Breakfast passed in a silence so gentle it felt sacred. The long table had been set with a feast grand enough for a festival, platters of honeyed fruit, warm loaves glazed with butter, spiced eggs, roasted meats, and sweet cakes dusted in sugar. All her favourites.
When the meal ended, they walked together through the palace corridors and out into the courtyard where the royal carriage waited, its polished frame gleaming beneath the morning sun and its flanking guards already mounted.
On the path, her father spoke quietly beside her, holding her hand. "You will be alone there, surrounded by people raised to see rivals before allies. Make more friends than foes if you can and remember that wit is sharper than any blade."
She nodded, "I will remember it father"
Her mother embraced her next, holding her so fiercely it stole the breath from her lungs. "I am proud of you," the Queen whispered directly into Sierra's ear, her voice trembling but fierce. "Observe first, strike later. Do not let them see your cards until you are ready to play them. No matter what happens, you must survive. Survive, Princess—for me, for your father, for your people."
Sierra nodded, though her throat had tightened too much for words.
As her father instructed the escorts, her mother stepped closer, draping a heavy fur cloak over Sierra's shoulders. "The Hollow Mountain Highlands are chilly, Honey. The cold there seeps straight into your bones."
The Queen's regal composure wavered for a split second. From beneath her own cloak, she produced a beautifully crafted, silver-hilted short sword, sheathed in dark leather. It wasn't a standard soldier's blade; the crossguard was etched with ancient runes meant to ward off dark magic.
"This belonged to my grandmother," her mother whispered, pressing the weapon into Sierra's hands. "It is lightweight enough to hide beneath your skirts, but sharp enough to pierce a demon's hide. Keep it close. I will have the royal blacksmith forge me another, but I want this one protecting your heart."
Sierra felt a lump form in her throat. She gripped the cool hilt, nodding silently. "I understand, Mother. Thank you. I will keep it guarded. I will miss you."
She threw her arms around her parents one last time, pulling away just before the tears could spill over.
Just as she turned toward the carriage steps, the sound of wheels rushing across stone echoed through the courtyard. Another carriage came to a halt nearby, its door swinging open before it had fully stopped, and a familiar figure leapt down, cloak gathered in her fists as she ran forward.
"Elara?"
Sierra's eyes widened in disbelief. We promised we would not do this, she thought, her heart lurching. We promised she would not come to say goodbye.
Elara skidded to a breathless stop before her, cheeks flushed, hair slightly undone. "I'm coming too!" she managed between breaths.
For a moment, Sierra could only stare, the shock blooming into something warm and aching all at once, and then she stepped forward and pulled her into a fierce embrace.
Joy and sorrow tangled in her chest. Joy, because she wouldn't be alone; sorrow, because Lara was now walking into the same jaws of death.
"I did not decide on a whim," Elara added softly, as if hearing the unspoken worry. "I thought about it for a long time."
Sierra swallowed the sting behind her eyes and nodded. "Then I won't argue." It was selfish, but she couldn't help the small smile breaking through her grief. At least she had someone on her side.
"Ahem. How dare you forget your manners?"
A sharp, exasperated voice broke their bubble. Sierra looked up to see Dax, Elara's older brother, stepping out of the carriage. He flicked Elara's chin.
Elara turned to see her brother watching her with amusement, and guilt immediately crept in. In all her excitement, she had almost forgotten he was there beside her in the carriage. Her lips curled into a pout.
He then motioned toward the king and queen, and Elara immediately understood.
Elara greeted the king and queen with a graceful bow. The queen gathered her into a warm embrace without hesitation. Though Elara was not born to them, she had long since become the daughter they never had.
"You were a little harsh on her, you know", Sierra said to Dax
Taking her hand, he sighed softly. "You know how she is. Strong, yes, but reckless. Your parents adore her, so she got away with it this time. But if it had been anyone else, she'd already be locked in a cell."
His gaze shifted to Sierra. "Take care of each other. I know you're far cleverer than my sister—"
Elara smacked his shoulder before he could finish the sentence. "Who are you calling dumb, huh?"
Sierra could only smile at their bickering. "Alright, I promise we'll take care of each other. You can relax, Dax. We're adults now."
Dax wrapped his arms around both of them, and for a moment, and they nearly burst into tears. He might nag them endlessly, but he had always been their big brother. Since childhood, he had been there to guide them, correct them, and even take the blame for them when needed. To them, Dax was precious in a way words could hardly explain.
They parted, and with final farewells spoken and hands reluctantly released, the two girls climbed into the carriage. Outside, soldiers formed ranks, banners lifted, and at last the procession began to move, wheels creaking, hooves striking rhythm against the stone road.
The palace gates opened onto the long road ahead.
And the journey began.
And as the palace slowly receded behind her, Sierra kept her gaze forward, toward the distant road that would carry her into a future where peace—or ruin—waited with equal patience.
The capital erupted in vibrant hues and deafening cheers. Thousands lined the cobblestones, a restless sea of subjects gathered to witness the royal departure.
She leaned from the carriage window, her hand moving in a rhythmic wave. Thousands of faces blurred into a tapestry of bittersweet joy, some cheering with wide, bright smiles, others dabbing at teary eyes. It was a regal valediction that was savored of brine and petals.
After hours on the road, the capital began to wither behind them. As the carriage rumbled deeper into the Hollow Mountain Highlands, the air grew sharp and thin, carrying the scent of pine and ancient stone. The humid warmth of the Gilmori lowlands vanished, replaced by a cool, persistent chill that seeped through the velvet upholstery.
Soldiers rode in disciplined formation around the royal carriage, their armour glinting whenever pale sunlight pierced the drifting clouds, and the rhythm of hooves and wheels became a constant music that marked the passage of time more faithfully than any clock.
Their route wound steadily southward, away from the marble terraces and gardens of the capital and into lands less adorned but no less beautiful, where the road narrowed into pale ribbons threading through craggy peaks and windswept moors that smelled of peat and cold rain.
They rode on, tireless as the purpose that carried them forward.
The lead scout signalled, and the column gradually slowed as riders approached from the opposite direction. They rode sleek white horses from the eastern region of Wirhan, beasts renowned for their massive frames and ethereal beauty, bred for endurance in the harsh coastal humidity. Dark cloaks billowed behind them in the mountain wind.
At their center rode a young man. He pulled ahead of his vanguard, removing a heavy leather glove with practiced deliberation, his gaze sharp and unwavering.
"Theon Stormborn of Niridge offers his greetings to Your Highness." The young lord bowed, his dark hair catching the mountain wind. When he straightened, his sharp brown eyes locked onto Sierra's with an intensity that made her guard instinctively shift closer.
The Stormborn family ruled the jagged eastern coasts; they were notoriously fiercely independent, and rumors whispered they had secret ties to the Witch Kingdom.
Sierra returned the greeting with flawless, icy royal poise, masking the sudden spike in her pulse. "Lord Stormborn. It seems the road grows crowded as we near the border."
"The road to sacrifice is always crowded, Your Highness," Theon replied, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze drifted briefly to Elara, then back to Sierra. "It is a bold path you've chosen."
"We seek the swiftest route," Sierra countered smoothly, though her hand rested near her blades.
"The swiftest route is often the bloodiest," Theon replied, casting a glance toward her best friend, who still sat rigid and silent by the carriage door. "Watch the ridgelines. The heights have eyes."
The path wound through a stretch of wilderness avoided by most travellers, where cliffs loomed close like silent conspirators and the sky narrowed into a thin ribbon far above.
The earth bore the scars of ancient claw marks, while bones lay half-buried beside the trail, bleached pale by sun and wind. Stories claimed that after dusk, the region belonged to beasts too savage for even seasoned hunters to track.