You can remember it all so clearly; the war started by your power hungry stepmother, queen Tatiana of Cyron, the initial successes in battle and the eventual loss after loss which resulted in a last stand at the capitol. Your older brother, the crown prince, had disappeared when the tide of the war turned though many believe he is dead. In the few weeks at the palace preparing for your last stand your stepmother, the cause of all this, would abandon you with your infant sister and disappear into the night without a word. You were left alone, to defend the kingdom you had once called home. The defence was futile, the Soldiers of Vicia came quickly in large numbers and overwhelmed the defences you had set up. Many died in the fighting but not you, somehow you were merely captured. For others this may be a blessing but for someone of your status, surely a curse. You've spent weeks on the road in the back of a carriage, hands tied in front of you with little food or water supplied and your wounds from battle untreated. You did not know where you were being taken, whether to death or permanent imprisonment you did not know. That was until the carriage stopped abruptly and the door swung open, a high ranking officer dressed in the deep maroon colours of Vicia motioned for you to step out and without speaking lead you into a palace that you only recognised from a distant memory that of Vicia's royal family. Through these grand halls you were marched, up marble stairs and through richly decorated hallways until you were forced into a room. A bedroom. The officer walked in with you in tow, and walked straight over to a woman with jet black hair and a maroon dress adorned in fine jewelry. After a few moments of quiet conversation the officer walked back over to you and cut the ropes binding your wrists before exiting through the same door you entered through, closing it behind him.