Lucian raised an eyebrow.
"You know this man,?" He asked her. Luna Jamayah stepped on his toes lightly, before smiling and facing Darkota,
"He was the brave one who led Amaya to safety during the dark storm" she proclaimed. Lucian studied Darkota for a long moment before turning to Jamayah.
"He bested Philus. That is no small feat."
Luna Jamayah gave a single nod.
"He's more than he seems."
Lucian faced Darkota again.
"You've earned a place here. What is it you seek?"
Moonlight spilled into the corridors of the castle, lighting up the polished stone floor in silver rays as Princess Amaya walked with quiet steps. Her long gown swayed behind her as she descended the stairs, her hand gently skimming the cool walls carved with the sigils of Silverveil's royal line. Beside her was Selene, silent but attentive, as they made their way toward the royal chambers.
At last, they reached Amaya's chamber door. Selene pushed it open, and the two entered the dimly lit room. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting warm shadows on the stone walls, and the rich scent of lavender drifted from a steaming bowl near the bed.
Amaya sighed deeply, shoulders slumping as she pulled off her gloves.
"Finally."
Selene moved behind her and began unfastening the straps of Amaya's corset with familiar ease.
"Did you enjoy the tournament, my lady?"
Amaya smiled faintly.
"I did. It was more than I expected."
Selene gave a small nod as she loosened another strap.
"I watched it too. The head of staff no longer bothers me, thanks to you."
Amaya turned slightly to look at her.
"Of course. She got my message." Her voice was soft but firm.
Selene smiled warmly and resumed her work. Amaya pulled free of the corset, exhaling again as she stepped out of her dress. Left in a soft undergown, she walked to the edge of her bed and sat down, running a hand through her curls.
"My mother says I must marry in order to fully become Luna," Amaya said suddenly.
Selene looked up from folding the gown.
"Does she?"
"She says I need a mate to rule beside me," Amaya continued, her voice distant.
"But Luna Cecilia ruled without one."
Selene approached gently and sat beside her.
"My lady, this may not be any consolation," she said softly,
"But perhaps, when you are Luna, you will change the order of things, for those who would come after you."
A smile tugged at Amaya's lips.
"Definitely."
The fire cracked again, and a long silence followed, comfortable, reflective. Selene finally stood, bowing slightly.
"Goodnight, my lady."
"Goodnight."
Selene crossed the room to the door. But the moment she opened it, she let out a sharp gasp and clutched her chest.
Amaya shot to her feet.
"What is it?"
She rushed to Selene's side, and saw him. A tall, armored knight stood in the hallway, his helmet polished and cloak trailing behind him. Though silent and unmoving, he was an imposing figure in the flickering torchlight.
"Selene, this is Ser Darkota, my sworn protector."
Selene exhaled, her hand still resting over her heart as she gave him a quick nod. Then she closed the door slowly and turned to Amaya, her voice lowered.
"My lady, a bit of warning next time, please."
Amaya chuckled.
"Of course. Ser Darkota, he won the Tournament of Rogues. For that, my father deemed it fit to appoint him my personal guard, my sworn protector."
"Alright, my lady."
She said as she peered through the door. She studied him again, slower this time, then gave a small sigh. Darkota said nothing, but he shifted slightly when the door opened again and Selene stepped outside. She offered him a polite nod before disappearing down the corridor. Inside, Amaya lingered by the door for a moment, watching him.
"She'll get used to it," she said.
Darkota bowed low.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Without another word, he turned to stand at his post, tall and still as the statues in the Hall of Ancestors.
The next morning arrived cold and crisp. The castle grounds buzzed with motion as the royal soldiers stirred in their quarters. A single, commanding howl shattered the silence, Commander Philus's morning call.
One by one, the soldiers filed out of their rooms, tightening belts, adjusting pauldrons, and strapping swords to their sides. The courtyard filled with the clinking of metal and the steady thuds of boots against stone.
Philus stood at the front, arms crossed as he eyed the men with his usual intensity. But his stern expression shifted slightly when a figure emerged from the castle's upper entrance, Darkota.
Philus narrowed his eyes as the armored man descended the stairs.
"Darkota, What in the gods name are you doing here?" the commander barked.
Darkota halted, standing straight.
"The usual morning training, Commander."
Philus's face hardened.
"You are to protect the princess. You do not leave her post empty."
Darkota remained composed.
"There are other guards posted nearby, Commander." he said,
"Exactly," Philus snapped.
"And guards who protect the royal family train at a different time. This ritual is for frontline soldiers. Now go back to your post."
"As you command."
He turned silently and ascended the stairs, vanishing into the castle. In the crowd of soldiers, two young warriors exchanged glances. Pierre smirked and nudged his friend Odin, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Lucky bastard, isn't he?" He whispered. Odin didn't smile.
"Is he really?"
Pierre raised an eyebrow, removing his hand.
"What do you mean by that?"
Odin shrugged, glancing up at the castle.
"Serving the princess may be an honor, but every honor in this kingdom has its price."
Pierre was one of the rogues while Odin was an old soldier of silverveil, and now his statement had intrigued Pierre. Sacrifices? What kind of sacrifices was he speaking about?
Before Pierre could respond, Philus's voice boomed across the courtyard again.
"Alright, wolves, move it! We don't bloody have all day!"
The men snapped to attention.
"Yes, Chief Commander!" they echoed.