The road to the harbor pulsed with life.What had begun as a dusty path had grown into the city’s beating artery. The marketplace roared with the cries of merchants, customers, and all kinds of animals. Hooves clattered, cart wheels screeched, and the air was thick with the sharp scent of fish, sweat, and spices. The heat clung to the skin, and above them, the sun blazed like a molten coin.
Princess Belara walked with confidence, head held high. Her deep blue dress flowed around her like the night sky, soft and graceful. Beside her strode Jhalen, silent as always, his eyes scanning the crowd even as his body remained still as stone.
Behind them came the three princes—each with his own step, his own rhythm.
Prince Malgorn, tall and broad-shouldered, stomped forward like the crowd itself offended him. He seized the arm of a porter who crossed his path.“Out of my way, scum, before I knock you down!” he growled.The porter paled and vanished into the shade beneath a canopy.
Qelmar, ten years younger, wore a smile like it was all just a game. His gaze flitted over the crowd, but his eye lingered on Belara. He drifted closer, until she could feel his scent—his perfume, alluring rather than irritating. He smiled faintly, but his eyes were sharp, as if he’d just unraveled her thoughts.
“All this noise,” he said slowly, almost lazily, “and yet my ears only wish to hear you.”His voice was velvet, but a note of hunger hummed beneath the softness.
He leaned closer still—too close—and she could’ve kissed him then, if she let herself. Gods, she wanted to. Just once. And she would, once they were alone. But not now. Not with the others nearby. Malgorn would rant about fairness and rules, and Kelen—well, Kelen acted like none of this even mattered.
Oh Qelmar,Belara thought.If only you knew what a mess you’ve made of me.She had planned to draw lots for the first challenge, but now… now she needed space. And time.You’ll go first.
She pulled herself back, forcing herself to ignore the heat of him, the scent.“Prince,” she said coolly, “give me a little space. That perfume of yours—it doesn’t sit well with me.”It was a lie. She loved it.
Qelmar just gave her that calm, maddeningly effortless smile and stepped back. But she was sure he knew exactly how close he was to winning.
Kelen brought up the rear. Seventeen and quiet, he seemed more interested in the marketplace than the princess herself. He didn’t fit in—not with Qelmar’s teasing or Malgorn’s rage.
Then, a shout broke through the noise.
“Thief!”
From the shadows under a striped awning, a child darted out.Tangled hair, muddy cheeks, skinny arms. A little girl, barefoot and barely clothed in a torn, grimy dress. She clutched an orange to her chest as she ran—straight across the royal group’s path—before a hand caught her by the wrist.
“You little rat,” hissed the vendor—a round, greasy man who looked as if he’d grown straight out of his fruit stall. “Stealing from me?!”
The girl squirmed, but the man’s grip was iron.“I was hungry,” she whispered. “I haven’t eaten in days. I just wanted something to eat.”Tears shimmered in her eyes.
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Malgorn reacted instantly.“Hold her tighter and give her a proper beating! That’s the only way they learn.”He stepped forward, eyes hard.“Today it’s an orange, tomorrow a melon—and by the end of the week, she’ll be stealing livestock.”
The vendor hesitated, thrown off by the attention—but still he held on to the girl’s wrist.
“Or should I do it myself?” Malgorn growled, raising his hand, rigid and brutal like a soldier on the battlefield, where mercy is weakness and punishment law.
“Easy, Malgorn,” Qelmar said, stepping forward with a smoother tone. “You’re not heartless, are you? If justice is needed, I’ll provide it.”He reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of coins, dropping them into the vendor’s open palm, loud enough for all to hear.“Is that what you want for the orange?”
The vendor blinked. “That’s more than enough—”
“Keep it. For the trouble of catching such a fearsome little thief,” Qelmar said, brushing the girl’s hair gently.
Belara said nothing. She stood still, arms at her sides, eyes narrowed.Jhalen was one step behind, arms crossed.
Kelen stood further off, unmoving. But his face shifted. His eyes hardened. His hands clasped behind his back, fingers twitching. Slowly, he lifted one hand to his forehead—maybe to brush back hair, maybe to wipe away sweat.
When the vendor finally let go, the girl bolted, still clutching the orange.Kelen watched her go, gaze unbroken.He didn’t move.
It was Belara who broke the silence.“The Queen of Swiftness won’t wait for us,” she said suddenly, as if nothing had happened.She turned, her dress rippling around her ankles like water.“Unless, of course, you don’t care to see a ship that’s survived not one, but two enemy assaults.”
Malgorn muttered something about wasting time, but followed. Qelmar’s face, for once, gave away nothing.Kelen waited a moment longer before trailing after the others, falling to the back once again.
Before the incident, the princes had walked just behind Belara. Now she led, Jhalen at her side. Malgorn followed a few paces behind, then Qelmar, and finally Kelen, with more space between them than ever.
After a while, Jhalen glanced back. Once he was sure they were out of earshot, he asked in a quiet voice,“Pleased?”
“No,” Belara said. “But I’m not surprised.”
They walked in silence for a few steps. She adjusted her dress, as if it weighed more now—not just fabric, but doubt.
“That Kelen…” she murmured, more to herself. “I still can’t get a read on him. Polite, well-mannered… he’s even quite handsome, in a way. Next to Qelmar, he looks like a boy—but he’s not hopeless.”
Jhalen listened, expression unreadable—as always.
“Malgorn’s a brute and a fool,” Belara continued. Her voice held no trace of sympathy. “I’ll never choose him. I knew that already—though I’ll admit, he seemed a little more promising when he arrived… My only fear is that rejection will piss him off enough to push Zerboras into war. As if Dusughbarah didn’t have enough enemies already.”
“And Qelmar?” Jhalen asked casually.He wasn’t blind. He’d seen how Belara wavered under Qelmar’s charm.
Her thoughts scattered.She remembered the courtyard yesterday—those perfect clothes, that powerful speech. The way his words wrapped around her.Then the meeting earlier that day, where his smooth compliments clung like ivy.And just now—too close, too confident—and how her defenses crumbled like sand walls against the tide.
What Qelmar had stirred in her was no longer under control.She wanted to kiss him.To feel what it was like in his arms.
And yet…
She realized Jhalen was still waiting.So she said the only thing she could think of.“He gave that girl money because he knew I was watching.” Her voice dropped. “He didn’t really care. I’ve made up my mind. No drawing lots. Qelmar goes first.”
Her voice left no room for argument.
Jhalen nodded but didn’t speak. He understood far more than she gave him credit for. Even though he was younger than Malgorn, King Velen III had chosen him as his advisor.Jhalen had a calm that demanded respect—even from those who had served twice as long.It wasn’t just skill that had brought him into the royal family’s heart—it was who he was.
After a few more minutes of walking, they rounded a corner—and the harbor came into view.The sun lit up the sails of the ships, and among them gleamed the legendary vessel:The Queen of Agility.
Belara glanced back.Qelmar was a few steps behind, staring off at something she couldn’t see.Maybe he hadn’t even noticed her look.
Let him go first,she told herself again.I want to understand the youngest prince from Terres. I’ll give him the second secret trial.
The idea had come to her from an old memory—a conversation with her mother.
“If you truly want to know someone, ask them what haunts them in their dreams. That’s when they’re naked before you. Their heart in your hands—all you need is the courage to read it.”
