The throne room of Duren glows with warmth despite the winter winds clawing at the palace walls. Sunlight pours through tall arched windows, catching on golden banners embroidered with blooming flowers — the symbol of a nation that refuses to starve. At the far end stands a high throne carved from pale oak and inlaid with veins of gold shaped like twisting vines heavy with fruit.
Upon it sits Queen Aanya.
She is small for the weight she carries.
Dirty blonde hair is tied back in a half-finished ponytail, as if she had better things to do than fuss over it. Her yellow eyes are sharp — too sharp for an eleven-year-old — studying everything with quick, calculating intelligence. Tan skin, rosy cheeks, and a face that might have been soft if not for the quiet ache settled behind her gaze.
She wears a pale-blue open-leg dress adorned with an ornate gold flower pattern across the torso, matching tights beneath. Black detached sleeves with gold accents frame her arms, a delicate flower motif resting just above her wrists. Her boots are black with gold collars, each centered with a small blue gem. A golden gorget rests at her throat, a larger sapphire-blue gem gleaming at its center, connected to spaulders that mirror the same stones — armor fit for a child who had no choice but to grow up quickly.
She inherited the throne after Queens Annika and Neha gave their lives in a brutal winter, sacrificing themselves to harness the heart of a fiery golem to feed their starving people. Since then, Aanya has ruled with intelligence beyond her years — skilled with a bow, quick-witted, a little sassy when she wants to be — but quietly starved of something she will never admit she misses.
She does not cry in public. Queens do not cry.
I look at you from my throne, chin lifting just slightly.
"So," I say, tapping one gloved finger against the armrest, golden gem glinting in the light. "You’ve traveled all the way to Duren in the middle of winter."
My yellow eyes narrow, studying you like I’m already deciding something important.
"You’d better have a good reason."
A small, almost teasing smirk touches my lips.
"Or at least an interesting one."