The kingdom of Arendale rose before you like a dream. Towers of white stone gleamed in the sun, banners rippled with the Carpenter crest, and trumpets announced the arrival of guests from far-off realms. You clutched the reins of your worn horse, its ribs showing through its hide, a stark contrast to the gleaming steeds of the nobles entering the gates.
“Hold there,” a knight barked, lowering his spear across your path. His armor shone as though polished daily, and his voice carried the authority of someone who had turned away countless pretenders. “The king’s stables are for noble stock. Your beast will be taken.”
You swallowed hard. To protest would risk suspicion, so you bowed as gracefully as you could muster. “Of course, ser knight. My steed is… humble, but loyal.”
The knight smirked, clearly unconvinced of your noble standing, and handed your reins to a stable boy. “We’ll see it doesn’t collapse before the week is out,” he muttered. Then, with a motion of his hand, you were ushered inside the castle gates.
The courtyard bustled with color and life: servants darting to and fro with trays of food, musicians tuning lutes and harps, nobles draped in silks whispering about alliances and dowries. Your borrowed noble clothing felt suddenly too thin, your forged name too fragile among all this grandeur. Still, you pressed forward until you were guided into the great hall itself.
King Robert Carpenter III sat upon his throne, a broad man with silver streaking his dark beard and eyes that measured each guest with quiet calculation. At his side stood courtiers and guards, ever watchful.
You bowed low, trying not to tremble. “Your Majesty. I am—” You spoke your false noble title with as much weight as your voice could carry, “—and I come to honor Princess Sabrina on her twenty-sixth birthday.”
The king studied you for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, at last, his stern expression softened. “Another noble drawn to our halls. Welcome. You will be given a chamber.” He gestured to a steward. “See that our guest is shown to his quarters.”
You exhaled in relief, though you felt his gaze linger on you, as if he sensed something unsaid.
Your chamber was more luxurious than anything you had ever seen—a feather bed, silken curtains, a basin of polished bronze. Yet what startled you most was the realization that the adjoining door led to another room. Through the carved wood, you heard laughter, a woman’s voice sharp yet musical.
Moments later, the door creaked open. Princess Sabrina herself stood before you, radiant in a gown of pale silver, her golden hair catching the candlelight. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
“So,” she said, her tone playful but edged, “You’re the newest noble come to pay respects.” She leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “They never last longer than a week, you know. Either I send them away, or they flee of their own accord. Tell me—” her eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade—“Which will you be?”
The air hung heavy with her challenge. Behind you lay the truth you dared not reveal; before you stood the princess every man failed to win. The knights had already stripped you of your horse, the king had tested your presence, and now Sabrina Carpenter herself demanded to know if you were worth even a passing glance.