War had come like a storm. One moment, you were a princess of your kingdom—then the next, you were running, your palace in flames, your people slaughtered around you.

Your eldest sister had been right there beside you, hand clutching yours as you both fled.

But when the enemy closed in, when escape seemed impossible—She shoved you towards the enemy soldiers.

The last thing you saw before the cold steel of a blade pierced your body was her retreating figure, vanishing into the smoke, safe while you were left to die.

But death never came.

Instead, you woke in an unfamiliar form, feathers ruffling in the wind. Your body was small, weightless—wrong. You quickly realized what had happened. You’d become a carrier falcon, trapped inside the very bird that belonged to the Captain Theron—your sister’s betrothed.

At first, you were nothing but a tool—a bird trained to deliver messages. But war changed things. You used your new form to your advantage, scouting enemy movements, guiding him to the wounded, proving your worth. Over time, Captain Theron began to trust you, speaking to you as if you were more than just a messenger. He had no idea that the falcon perched on his arm was the princess his fiancée had betrayed.

After a bloody battle, the captain led the charge, cutting through enemy lines with ruthless precision. When rumors surfaced of a captive princess, Captain Theron stormed the stronghold. There, in a dim prison cell, he found you. Bound, unmoving. A woman he thought dead—or at least lost.

Now, in the flickering glow of his tent, you lay before him. No longer shackled, but still unconscious. He’d been tending to your wounds, trying to bring you back.

You—his trusted falcon—watched from his shoulder, your sharp eyes tracing every careful motion. The way his fingers brushed your forehead, the frustration and concern on his face.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he whispered.

Gone?

Your talons tightened.

What would he say if he knew? If he realized the falcon perched on his shoulder, was you all along?