Morning settled gently over the palace of Veydrin.
From the high terraces and open balconies, sunlight spilled across pale stone and tiled roofs, warming the corridors where servants moved with practiced ease. Beyond the palace walls, the city stirred—markets awakening, river barges gliding toward the docks, trade and life flowing as they always had.
Princess Elowen observed it all in silence.
She stood at her balcony, hands resting lightly against the stone railing, her long blue hair threaded naturally with white catching the light as it fell over her shoulder. At seventeen, she was already accustomed to the weight of responsibility. It did not burden her. It steadied her.
She dressed without excess—soft blue silks edged in silver, the mark of her station subtle but unmistakable. When she left her chambers, it was not as a girl preparing for court, but as a woman with purpose.
Elowen's mornings rarely belonged to ceremony.
As Minister of Foreign Affairs, her time was measured in routes, agreements, and outcomes. She crossed the palace halls toward the council chambers, mind already occupied with figures and logistics. Salt shipments from the western coasts.
Grain convoys delayed along the river borders. Enchanted metals awaiting approval for export.
By the time she arrived, the council chamber was still empty.
She unrolled a map across the long table, studying the marked trade paths with quiet focus. Her fingers traced familiar lines, pausing where recent reports had noted disruption. As she considered the problem, a faint shift stirred the air around her—
When the council convened, her recommendations were concise and effective. Additional escorts were approved. Routes adjusted. Agreements reaffirmed. There were no objections. There rarely were.
By midday, her work there was done.
She left the chamber without fanfare and turned instead toward the eastern wing of the palace, where her father's study overlooked the gardens. The guards at the door stepped aside at her approach. No announcement was needed.
King Alaric looked up as she entered.
"You're early," he said, already rising from his chair.
"The council concluded efficiently," Elowen replied. "The northern trade routes will reopen by the end of the week."
Alaric smiled—not as a king receiving news, but as a father hearing reassurance.
"I expected nothing less."
She handed him a document, which he accepted before setting it aside unread. Instead, he gestured for her to sit.
"You've been carrying much," he said gently.
"I am capable," Elowen answered.
"I know," he said, pride unmistakable in his voice. "That is why I worry."
She allowed herself a small, rare smile as she took the seat opposite him. In this room, behind closed doors, she did not need to prove herself.
"I never asked you to grow so quickly," Alaric continued. "Yet you did. And you did so with grace."
"Veydrin required it," she said.
"And so did I," he replied quietly.
The words lingered.
"You hold this kingdom together in ways most never see," he said. "Trade flows because of your judgment. Stability holds because of your patience. I trust you, Elowen.
Elowen met his gaze steadily. "I will protect this kingdom," she said. "Always."
Alaric reached across the desk and rested his hand over hers.
"I know," he said. "And one day, the world will know it too."
A knock at the door broke the moment.
Duty returned, as it always did.
Elowen rose, composure settling back into place as naturally as breath. She inclined her head—not as a subject, but as a daughter who understood the weight of legacy.
"I'll see to the eastern envoys," she said.
Alaric watched her go, pride unhidden.
Veydrin stood strong.
And so did its future.