Fourteen years later…
The early morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and steel as wooden swords clashed in the palace courtyard. The rhythmic thud, thud, thud of training drills echoed under the watchful eyes of royal instructors.
A fourteen-year-old boy—at least, that was what the world believed—stood in the center, his small but sturdy frame dripping with sweat. His dark hair, tied at the nape of his neck, clung to his forehead as he swung his practice sword again and again, refusing to let exhaustion claim him.
Danielle—no, Daniel—had spent the last decade proving she was just as capable as any prince. Perhaps even more.
"Again," Sir Cedric barked, his deep voice sharp and commanding.
She gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance. The muscles in her arms burned, he
