What Makes a Princess Happy?

Banners and Farewells
Morning sunlight bathed the capital of Edralis, Vermiore, in warm golden hues, casting long shadows across its cobbled streets and marble pillars. The city stirred with life—vendors shouting their daily wares, children darting through alleyways with half-eaten fruit, noblewomen sweeping out of perfumed carriages, their heels clicking against the stone. The scent of freshly baked bread and sweet roasted almonds lingered in the air, mingling with the more permanent notes of parchment, candle wax, and horses.

Then came the sound—distant at first, like the steady heartbeat of a beast drawing near. The clattering of hooves and the grinding of wheels.

Vermiore stilled. Conversations halted and heads turned. Even the wind seemed to pause as eleven carriages, each one grander than the last, rolled into view.

Each carriage was pulled by pristine white horses, their manes braided with threads of gold and their hooves polished as if for a coronation. Guards rode alongside them, clad in fine armor trimmed in blue and gold, the royal colors of Astraellos. On top every carriage fluttered flags bearing the sigil of Astraellos: a phoenix encircled by stars, crowned with a halo of flame.

The townsfolk started to gossip among themselves.

"Gods," a baker whispered to his apprentice, wiping his flour-caked hands on his apron. "That’s no ordinary delegation. Look at those banners."

"Royalty?" asked a passing nobleman, craning his neck.

"Must be," another chimed in. "Blue and gold. It’s Astraellos. I’d wager it’s the princess."

From a terrace above the main square, a noblewoman fanned herself, muttering to her handmaiden. “They spared no expense. I suppose the rumors were true. She’s to be betrothed to Prince Alexander, isn’t she?”

People stepped aside as the carriages rolled through, their wheels gilded and their windows veiled in thin silk. Children waved. Flower-sellers tossed petals into the street. An old man doffed his cap with a low, respectful bow.

The carriages glided through the capital like swans upon a lake, wheels whispering over the cobbles as they made their way toward the heart of Vermiore, the Royal Palace. The guards at the palace gates stood to attention, their spears lifted high in salute. Trumpets blared as a signal for the gates to be opened. The grand iron gates slowly opened allowing the convoy to enter.

Once inside, the carriages aligned in a perfect formation. Royal guards dismounted, moving in swift unison to form a perimeter. Maids emerged from the rear carriages, stepping down with practiced grace, followed by stewards and attendants who hurried to unload trunks adorned with gold trim and delicate carvings.

All eyes turned to the central carriage.

A footman, older and dignified, stepped forward and opened the door.

Crystal heels emerged first, followed by the elegant form of Princess Rhiannon of Astraellos.

She stepped out like a painting brought to life—tall and graceful, her long strawberry-blonde hair cascading in soft curls down her back. Her gown shimmered in the morning light, a delicate blend of pastel blue, soft pink, and gleaming gold. A golden crown  rested on top her head, encrusted with sapphires that matched her wide, brilliant blue eyes.

She paused at the foot of the carriage, gazing around at the grandeur of the Edralian palace. Her expression was one of mild curiosity tinged with fatigue. The journey had clearly been long.

Then came a voice, cool and melodic.

"Welcome to Edralis, Your Highness."

Rhiannon turned.

Queen Lysandra stood at the foot of the palace steps, draped in a gown of black and emerald green. Her dark hair was pinned back in an elegant knot, and a subtle smile curved her lips. Behind her stood Prince Alexander—stoic, silent and unreadable—and a row of perfectly arranged maids.

Rhiannon descended the last step of her carriage and took a few strides forward, her guards immediately flanking her.

"Hold," she said gently to them. "It’s alright."

They halted as she continued, approaching Lysandra and offering a graceful bow.

"Your Majesty."

“Oh, come now,” Lysandra replied. "There's no need for that." She said, stepping forward and pulling the younger woman into a light embrace. It was unexpected—Rhiannon stiffened slightly, startled because the hug took her by surprise.

Astraellian court customs were far more formal. Touching royalty, even family, was rare and always ceremonial. But she allowed it, her hands hovering awkwardly behind Lysandra’s back until they parted

Rhiannon then turned to the figure behind her host.

"And you must be Alexander."

The prince’s eyes flicked over her in silence. There was no greeting, no bow, no warmth—only a calm, assessing glance then he looked away.

The air grew awkward with tension.

Rhiannon blinked. “…Charming,” she said dryly.

Lysandra chuckled awkwardly. “Alex has been very busy with you know… being the prince of Edralis.” She gestured delicately. “The past few months have been… trying. Especially with the witch purge going on.”

“I’m aware,” Rhiannon said, her expression unreadable. “I hope I haven’t arrived at a difficult time.”

“Of course not,” Lysandra replied quickly, slipping back into a smooth tone. “We’re honored by your presence. I’m sure the journey from Astraellos was long. Come inside, we’ve prepared your chambers. You must rest.”

She waved over one of the royal maids.

“See to it she has everything she needs. Fresh linens, a full bath, the best of the kitchens.”

The maid bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As Rhiannon followed the maids, Lysandra’s smile faded. She turned to Alexander, her eyes sharpening like daggers.

She took one step closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "You better behave yourself, Alexander. You do NOT want to test me today."

Alexander’s expression didn’t change. But the muscle in his jaw twitched.

And just like that, Lysandra turned with a smile again, following Rhiannon into the palace with her arms opening as she began pleasant conversation. “I do hope we’ve captured your favorite colors in the room’s design. We took inspiration from the gardens of Astraellos. I hear they’re famed for their climbing roses…”

—

Far away, in the quiet sanctuary of Bellaflor, the mood was anything but regal.

Aurora tightened the leather strap on her satchel, adjusting it over her shoulder. The modest cottage was bustling. Idris rolled up maps, Maelis double-checked vials of herbs and illusion scrolls, Morgan fed one of the horses, and Selene secured her bow to the saddle.

Elara stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her brows drawn in worry.

"Are you sure about this, Aurora?" Elara asked.

Aurora nodded, her voice calm but firm. “Yes. It has to be now. If we wait any longer, we could be putting Darius in even more danger. We need to reach Edralis and get him back in time.”

Maelis stepped up beside her, a massive scarf in her hands. "Here. You’ll need this. It’ll hide your collar and once we’re near the border, I’ll use my magic to mask your face. It won’t last forever, but long enough to pass as a commoner."

Aurora smiled faintly. "Thank you, Maelis."

The sorceress snorted. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m charging you later.”

Elara approached them, her expression softening. She kissed Aurora gently on the forehead, then moved to each of the others, whispering a quiet blessing to each.

"May the stars guide you. May your shadows fall behind you. And may your hearts stay unbroken."

The witches of Bellaflor had gathered to see them off, lining the pathway to the edge of Bellaflor’s woods. Some wept. Others stood proudly. All held silent hope in their eyes.

Aurora turned to them one last time.

"We’ll return," she said, her voice steady. "And when we do, it’ll be with Darius."

With that, they mounted their horses, and one by one, they rode away. And just like that, another dangerous journey into Edralis began.