defense of the Northern Castle, and the forging of royal victories echoing through these timeless halls.

‘How the hell am I going to live up to these legends?’ May wondered. ‘I don’t have much to my name.’

Her heels clacked against the impeccably polished floor, the palace hummed with a sense of power that marked her birthright.

She sniffled away her colds, the smell of fine beeswax and old wood entering her nose. Her steps carried her from lamplight to lamplight, the only sources of heat in the evening chill.

A servant joined May’s gait. “The Queen requests your presence to witness the awarding ceremony–“

May sighed, cutting right through the servant’s words. “Tell Óme that I’ll be there,” she groaned. ‘I’ll be there, I’ll be there… I don’t want to be there.’

Óme. Her mother, Queen Viviris. A stressed, exhausted lady, struggling to balance between meetings, paperwork, and ceremony. Year by year, part of those responsibilities are passed onto May.

“I’m just not ready,” May told the servant, clicking her tongue, making a beeline for the dressing room. ‘I’m not ready to be a queen.’

The chill of the air matched the growing chill inside her, and the echo of her heels felt accusatory, as if saying, ‘these are not your shoes.’

She snagged an ornate keychain and slipped it into her coat pocket, a gift from a friend, a genuine friend that wasn’t just for show and publicity. Ironically, it felt safer, warmer, having the cold steel press against her fingers. It’s her only defiance against the crushing burden of the crown.

The royal band grew louder as May clicked her heels against the marble floor. Her breath fogged as the evening chill shot up her spine. Or was it the chill of fear?

Her sister Rei paced next to her, adjusting a bowtie. “I bet the moment we sit our butts on those thrones, it’s gonna be a bunch of mga lolos d’maledsíc trying to butter up to Óme.” Sleazy old men.

May chuckled, covering her mouth and trying to keep silent. The white-clad guards posted by the door shot quizzical glances at her, as if doubting her readiness.

Rei glanced at them, sticking her tongue out, grinning. – “Blehh.”

“Dears.” their mother snapped her fingers, her back turned on them. A faint smile grew on her face, wrinkled from decades of frowning and raising her eyebrows. “When we step inside, you must show your best, ha?”

The duo snapped straight, nodding. “Yes, Óme.”

The guards pushed open the grand doors, the weight of the wood rumbling along the shine of the marble floor. May followed her mother into the throne room.

“You’ll survive,” Rei whispered.

The rustle and shuffle of footsteps echoed. Thousands of gazes pierced her, looking at her like she was a goddess, even though she wished nothing more than to piss herself at the moment. She lifted her stiff skirt, bowing down in a curtsy, her hands a deathly white as she gripped too hard on the thick cashmere fabric.

It’s too heavy. The crown, the dress, the shoes.

Princess May of Cottonthorne felt the glint of the gold room’s engravings pierce her eyes. The red carpet was lined with arrays of candles. Chandeliers bloomed too harshly on her, the heat flushing into her cheeks. The legendary figures in the wall paintings stared at her, beckoning for her to shape up.

Her legs wobbled as did the crown on her head. She prayed neither would fall.

“Welcome, Princess May,” her advisor whispered. “Remember to act regal, speak slowly, and keep smiling,” she reminded.

Princess May sat and stared at her for a moment, her mouth gaping, a bottomless pit growing in her belly, like the throne was about to swallow her up whole. “Thank you. Yes, I- who? Er…”

Her fingers traced the wood of the throne, the ornate details digging into her skin, as if it was biting her. She felt like she was sitting in a bear trap, the cushioning awkwardly angled, her rear starting to feel numb.

There was a gathering of soldiers down below, and an old royal herald faced them, giving out the usual royal speech. Rei shot her a smirking glance from across the podium, tilting her head, as if to say, ‘what did I say?’

The standing hairs on Princess May relaxed, a heavy breath escaping. A smile threatened to tug at the corners of her lips. ‘Rei was right. They really are a bunch of sleazy old men.’

Her advisor leaned in, handing her an envelope. “Princess, your mother wishes for you to observe how she awards the men. Later, you must pick a few soldiers, and award them yourself.”

Princess May nodded. “No problem. Thank you, Advisor Zye.”

Queen Viviris inched down the steps towards the soldier, award in hand, the people clapping. ‘That thing is made of bronze and cotton. Isn’t it better if we just gave him a bonus and sent him home?’

“Sergeant Bronn Darrow, commended for rescuing a pig from the palace gardens during last month’s storm,” the Queen announced. May’s brow furrowed. That’s worth a medal?

An hour passed, a parade of polished soldiers and speeches. Princess May sipped on her water as she flipped through the files for the hundredth time.

Some levies and men-at-arms caught her half-interest, having done some heroics like saving a kitten from a tree or stopping a house fire.

Her eyes flicked up to her mother. She still stood down there, presenting award after award with a beaming smile. Nobody could tell whether she was faking it – and May’s chest flickered with admiration and envy. Why isn’t she scared? How does she do this, for hours and hours? Why doesn’t she feel like she wants the floor beneath her to swallow her whole right now?

There stood the old sergeant. His chest swelled with pride, a wide grin stuck on his face as he kept glancing back at the crowd.

A woman and two little girls waved back furiously, their joy so damn bright that May couldn’t resist her smile.

. . . Because the smiles on their faces are worth it.

The pages of the remaining files fluttered in Princess May’s fingers. Her eyes darted lazily, still unsure of her choice. Perhaps she’ll just do one, and no more than that. Perhaps she’ll just do nothing – ‘no, Rei did some earlier, so I need to match.’

May flipped past another colonel commended for “streamlining requisitions” and suppressed a groan. Is that all these men do? She was just about to slam the folder shut.

A pause. One file stood out.

Fifty men against two hundred. A boy one year younger than her, leading men twice his age. Straight into a burning Norran Village, straight into the fire of battle, holding the line.

“Yjennka,” she muttered.

Advisor Zye tilted her head, staring down at the service file.

“Oh? Caught your eye, did he?” Zye’s voice was light, her tone sharp as she leaned close to May. “Supposedly, he is to go last. He has quite the feat.”

May fell silent. She read his service record again and again, the paper crinkling under her fingers. She never felt so small reading about someone younger than her. ‘It was his first time leading. And I can’t even sit in this room without shaking.’

“Him,” she declared. “I’m awarding him.”

Princess May stepped down the red carpet, a small wooden box in her palms. The weight of the people watching seemed to shove her forward – her mother, her sister, the endless crowd of citizens.

“Second Lieutenant Yjennka Divina,” she called. He saluted, his boot striking the floor like thunder, and she flinched. ‘Goodness, he’s tall. As tall as his actions.’

She opened the little box, the heavy medal fumbling in her hands, and her mouth seemed stuffed with cotton. “For your bravery, I, Princess May of Cottonthorne, present… uh…”

She looked him in the eye. Wrong move.

He stared her down, his gaze unnerving, like a sculpture carved to weather storms. ‘God, he must think I’m a useless spoiled brat.’

“Blessing of the Silver Blade Award. Unto you, Yjennka Divina…”

The medal didn’t hook at his nape at first. It refused, fighting against her, and suddenly she realized how awkwardly close they were. Her arms wrapped around his neck, trying not to touch him. He was close enough for her to get a whiff of his scent – a coat of ash, probably from the fires of battle he endured.

‘I am the authority. I am the authority. I cannot fail. Óme is watching. Everyone is.’

She pinned the sash to his chest, the needle stabbing him. A sense of heat rose up her neck, her head steaming with embarrassment like a kettle.

“Oh, god… Sorry…” she whispered, watching a dark stain form around the sash. He barely flinched, as if he couldn’t feel pain.

Her eyes darted away, staring at his boots, the red carpet, anything but him.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the young soldier called out, a smile forming on his face. May nodded, her brows furrowing as she tried to play it cool.

There was a pause.

Then Yjennka began, “you know…”

“…I didn’t feel like a leader out there. I felt scared. I don’t know how I did it.”

Princess May suddenly looked him in the eye. What?

He wasn’t smiling at first, yet as her fear cleared, she noticed the gentlest smile on his face. “But you know. You get through things. You just do.”

His words weren’t part of the script. They weren’t polished, rehearsed, even formal. But they stuck. Like the pin stabbed to his bleeding chest.

She nodded sharply, her hand beckoning for him to just go. “Your promotion to Field Lieutenant is effective immediately. Dismissed.”

She watched as his imposing figure faded, flinching as he clutched his bleeding chest. And then, he became yet another Red Regiment soldier in the crowd. But he was right. You just get through things.

‘Huh. I don’t know how I did it either, but…’

Her head turned towards her mother, across the hall. She held an approving smile on her face. Rei was there, casting a smirk and clapping with exaggerated enthusiasm. As if to say, ‘I told you you’d survive.’ As if to say, ‘for your bravery, we’re proud of you.’

May’s chest rose and fell, hands clenched together, squeezing her fingertips. Her heart still paced, failing to manage the adrenaline, but her breath slowed down.

‘I did it.’