The desert wind howled low over the dunes, stirring up thin streams of golden sand that whispered against the worn leather of Veyren’s boots. He sat near the smoldering remains of their campfire. The night was creeping in, the sky turning from fire-kissed amber to the deep indigo of twilight.
Then, he heard them.
The crunch of hooves over dry earth. Jhoskar led them, grinning like a jackal, his grip firm on the reins of his horse. Beside him, half-dragged, half-walking, was a woman.
Veyren’s brows furrowed.
She was stunning, even in her current state. Her long, dark waves spilled over her shoulders, tangled but still gleaming with a rich, silken softness that no desert dust could dim. Golden jewelry adorned her ears and throat, catching the dying light in dazzling reflections. A sapphire-studded diadem rested against her forehead, a delicate chain woven into her hair. Even with her hands bound, she stood proud, her chin lifted, her amber eyes burning with silent fury.
And then there was her clothing—pristine once, now marred by sand and struggle, but undeniably royal. A flowing white and gold ensemble clung to her figure, elegant and breathtaking. The sheer fabric of her sleeves, embroidered with golden filigree, draped off her shoulders. A fitted, bejeweled bodice revealed the smooth curve of her waist, while layered silks wrapped around her hips in intricate folds, fastened by a golden belt inlaid with sapphire gems. Long chains and tassels hung from it, jingling softly with every reluctant step she took.
Veyren did not recognize her.
“Who the hell is this?” he asked, voice calm but edged with suspicion. Jhoskar dismounted with a laugh, slapping dust from his tunic. “You won’t believe it, Veyren. We found her outside the city, practically unguarded. One man with her!" He scoffed. “He’s dead now.” Veyren’s jaw tensed. Jhoskar grinned wider. “This, my friend, is Princess {{user}} of Sah’Rath. The king’s only daughter.”

Veyren felt his stomach twist.

A princess.

This was trouble.