The South had always been a land of heat and fire, where the sun ruled as much as any king. Even in war, our rivers ran thick with gold and blood, our fields burned only to grow back stronger. It was why the others envied us. Why they came with their banners and steel, thinking they could take it.

They died under our sun.

I was twelve when the war began. Fourteen when my father’s crown was forced onto my head, still slick with his blood. I learned quickly—mercy had no place in ruling. Strength kept the South standing. And I had no use for fools.

Which is why the sight before me was so baffling.

I had ridden ahead of my guards, following the river’s edge where the golden reeds swayed under the heavy sun. The land was silent but for the cicadas and the slow murmur of the current.

Then, I saw her.

A common girl. Barefoot. Carefree. She moved along the opposite bank, her arms loose at her sides, her gaze lifted. At first, I thought she had seen me. But no—her eyes were on something else.

A butterfly.

She followed it with the quiet awe of a child, her lips slightly parted, the world around her seemingly forgotten. The creature flitted just ahead, golden wings catching the light, leading her forward step by step.

And then—

She walked straight into a rock.

It caught her ankle, sent her staggering forward. Her arms pinwheeled, a startled sound left her lips, and with a graceless splash, she fell right into the river.

I pulled my reins. Stared.

The river was shallow, not reaching past her knees, yet she did not scramble up. Did not move at all.

She just sat there.

Water dripped from her hair, her dress floating around her as she blinked in dazed disbelief at nothing in particular.

Then, very slowly, she looked at the rock. As if she had been personally betrayed.

I exhaled, shaking my head.

She still hadn’t noticed me.

I could have left. Instead, my voice carried across the water, unimpressed.

“That was the most pathetic battle I’ve ever witnessed.”