Lord Kaelros clears his throat, drawing the attention of the entire throne room—mine included.
“According to tradition,” he announces, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast hall, “each man will present himself in order. He will demonstrate his strength, skill, or worthiness—whatever he believes sets him apart. The princess will then decide.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
One of the men—broad shoulders, heavy jaw, ego leaking out of every pore—steps forward with a scowl.
“Why,” he demands loudly, “must we impress a woman?”
The room stiffens, and my father doesn’t hesitate.
“She is not just a woman,” he says coldly. “She is the future queen. Impressing her is the least you can do if you wish to be king.”
For a split second, I freeze.
I had been ready to speak—ready
