Chapter 10: Midland

The sun was high when Princess Liria and her group finally arrived at Midland. The road had been long and arduous, filled with tension and uncertainty, but they had made it through. The land stretched out before them, vast and seemingly endless. Midland was a country of great size and diversity, its people as varied as its terrain. From the cold northern peaks to the fertile southern plains, Midland had been a place of prosperity and power.

Liria, her brother Prince Belin, and their small entourage had taken the southern route, moving cautiously through the land. They were no longer royalty in the eyes of the world, but just another group of refugees hoping to escape the dangers that lurked behind them. They had travelled in silence for most of the journey, each of them wrestling with their own thoughts and worries.

When they arrived at Saladan, the southernmost district of Midland, it was with mixed feelings of relief and unease. Saladan was a place of stark contrasts—a city where wealth and poverty existed side by side. The streets were dirty, the air thick with the smells of food vendors, horses, and sweat. The people were hardened, their faces weary from years of hardship. Saladan was not the type of place one would think of as a haven, but it was exactly what the group needed. It was a city of secrets, where the poor and desperate would do anything for a few extra coins. In the murky waters of Saladan, they could disappear.

"We'll stay here for now," one of the guards, Banrik, said, his voice low. "It's a place where people forget, where even the most desperate can fade into the background."

Princess Liria glanced around the bustling streets, taking in the dirty walls of the buildings, the worn faces of the people. There was no sense of peace here, only the endless hum of survival. It was a far cry from the safety of the castle she once knew.

"Saladan... is it safe?" she asked, her voice cautious.

"The assassins won't come looking for you here," Banrik replied, though there was a hardness to his words. "No one here cares for royalty or for noble blood. They only care for gold."

The group moved quickly through the narrow, crowded alleyways of Saladan until they found the small, inconspicuous homestead that would serve as their refuge for the time being. It was a modest structure—nothing extravagant, just a small wooden building tucked away behind a larger market stall. The walls were cracked and stained, and the door creaked as it opened. But it was secure enough for now, and in a place like Saladan, security was a luxury.

Inside, the air was musty, and the light from the few small windows barely illuminated the cramped space. There were only a few rooms: a small kitchen, a single bedroom, and a small sitting area. Liria's heart ached as she took in the humble surroundings. This was their new reality—no longer a princess in a grand palace, but a fugitive in a forsaken town.

She dropped her bag by the door and sank down onto the worn, but clean, rug in the sitting room. Her clothes, once rich with the colors of royalty, were now dirtied and torn from the journey. She felt the weight of her situation settling around her like the dust in the air. They had escaped the castle, but at what cost? She did not even know how was her mother doing. Her father—King Mathias—was still in danger. And Liria couldn't stop thinking about her step brother and sister, Heissa and Elnar, and what their fate would be.

"We need new clothes," she said quietly, her voice tinged with frustration. "These are ruined, and we can't go around looking like this."

Prince Belin, who had been silently observing the surroundings, nodded. "We'll need to find a tailor. We can't continue looking like we've just run away."

The guards nodded in agreement, though they were careful not to voice their thoughts aloud. They had been in situations like this before—being forced to blend in, to hide in plain sight.

Liria turned to her brother. "Belin, I need you to teach me something. I need to learn how to defend myself."

Belin's brow furrowed in concern. "Liria, you don't have to—"

"I do," she interrupted. "We don't know what's ahead, and I can't just stand by while others fight for me. I need to be able to protect myself—and my family."

Belin looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Finally, he sighed. "Alright. I'll teach you. But you must understand, it will take time. It's not something you can learn overnight."

Liria nodded, determination in her eyes. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

And so, every morning, just as the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Liria would rise and meet her brother in the small courtyard behind their rented house. She had little experience with weapons, having been trained as a noblewoman in the arts of diplomacy and etiquette, but she had never been prepared for the world she now found herself in.

At first, the sword felt heavy in her hands. Her movements were slow, awkward, and she struggled to hold her balance as Belin showed her the basics. "The key is control," he told her repeatedly. "You can't fight with raw strength alone. You need to be able to anticipate your opponent's movements and act swiftly."

It was frustrating. Liria's arms ached with every swing, and she felt clumsy with each misstep. But she didn't give up. She couldn't. This was no longer a world where she could rely on others to protect her.

Meanwhile, Tia, the young woman who had been entrusted with their safety, would prepare breakfast. Tia was a quiet soul, practical and sharp-minded, but her heart always seemed heavy with worry. She had taken on the role of caregiver in the absence of their mother, ensuring that Liria and Belin ate well enough to keep their strength. She had even managed to find a small stash of dried fish from the local market, which Liria found surprisingly comforting after so many days of uncertainty.

As the days went on, Liria's practice with the sword began to show progress. Her movements grew more fluid, though still far from perfect. Belin would often praise her, though his compliments were measured. "You're improving. But you still need more control. You're using too much energy on each swing."

She nodded, even though she knew she had a long way to go. But the practice wasn't just about learning to fight; it was about finding strength within herself. Every swing of the sword, every stance, was a reminder that she wasn't just a princess anymore. She was someone who had to fight for her survival.

Midland, with its vast landscapes and sprawling cities, was a world of contrasts. The north was rich in resources, with fertile fields and vast forests, while the south, where they now found themselves, was a land of stark inequality. Saladan was a place of betrayal, where loyalty was a rare commodity and people would sell their own relatives for the right price. Here, in the shadows of its narrow streets, it was easy to lose yourself—and that was exactly why the group had chosen it.

The assassins, though dangerous, would never think to look for them in Saladan. The city was a haven for criminals, outcasts, and those who had nowhere else to go. It was the perfect place to lie low, at least for a while. And yet, even as Liria and Belin tried to find some sense of normalcy, the weight of their situation hung over them like a storm cloud.

As the days turned into weeks, Saladan became both a prison and a sanctuary for the royal siblings. They had no choice but to wait, to build their strength, to learn how to survive in this new world. But each day that passed brought more uncertainty, and the thought of their family—of Queen Namia, of King Mathias—lingered in Liria's heart, a constant ache that would not fade.

And so, with each passing day, Liria continued to train, continued to fight, continued to survive. Because in a world like this, survival was the only thing that mattered.