chapter 3:

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Astria halted her horse and dismounted gracefully, making her way toward her uncle, who stood beside a man in formal royal attire.

The royal guard was tall and imposing, holding a sealed scroll adorned with the royal family's crest. The two men exchanged brief glances before her uncle spoke, his eyes carrying a trace of sorrow.

"Astria… I'm glad you're back."

She furrowed her brows in confusion, looking between them.

"What's going on? Has something happened in the kingdom?"

The royal guard stepped forward, extending the official decree with a firm, emotionless voice.

"A royal summons. You are to present yourself at the palace."

Her eyes widened in shock. She turned to her uncle, silently seeking an explanation.

"Why? What have I done?! I didn't—"

But Irys gently interrupted her, taking the decree from the guard and dismissing him with a nod. Then, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, he guided her toward the house.

"Come, little one… I'll explain everything."

Once inside, Astria pulled out a chair and slumped into it, tense.

"What is happening?!"

Irys sighed, as if carefully choosing his words.

"Do you remember our conversation this morning?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"About the cowardly prince?"

He nodded before continuing.

"A new king was appointed yesterday."

Her confusion deepened, but she still couldn't grasp the connection.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"The new king is none other than the commander of the army—the man who dedicated his life to protecting the king and the kingdom."

She shot up from her seat, eyes wide with shock.

"My father?!"

Irys nodded solemnly.

"Yes, your father is the current king. He wants you to move to the palace and live with him. Now that your mother has passed, there is no reason for you to remain here."

She stood frozen, staring at the floor as thoughts swirled in her mind. How could she simply leave this place? How could she abandon Irys—the man who had been her father, her brother, and her pillar of strength all these years?

When she first arrived here, she had been nothing more than a lost little girl, caught in the rift between her separated parents. Irys had been her only refuge, her only source of warmth in the cold abyss of sorrow.

"No, I won't leave you!"

But Irys placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, I will go with you… A new commander has been appointed to replace your father, so I am free to accompany you."

In an instant, her shock turned into uncontainable joy. She leaped forward, wrapping her arms around her uncle, hugging him with childlike enthusiasm.

"Then hurry! Pack everything! I can't believe it! I'm finally going to live with my father!"

At the Eilthera Palace…

The palace halls were abuzz with anticipation, as everyone gathered to await the arrival of the king's daughter.

Elegant noblewomen whispered among themselves, each trying to imagine what the girl would be like.

"She must be breathtakingly beautiful, with grace and elegance befitting a princess."

"Of course, she is the king's daughter!"

"I'm not comfortable with this… Another competitor for us?"

Speculations swirled about her appearance and demeanor. The entire court expected to meet a refined, delicate young lady—one who radiated poise and royal sophistication.

Finally, a grand royal carriage appeared, drawn by four pristine white horses, carrying the long-awaited heir of the king.

But… would Astria meet their expectations?

No. Absolutely not.

She was not the delicate, fragile princess they had envisioned.

The moment she stepped out of the carriage, her presence crashed into them like a thunderclap—not with aristocratic beauty, but with sheer defiance.

The murmurs died abruptly, replaced by a heavy silence. Eyes widened in discreet horror, while expressions of disapproval crept onto the noblewomen's faces.

What nonsense are we witnessing?

The thought echoed in their glances as they scrutinized Astria from head to toe.

But she did not care.

Astria strode forward with unwavering confidence, her movements sharp and poised, her presence exuding the strength of someone accustomed to battle rather than ballroom dances.

She was nothing like they had imagined.

No flowing silk gown adorned with jewels. No delicate, graceful steps. Instead, she was a walking rebellion against every royal expectation:

A pair of black leather pants, tightly fitted around her legs, emphasizing her agility and strength.

A dark leather jacket, strapped with belts and buckles, its ends draping over her waist in a silent act of defiance against etiquette.

A sword sheath secured across her back, a testament to her time in the floating lands of battle.

A heavy cloak, just as dark as the rest of her attire, wrapping around her shoulders like a shadow from her war-strewn past.

She paid no heed to the scornful stares. No heed to the hushed, indignant whispers.

Her strides were purposeful as she made her way toward her father—her only focus.

And when she finally reached him, she ignored every courtly protocol, every formal greeting. Instead, she lunged into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as though trying to reclaim every lost year in one single moment.

The king returned the embrace just as fiercely, holding her close as if the rest of the world had faded into nothingness.

As the palace walls bore witness to a scene that defied every expectation, Astria had finally found her place—though entirely on her own terms.