Merek gently opened the door into King Dyso's chamber, offering a salute to whoever was inside. He held it open for Jeralia, and when his body no longer blocked her view, she saw five figures present in the room.

  Myrill sat at a round table at the foot of Dyso's bed, who was bound to it per usual. Standing just behind him was a palace guard. The third figure, seated at the table with the regent, was someone Jeralia had never seen before. She was a woman, around her early 50s, but everything else about her was unfamiliar to the princess. Her cheekbones were high and lips full, traits uncommon in Osharians. Her raven black hair, strewn with grey, was curly and her skin had a tawny tone. Her layered robes were emerald. The other two people were presumably her guards, wearing attire entirely different from the Osharians'.

  "Uncle Myrril, Father... what have I been called for?" Jeralia spoke softly at them, noting the appearance of a guest.

  "Well, Your Highness," Myrill stood up, speaking words that she was not used to hearing, neither to her nor Dyso. "You are aware of our... tensions that we have with our Mizanian neighbours."

  "Um, correct." Jeralia nodded slowly, unsure what he was trying to get at and what the visitor had to do with it.

  "As per His Highness' suggestion, we've decided that the best course of action was to get on speaking terms immediately," Myrril turned to glance at the foreign woman, while extending his hand towards Jeralia to shift her attention towards her.

  Gazing through the side of her eye, Jeralia noticed that her father hadn't said anything at all. It was like he was a spectator in a meeting in his own chambers. Jeralia knew that his illness often made it difficult for him to speak, but he could have at least tried to get a word or two in and make it look like he was participating.

  "So, Ms Attar, as you might've been able to tell already, this is Her Highness Princess Jeralia of Osharis. I know how much you and the people you represent have wanted to see her." His voice uncharacteristically and overly friendly.

  He isn't relaxed at all, Jeralia noted. The version he shows to strangers.

  "Ah, Princess Jeralia, what a great, great pleasure it is to see you," the woman smiled and stood up, putting a hand over her heart, a typical Mizanian form of greeting. As her hand left her chest, Jeralia noticed a sigil pinned over her heart. She was an important person. "I am Hadis Attar, Minister of External Relations for the Kingdom of Mizan."

  "What a very pleasant surprise to meet you, Ms Attar," Jeralia offered a curtsy, giving Attar permission to be seated again. "So, what exactly is the topic of discussion today?"

  "I believe King Dyso wanted to introduce that," Attar turned her neck to the bedbound king, suggesting that there was a long conversation that had happened before Merek was sent to fetch Jeralia. "Whenever you are ready, King Dyso."

  Merek invited Jeralia to take a seat at the round table, while all eyes were on the princess.

  Dyso appeared to be frozen in thought for a few moments, which worried Jeralia.

  "Father...?"

  "Jeralia, my sweet girl," Dyso mustered after the long silence. "Our country has changed much over the 46 years I have reigned. Trends have come and gone, the culture has changed, but there's one thing that remains. That... is the need for continuation."

  Jeralia nodded, but was still confused as to what the overall discussion was about, between the diplomat from Mizan, Myrril, Dyso, and now herself.

  "It's true," Myrril nodded. "Things come and go, but some must be constant. That includes the need for a strong ruler to be at the reigns of the nation. I have... taken up many of your father's duties in helping him fulfill that role. But one day, it will be you in his place."

  "I know," Jeralia breathed, trying not to sound irritated. She hated it when she was reminded that her father was on death's doorstep. "So what are you really trying to tell me? And does this have to do with Mizan?"

  "Oh, it does, Princess Jeralia," Attar smiled, one that was not-so obviously being forced. "This concerns both our kingdoms."

  I knew it, Jeralia thought. This is about the war.

  "I will do my best to aid you in your role as queen," Myrril said. "And while my thaumaturgy will have me around longer than the average person, I won't be here forever."

  "My sun... there is a topic we have avoided for far, far too long. I know you don't wish to talk about it, but the current state of events has called for it, louder than ever."

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Dyso hacked out a cough. Those few moments allowed Jeralia to grasp what he really meant.

  "Father, you don't mean--

  "I know, I know. Marriage has never been in your cards. For the longest time, I thought that this was just not possible. But we have to look beyond that now."

  Jeralia's eyes widened underneath her veil, her arms tensed at her sides.

  "So who is it?" Jeralia said, stopping short of sounding desperate or anxious in front of Attar, a high-ranking member of a country that was eight times larger in size and 15 times greater in population, made up of many nations absorbed by a motherland, whilst Osharis was homogeneous and a fraction of the size. "What is his name?"

  I'll understand the stakes once I know who he is.

  "Have a look at him yourself," Attar got to her feet, handing a sealed envelope to the princess.

  Jeralia tore the seal off gently, so as to not appear unladylike before Hadis Attar. She carefully pried the letter out and unfolded it. It took only around a minute for her to absorb the contents of it. She tried to keep her hands still as she replaced the letter and handed the envelope to Merek.

  "Duke Pallius... wishes my hand in marriage? The nephew and heir to King Nevan himself?" said Jeralia, a bit of shock escaping her, which she hoped was not obvious.

  "Oh, but who else, Princess Jeralia?" Minister Attar smiled. "Duke Pallius Orryn is one of, if not the top bachelor up for consideration in our part of the world. A marriage between him and you, the intelligent and elegant next-in-line to the Osharian throne, would signal the beginning of a new era for our nations!"

  Jeralia wrung her hands nervously, which Attar took notice of.

  "Please do not feel pressured to respond to the proposal right away, Princess," Attar said, more empathetic now. "But King Dyso and Regent Myrril have given their respective blessings for it. The only one whose approval is needed is yours."

  Jeralia lowered her head, rubbing her forearm.

  "I... I will need some time to think. This is my future we are talking about, right? This... this needs more time."

  "You will get that time, Your Highness," Myrril said. "In a few short days, Duke Pallius will be arriving to Grisvald to introduce himself to you, as well as represent his nation in talks regarding the tensions at the border. You have nothing to worry about."

  Nothing to worry about? Is Uncle Myrril being serious right now?

  "Then I believe that settles it for now," Attar got up, "Thank you for welcoming me to your country. I am sure Duke Pallius will enjoy your hospitality just as much as I am."

  Exchanging farewells, Myrril guided Attar and her guards to the door. But before she completely left through the doorway, she turned around, looking right at Jeralia.

  "I must tell you, Princess Jeralia, that Duke Pallius is not a diplomat. Do not expect him to speak to you the way I spoke with you. His means are... different. Please be prepared for that."

  And then, the top diplomat for the Kingdom of Mizan was gone. And when she was nowhere nearby, Jeralia's fury came rushing in. She marched to her father's bedside, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

  "I know what I am, Father. I know I'm not... like other ladies. But I've always wanted to get wed one day, somehow. But to a man like Pallius? You're giving him your blessing to have me married off to him?"

  "I don't want you to repeat the same mistake I did. I've been a bachelor my whole life. If-- If only--

  "Don't change the topic, Father!" Jeralia snapped at him, contrasting his weak calmness. "You know what kind of man Pallius is, how cruel he is! He tortures civilians for not paying their tithes on time, to death! He pulls boys from their families to serve as soldiers for the Mizanians! You knew about that and you thought about that.... yet you still offer me to a monster like him?"

  Footsteps returned back up the stairs, coming from the boots of a silver-haired wizard.

  "And imagine what he could do to our people if his uncle decides a full-on invasion will settle the tensions," Myrril said, now standing at the door. "Your father, myself, and the top diplomats and soldiers of our kingdom have discussed this. Pallius taking your hand in marriage is the only surefire way of ensuring peace."

  "So... I have to sacrifice my own peace for this?" Jeralia held her hands close to her body. "I am the sacrificial goat in all this?"

  "Myrril is right," Dyso wheezed evenly, while on the inside, his heart was breaking. "If we had an option like this earlier, the First Osharian-Mizanian War would've been... less bloody."

  Myrril exchanged a somber look with his old friend, reminiscing a past Jeralia was not alive to see.

  Jeralia's hands curled into fists so tightly her knuckles became white. Her arms shook from how hard she was clenching them.

  "You always listen to Uncle Myrril, Father. You wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't whisper that idea into your ear..."

  "Jeralia, that is enough." Dyso said.

  "It's like you were never really the King. He's the one who's been pulling the strings the whole time, even before the regency. Is that right?"

  "Young Jeralia, the words you utter are dangerous. Stop it right now." Myrril said, muttering.

  "No. No, I will not! I am a grown woman. Most my age are already married if not already mothers, running their own households. I can't even get to choose how I look in my home. I grow tired of listening to you, Uncle Myrril. The things you say are never for my benefit. Not teaching me magic, and now this? You're having me married... to the one man I despise the idea of having to live with. Do you care about me, Uncle Myrril?! Is the love you showed me as a girl still in that heart of yours, even an ounce?!"

  The Regent did not respond. His breathing was uneven, and his gaze no longer met Jeralia's behind her veil.

  "Myrril," Dyso said, after a speechless few moments, his head lowered. "Restrain her."

  I'm sorry, my sun. We cannot always do things we want.

  "As you wish, Dyso."

  "Restrain... me? You can't. You can't do this, Uncle Myrril. This is a travesty of the highest degree! Father, why--

  Jeralia suddenly found herself unable to move, her legs pressed against one another, and her arms forcibly folded over her chest. Green mana enveloped her body like a rope from her neck to her ankles. She tried to move, only to fall into the embrace of Merek and another guard who had rushed in at the right time.