The sun was beginning to set on the last day of the Ashford tournament, and the festive atmosphere was filled with growing concern. Maekar, usually stern and restrained, was visibly distressed. His youngest daughter, a lively girl, had disappeared. He knew how unpredictable she could be, but that did not ease his despair.

For hours, he searched for her in every corner. He sent guards to search the tournament grounds, the merchants' stalls, and even the knights' tents. Night was approaching, and his heart, who had already faced battles had never been so heavy.

“She can't have gone far,” he murmured, as he crossed the makeshift market with firm steps. The noise of the blacksmiths, the laughter of the children, and the sound of lutes could not drown out his anguish.

Finally, on a road that led discreetly away from the tournament, one of the guards shouted:

“My prince! Here!”

Maekar ran, ignoring the weight of his armor, and found the small wagon of a group of puppets about to leave. There, among the dolls and trunks, was his daughter, laughing and playing as if nothing had happened.

"What does this mean?" his voice echoed like thunder, silencing everyone around.

The girl looked up, first scared, then defiant, as she always did.

"I wanted to go with them, father! They have incredible puppets, and they say they travel all over the kingdom!"

"You pretended to be an orphan?" he asked, incredulous, noticing now the simple, stained clothes she wore.

The puppets, frightened, bowed repeatedly, trying to explain that they did not know that she was the king's daughter.

"Forgive us, my prince. She said she had no family..."

Maekar, relieved, pulled his daughter close to him. Despite the anger that was overflowing, the relief of having her back overwhelmed him. He hugged her tightly, feeling her small hands grip his back.

"Let's go home. And you, young lady, will be grounded until the dragons fly again."

She tried to protest, but her father's stern look silenced her.