Dawn rode her way through the streets of the capital, the head of a bandit leader in a sack tied to the saddle. She was not a fan of dresses, and instead wore her usual black-plate mail, though the helmet was removed. It was still caked in blood and dirt, though she wore it with pride, even if she was not as clean as a princess is expected to be. Was it not the duty of a warrior to stain her hands with the blood of her peoples enemies? There was no reason to scrub away her glory, not while she could still bask in her well-deserved praise.