Finally, it was his turn, and the guard led him to the tent where She held audience. Right before the entrance, they stopped, and the armored man addressed him sternly.
“You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not fail to obey her in every way. You will not lie or obfuscate the truth. You will not move towards her one inch, or move at all unless she tells you to. If you displease her in any way, you will be punished.”
He did not need to gesture to the small group of unfortunates who, in whatever way, had incurred the wrath of the Princess of her underlings: they had been thoroughly beaten before the eyes of the other prisoners, and then tied to stakes to ponder their transgressions.
He nodded to indicate he’d obey, but the guard ignored the gesture, instead unlocking the shackles on his wrists.
“Go in.”

It was not as dark inside as he’d expected, and quite warm. There were layers upon layers of rugs on the floor.
She. She filled his vision, like a living flame, dressed in blazing colors, armored and masked in gold, seated on a throne of opaque crystal, as if she had emerged from a volcano.
It was several seconds before he noticed a second figure to her side, a tall, old lady, masked, robed, and holding a writing pad.
And… on the other side… his prince.

A voice spoke. For a moment he was utterly baffled at Her voice, until he realized it was the old lady who was speaking.
“What is your name, boy?”


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