The Fallen Princess

Sixteen

For the first time on this long and exhausting journey, Zaria had been given her own horse. Even if the reins were bound to Prince Callen’s saddle like she was an unruly child likely to bolt, the small taste of independence lifted her spirits.

But any fleeting sense of freedom evaporated the moment the towering castle gates came into view. They were colossal so massive they swallowed the horizon. Sixty feet high at least, hewn from pale stone and crowned with shimmering black iron.

“Welcome to your new home,” Callen said beside her, unable to hide the proud amusement in his voice as her mouth fell open in awe. She tried to compose herself, but the wonder kept pouring in like sunlight.

Beyond that magnificent wall lay an entire world she had never imagined. The capital was a masterpiece of architecture and harmony. Tall insulas, multi-family dwellings crafted from the same pale stone as the castle.

Their balconies overflowed with herbs and flowers, turning the city into a tapestry of living color. Sculpted shrubs framed small courtyards where children played with carefree joy. There was no rot. No stench. No poverty pressed into shadowed corners.

The air smelled clean. Crisp. Cool. Was this the power of “indoor plumbing” which Callen had mocked her kingdom for lacking? Zaria inhaled deeply, stunned by the purity of it.

As the convoy passed through the city entrance, townspeople gathered along the roadside. The moment they recognized their prince, the air erupted into cheers. Children tossed petals, and grown men bowed reverently.

And for the first time, Zaria saw Callen through their eyes. Not as the infuriating brute who dragged her from her home. Not as the impossible man who flicked her forehead and tormented her with smug grins. Not as the unexpected safety she had grown far too accustomed to.

Here, he was something else entirely. Royalty. Revered. Beloved. Pride radiated from him... quiet, natural, effortless. The mantle of nobility fit him the way a sword fit a warrior’s hand.

Zaria felt herself shrinking in comparison. She tore her gaze away, swallowing a strange, painful lump in her throat.

They rode past a breathtaking white stone temple crowned with a golden roof. Sunlight kissed its edges, turning it into a radiant beacon. Priests in pristine robes stepped out onto the stairs and bowed deeply as Callen passed. The scale of the kingdom hit her then. Even if this was only the city… how vast, how powerful, must the castle be?

“What do you think?” Callen asked, glancing back with a knowing smirk. “It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen, Your Highness,” she admitted softly. The moment your highness left her lips, something flickered across his expression. A disappointment he quickly buried.

The convoy continued through the city, passing a lively market filled with vendors selling fresh fruits, honeyed pastries, handcrafted trinkets, leatherworks, and colorful cloth. Flag garlands stretched overhead, fluttering like vibrant ribbons in the winter breeze.

Children ran alongside the horses, calling Callen’s name. He winked at them, and several squealed in delight. Zaria laughed, the sound light and honest. It reminded her painfully of the orphanage. Her chest tightened. I hope they’re safe, she prayed silently.

As they neared the royal grounds, the homes grew larger, grander, until each residence rivaled a small manor. The final stretch was lined with towering hedges trimmed into elegant shapes and finally… the castle itself. Zaria’s breath caught.

It rose from the land like a mountain forged by gods. Perfect symmetry. Pale stone carved with flawless precision. Balconies, arches, and towering spires gleamed beneath the fading sun.

Everything about it felt familiar. A powerful déjà vu rolled through her. Her pulse quickened.

When their horses halted, she could only stare, overwhelmed. A crowd of exquisitely dressed citizens stood outside the main entrance. Their jewels glinted; their garments shimmered like molten silk. They bowed as Callen approached, murmuring his name like a blessing.

Servants rushed forward to take the horses. One of them approached Zaria. A striking dark-skinned man with sharply pointed ears. But unlike her elven features, his were longer, angled, and elegant. His eyes glimmered with a metallic sheen she had never seen.

He wasn’t an elf. Or a human. Or anything she recognized. Zaria blinked, quietly marveling. He helped her down with surprising grace, movements fluid as water. Callen noticed her staring and snapped his fingers sharply. An undignified, impatient gesture only he could get away with.

“Stay with the horse,” he ordered. “Do not move from this spot until I tell you.” Zaria bowed her head respectfully, though internally she rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her own skull.

She watched him approach the older man waiting at the front of the assembly. Clearly the King of the Western Dragons. The man was tall, imposing, wrapped in vibrant silks embroidered with gold. His presence radiated ancient strength.

“Welcome home, my son,” he announced loudly, so everyone could hear. Callen bowed, touching his father’s hand to his own forehead, a gesture of deep reverence, then stepped back.

Next, he embraced a stunning older woman whose beauty defied age. Her hair flowed in glossy midnight waves.

“My son,” she whispered, cupping his face tenderly. “You are finally home.” She kissed both his cheeks. “You’ve lost weight again.” “We shall feed him the finest dishes until he meets your approval, Mother,” another voice chimed in with playful teasing.

Zaria blinked. Another man stood beside the queen. His face nearly identical to Callen’s. Broad shoulders, same bone structure, same golden eyes. The resemblance was uncanny. It must be his brother, she realized.

It was no wonder Callen had never mentioned him. He barely mentioned anything at all. As Callen moved through the crowd greeting nobles, the servants leading the horses began to walk toward the stables. Zaria hesitated, torn.

He had told her: “Stay with the horse.” But also: “Don’t move until I tell you.” Impossible commands. If I follow the horse, I disobey one order. If I stay here, I disobey the other. She had to choose the lesser disaster.

With as much grace as she could muster, Zaria followed the servant leading her horse… praying the stables were close and praying even harder that Callen wouldn’t be furious when he inevitably noticed. Because he would notice. He always did.