I stared at the parchment until the words blurred. My voice came out sharper than I intended. "They're sending me to the war?"
Lily's silence was answer enough, but I pressed anyway. "Why me? I'm not a general. I'm not trained for this. I'm—" I stopped, the word catching in my throat. A princess.
Her eyes flicked up, then down again. "That is precisely why, Your Highness."
I blinked. "That makes no sense."
Lily's hands twisted in her apron. "Because you are the princess. You may not be a general but you've been always good at sword fighting and martial arts. Besides the soldiers look up to you. You are their hope.
Lily swallowed, her hands tightened once again. " And... cause the council believes your return has… unsettled things. like... your cousin Vaelen was preparing to inherit. Your sister Mireya has her supporters. And then you appeared, alive, when you were meant to be... gone."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "So their solution is to throw me at demons?"
Her voice was quiet, but steady. "They think if you perish in battle, it will silence the whispers. No scandal. No questions. Just… a tragic end."
I laughed, but it was hollow. "A tragic end. Convenient for them, isn't it?"
The scroll lay heavy in my lap, the wax seal cracked like a wound. I could almost hear the nobles whispering already: Let her die out there. Let the problem solve itself.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it pressing down.
"So that's their plan. Send me to war... fine then. I'll go. But I won't be their pawn. I'll be the player."
The next morning.
The Sunspire Hall was suffocating with perfume, gold, and hypocrisy. Nobles lined the marble floor like jeweled statues, pretending this was a celebration and not an execution.
I stood at the center, armored and unbowed.
Uncle Thalen finished his speech with a flourish. "…and so, Princess Seraphina shall lead our forces to the western front!"
Applause. Forced. Hollow. I let it die.
Then I stepped forward.
"Before I depart," I said, voice ringing through the hall, "I have a request."
The nobles leaned in. Vaelen straightened. Mireya's fingers paused on her teacup.
I smiled — slow, sharp, and dangerous.
"I would like my beloved family to accompany me."
The hall froze.
Vaelen blinked. "Pardon?"
"You heard me," I said. "Cousin, you've trained with the knights since childhood. You're practically a hero already. Surely the troops would be inspired to see you at their side."
A murmur rippled through the nobles. Vaelen's smile twitched.
"My duties are here," he said carefully. "The capital needs stability."
"Oh?" I tilted my head. "So you're saying the capital is more dangerous than the demon front?"
A few nobles choked on their wine. Vaelen's ears turned red.
I didn't give him time to recover.
"And you, Mireya." Her eyes lifted, cold and unreadable. "You've always wanted to prove yourself. What better chance than fighting for the kingdom you claim to love?"
She set her cup down with a soft click. "I am not a soldier."
"No," I agreed. "But you are clever. And demons love clever prey."
A ripple of shock swept the hall.
Mireya's jaw tightened — the smallest crack in her perfect mask.
I stepped forward, letting my cape flare behind me like a storm.
"Tell me, both of you," I said, voice low but carrying. "If I — the princess — must march to war… why shouldn't you?"
Silence. Heavy. Exposed.
Vaelen looked furious. Mireya looked murderous. The nobles looked… entertained.
I let the moment burn.
Then I delivered the killing blow.
"Or…" I said softly, "is it easier to send me to die than to risk your own skins?"
Gasps. Whispers. A few nobles actually stepped back from Vaelen and Mireya.
I turned toward the doors, boots echoing like war drums.
"I march at dawn. Anyone who claims loyalty to this kingdom is welcome to join me."
I didn't look back. I didn't need to.
The damage was done.
The gambit was complete.
The doors of the Sunspire Hall slammed shut behind Sakura, and the echo lingered like a curse.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the nobles began whispering — frantic, delighted, scandalized — as they drifted out in glittering clusters.
When the hall finally emptied, only three remained:
Vaelen. Mireya. Thalen.
The golden cousin's smile had vanished. His jaw was clenched so tightly a vein pulsed at his temple.
"She humiliated us," Vaelen hissed, pacing like a caged beast. "In front of the entire court. In front of everyone."
Mireya didn't look up from her teacup. "She exposed you," she corrected softly. "There's a difference."
Vaelen spun toward her. "And you think she didn't expose you as well?"
Mireya finally lifted her gaze — cold, sharp, unreadable. "I don't care what the nobles think of me. I care about results."
Thalen cleared his throat nervously. "We… we must remain calm. The princess is leaving at dawn. Once she reaches the front, the demons will—"
"Will what?" Mireya interrupted. "Conveniently kill her? Demons are unpredictable. They might kill her. They might not. They might even crown her their queen for all we know."
Vaelen stopped pacing. "You think she'll survive?"
Mireya's eyes narrowed. "I think she's not the same girl who fell from the Sky Tower."
Thalen wrung his hands. "She's dangerous. Reckless. Unpredictable."
"No," Mireya said. "She's different. And that makes her a threat."
Vaelen slammed his fist onto the table. "Then we should have stopped her from going!"
Mireya arched a brow. "And how would you have done that? By volunteering to go with her? You could barely form a sentence when she called you out."
Vaelen's face flushed with rage.
Mireya stood, smoothing her dress with icy calm.
"Let her go to war," she said. "Let her fight demons. Let her play hero. If she dies, our problem is solved."
"And if she doesn't?" Vaelen asked.
Mireya's smile was thin and sharp as a blade.
"Then we'll have to kill her ourselves."
Thalen paled. "Mireya—"
"Oh, relax," she said, brushing past him. "I'm not suggesting we stab her in the hallway. I'm saying we watch. We wait. And when she slips…" She tapped her teacup lightly. "…we make sure she never gets back up."
Vaelen exhaled slowly, the anger in his eyes cooling into something darker.
"Fine," he said. "Let her march. Let her fight. Let her think she's winning."
Mireya paused at the doorway, glancing back with a glint of amusement.
"After all," she said, "pawns are meant to be sacrificed."
Then she left the hall, her footsteps echoing like a promise.