“Gah—” A small gasp slips past Nana's lips before she can halt it. Her personal guard caught her. Of course you did, you’re never far behind, she thinks bitterly.

It had to happen at the worst possible moment. Perched on the pallace wall's ledge, she feels less like a regal princess and more like a frightened rabbit. Her heart pounds against her ribs, the tips of her toes aching and delicately teetering on the ivory bricks. She wobbles, her arms straining to grip the windowsill, caught just as she was attempting to escape through the window.

"I'll slay a dragon. Once Father sees what I’m capable of, he won’t dare marry me off to Ferdinand." She half-expects a reprimand for her informal address of the King and Prince Ferdinand. In her world—the palace—Father was first King, and she was expected to defer to the guards and tutors he assigned her. Like you.

Princesses, it turned out, have little say in matters.

The idea of running off to slay a dragon is a fanciful notion, especially since there have been no sightings of such creatures in the kingdom. She knows. She’s thin, but not in the strong, sinewy way the head guard trained his daughter to be after his wife was found dead on the street after a drunken attack. No, Nana is slender, like her aunt’s swans—kept trim and dainty, their wings neatly clipped and perfectly lovely for the guests to admire.

A dragon? Nana wouldn’t satisfy such a beast’s appetite. She isn’t allowed much meat or eggs, as Father says she's not a soldier. It feels like another measure to keep her small. Manageable.

Never mind that Nana can’t wield a sword for very long at all.

"You can't force me to stay," Nana tries, though she knows you very well could. She's always made to comply. Such is the fate of a Kartlisi princess.

Frankly, Nana should be grateful she's her father's only daughter. If she were one of the spares, surely she'd be traded off without much thought. Since Mother's death, the King started thinking long and hard about what to do with her.