All the world knew where apples came from. The orchards of the coastal regions on the southern edge of the Finna continent were lush and vast. The coaches ran smoothly enough, the tree branches blurred past the window and the exact species of apple was indistinguishable, but they were there. Little red and green dots all over each bulbous canopy, stacked row by row as far as the eye could see. Workers were in between the rows, tending harvests that would feed the masses and satisfy some small portion of the vast trade Orak’Thune was responsible for with four neighbouring continents.

The coaches turned down the fork on the Southern Highway toward the seaside city of Port Town. Next to the Orak’Thune capital, Port Town was the biggest on the continent. Nyssa had been absently listening to her older brother prattle on about his civil studies on agricultural affairs and trade for nearly an hour. She wasn’t sure if he knew she wasn’t absorbing anything he was saying and felt momentarily bad about it, but when he moved from apples to wheat, she didn’t bother to hide the huge sigh.

Nyssa went back to her window when her brother wasn’t perturbed because he still had an avid audience with their uncle, Uli, the current ruling regent and Patrick’s mentor, no less.

Instead, Nyssa was thinking of her mother. Port Town had been a place of distinct joy for her. It was the last place Nyssa’d vacationed with her mother, the last place before heartache, horror and loss would end any happy memories forever. So Nyssa preserved what she had, Port Town and its sandy beaches, vast and colourful market and luxurious resort, in a special but fragile place in her heart.

Coming back here had seemed a bit of a risk for her and she had at first resisted, but her father, a man of imposing and irrefutable demeanour, had flatly refused to entertain her protests. In addition, he was the king.

Nyssa sighed with angst again and slouched farther back in her bench seat, finding the air stuffy. Up until now, she had not even felt the road bumps, which were excellent in the stately coach compared to most, but now they were starting to jar her nerves.

“We'll arrive in Cross soon, Nyssa,” her uncle said and patted her knee. “We’ll rest there.”

Nyssa smiled gratefully at him and nodded. She shot an apologetic look at her brother, but he just rolled his eyes.

“These are important facts to know, Nyssa,” Patrick complained and tried to look down at her. “You’ll take the lessons anyway. What’s the harm of learning them earlier?”

“What’s the point of learning them at all if NO ONE is ever going to ask me anything about the price of a bushel of apples, EVER!” she replied sarcastically, but her uncle clicked his tongue at her.

“Besides,” she said and looked back out the window, “I have you, if ever they do.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

She looked back at him and he was grinning proudly. She shook her head, but smiled and laughed despite herself. She loved her brother, even if they had different views of their future.

“There is more to stewardship than sword and horse, Princess,” Uncle Uli interjected.

“Not for Nyssa, Uncle,” Patrick replied, but she saw he wasn’t mocking.

“Nonsense,” Uli said, “your father insisted both of you attend this trade session for just that purpose. It would appear your father expects you to seek out your lessons, in all vocations, earlier than most in your case, Princess Nyssa.”

Nyssa was watching her uncle carefully. She adored him; he had been most kind when her mother died and her father shut himself away with his pain, leaving his grieving children adrift. Uli had sheltered and hugged them. When they cried, he let them. But he was always the first to make them stand again, encourage them that grief wasn’t useful except to wallow in the past. To live was to forget.

She was watching him now for the tell she learned from those early dark days, the one that indicated her father had ordered Uli to make his children do something they didn’t want to do. She thought she saw it when he spoke of him just then, a tightening around the eyes when he said: “earlier than most.”

Her father was a great man. He had the typical broad shoulder, block frame of most Orak men. He stood well over six and a half feet tall and could snap a man’s neck in his fists. He had chocolate, shoulder-length hair and blue eyes that could bore a hole through to your soul. To cross him was the most daring thing any living thing could do; therefore, no one ever did.

Except for Nyssa.

Her father’s imposing figure and reputation didn’t make him a tyrant. It made him a hero and celebrity. He commanded thousands of men who would run full bore off a cliff if he ordered them to. His officers and entourage considered themselves the most honoured and so functioned the swirling court around the crown and armies around their overlord and commander. When they heard her father’s boot steps coming down the hall, no one ran and hid. They all stopped and snapped to attention.

That didn’t mean he was an approachable man. Madras was reserved and short-spoken. Nyssa couldn’t remember a philosophical conversation with her father, ever. Her mother had been the storyteller.

From the time Nyssa could physically hold herself on a horse, she’d followed her father, even when she was still a bit too small. One time, he’d had to reach out at the last minute to grab her before she fell, almost certainly to her death. Unconcerned, her father simply plopped her in the saddle in front of him and had continued on. When she was big enough, he’d expected her to follow on her own and make it work and she always did.

Nyssa had been an auburn-haired, tiny princess in a sea of metal armour and massive horses. However, she had always felt her father’s arm across her body and steel breastplate at her back as she’d ridden with him and that she was in the safest place in the world.

To her mother’s intense fear, Madras never altered his plans because his daughter was with him. Nyssa saw her first man run through at five. She’d hidden her face in her father’s cloak too late and she’d seen it clearly, but it was over quickly and he had explained who the man had been. Nyssa paid attention closely after that for anything having to do with the word and context of “enemy.”

“Never hesitate, Nyssa,” he’d said to her, uncharacteristically gentle afterward. “If a man is fool enough to come at you with a weapon drawn, you must be ready to win. If he forces your hand, it will be his mistake and there are no tears for someone else’s mistakes.”

Nyssa had nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help looking back once because she felt sorry for the man who had made a mistake.

The fact her father had purposefully sent her to Port Town at the start of her academic transition, years before the subject matter would be covered in her studies, had inflamed her at first, their argument audible from the courtyard three stories below his closed study windows.

“Do you want to lag behind? Is that it, Nyssa? Letting your brother do all the studying for you? You have to take it, Nyssa. Your destiny. No one is going to give it to you!” he’d hollered from behind his huge desk. The staff had all run away by then.

“I don’t need the regency, Da! I want to be your general and I’m excelling in all that I need to do that already. Why can’t you be happy with that?” twelve-year-old Nyssa had hollered back.

“So, what are you going to do as a general, then? Refuse my orders to go anywhere that reminds you of your mother? Damn it, Nyssa, don’t be a child!” He slammed his fist on the table and it had cracked a little bit.

Nyssa had glared at him. Tears had welled in her eyes. Angry and unwilling to let it show in front of him, she’d whirled around and ran from the room. In the hall, she’d broken down. In her bed that night when the tears had calmed some, she’d thought about her now passed mother and the special times they’d shared in Port Town, still raw to her heart, but all she could think to say to him was, “but I am a child,” and she knew where that would get her. She’d hugged herself tight and cried herself to sleep.

The next morning, her father had stood in the courtyard and watched as they’d mounted and loaded in the carriages to depart with Uli. Her eyes were red and puffy and she really hadn’t wanted to see him.

“Patrick, watch out for your sister,” he’d said gruffly and had gripped his son’s shoulder hard by way of farewell. Patrick had nodded to his father, but there was concern in his face when her brother had looked at her across the cab when he’d taken his seat. Nyssa hadn’t looked at their father at all.

It took nearly two weeks to travel by carriage from the capital to Port Town City. Cross Town, a small settlement around the fork in the roads — south to Port Town and the ocean, west to the independent neighbouring country of Bough - acted as a rest stop and military base for the area. It was a day or two still when Nyssa’s carriages arrived, late in the day, to their overnight layover. Nyssa was the first out, bursting from the stuffy compartment of the carriage and running a little up the road to give herself space. She felt her small dagger tucked behind her waist belt and the one tucked into her boot. She felt confident out on the road alone, especially since it was still light and there were travellers about.

“Princess?” She heard a low voice behind her and she whirled around to see its owner.

A boy of about fourteen stood back from her, one hand held out to show he was unarmed. Nyssa stared at him for a good long moment. He was taller than her, older so obviously bigger, but he looked even stronger than he let on. He had soft but dark wavy hair and a serious face. But his eyes were kind, piercing blue and he held a light smirk over a broad mouth while he watched her blade and body language very closely. He was armed, she noticed then, but he’d not drawn or leaned a hand close to the short dirk at his hip.

“Aren’t you in the academy?” she said and leaned a little closer, her dagger still stiff in front of her.

The boy relaxed then and stood back, nodding.

“Yes, Highness,” he said and stood up a bit straighter. “Good, you know me.” He smiled a bit, the tension almost leaving his body.

“I recognize you. That doesn’t mean I know you,” she said pointedly and switched the blade to her other hand. The boy straightened, the smile slipping a bit.

“I’m Jara, Princess,” he said calmly and he brought a hand out in front again. He looked a little like he thought she was crazy. “We are in some of the same classes together,” he added, trying to cool her distrust.

“Jara?” she said out loud and she did think it sounded familiar. She looked at him again and remembered her older classmates were just a blur. She thought about how they left her alone and whispered behind her back so she stopped thinking about them. Jara wasn’t sneering at her. He was waiting patiently.

Like him or not, how could she know in five seconds? However, she decided she could trust him and started to put away the blade.

“Sorry,” she said lightly. Jara shrugged.

“Don’t be. Glad to see you came prepared,” he said easily.

“Why are you here?” she asked. She was here on her father’s orders; it wasn’t an academy field trip.

“Oh, I’m earning credits for protection detail,” he replied and threw a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the soldiers that had escorted them so far. Her eyes widened in surprise, but it made sense. “I was sent to keep track of you, but I didn’t just want to follow you. I figured you should know I was here.”

“Good idea,” she said and came back toward him. “I throw sharp objects at people who follow me without telling me.”

“Um, I’ll remember that,” he mumbled, a bit nervously, but he recovered quickly enough with a smile.

“Well, come on, then,” she said and walked past him to go back to the inn.

“Aren’t you going to go for a walk or throw a tantrum or something?” Jara asked, pointing the other way. She stopped and looked at him, a pained expression on her face.

“Maybe later,” she replied and kept walking so he had to run to catch up with her. They walked for a bit in silence, but Jara was watching her.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked. She looked up at him sharply, not used to having friends, but she didn’t know where to start.

“Not really,” she said and shoved her hands in her pockets. She could see the inn coming up now and she slowed and then stopped. Jara slowed to stop beside her but stayed silent.

“I don’t want to go to Port Town,” she said suddenly. Jara standing beside her, waited for her to go on. It took a minute. “I used to go there with my mother before she died; I don’t want to go now.”

Jara looked ahead, saw the bustling activity around the intersecting roads, then pointed to a large boulder that sat at the edge, facing the inn across the large intersection. Travellers passed by them in all directions. It was a bit noisy, but it was comforting to see people moving about in a laidback way.

She saw the stone but wasn’t sure what he meant. Jara took her hand, which startled her, but she didn’t pull away. She let him lead her to sit on top of it. When she was settled, he leaned against the side of the stone and picked a piece of long grass to chew in his teeth.

Nyssa watched him chewing, so he bent and pulled another one for her and she took it and followed his example. It didn’t taste overly appealing, but the motion was comforting. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. They stayed in silence for a good long while. Nyssa could see the bustle of her own party, still unloading and handling the animals and equipment. She was glad she was clear of it so she didn’t have to haul packs up and down the stairs. After a long while, Jara finally spoke again.

“It’s just a place, but I understand it has meaning for you. Maybe your mother would be proud you remembered those happy times there. I certainly doubt she’d be mad if you returned without her, but I’m going too. We can go together if you want.”

Nyssa had no idea what to say. It was what her heart wanted to hear, someone sympathizing, giving her credit for her feelings. Jara held out his hand to her. She stared at it and then stared at him. He smiled and kept his hand out.

“I don’t bite, Princess,” he told her smoothly. She frowned and he chuckled.

Preferring not to look intimidated or lesser to this… boy, Nyssa reached out and took it. It was warm. He held her to stand and jump down.

“There. I’m always going to be here, Princess, if ever you need my help,” he added and gave her a big encouraging grin. She couldn’t help returning it a bit.

Jara and Nyssa crossed the courtyard of the inn just in time to see her brother storming out from the main hall. He saw them still hand in hand and hesitated for a second.

“What is it, Patrick?” she asked him. He took his eyes off their hands and narrowed them at her.

“Summit has been cancelled,” he barked in frustration.

“Cancelled?” she said and she let go of Jara’s hand. “Why?”

“Why were you holding hands?” he interrupted. Jara shrugged, completely unafraid of her brother. They were near the same age and also took some of the same classes.

“She needed the support,” he said simply, “but if it’s true, then we’re going back. I should go see about my orders. Are you going to be alright?” he asked her suddenly, turning and focusing again only on her.

Nyssa nodded and smiled. Jara returned the grin, bowed lightly to her and then Patrick and left.

“What was that all about?” Patrick asked again when Jara was no longer within earshot.

“He was being a friend,” she said and she felt it sounded weak, “Not like you’d know anything about that,” she added and walked hastily past him and into the humid hall.

Nyssa found Uli sitting at a long bench in the back of the hall, deep in discussion with several men she didn’t recognize. She discreetly slipped into a spot on a bench one table away but where she could still hear the conversation. Her uncle was unhappy, agitated even, which was unusual for him. Nyssa saw two generals at the table. She recognized their regional insignia. They were definitely not from Orak’Thune capital.

“How could that be?” Uli was saying and he was speaking to one of the generals who wasn’t sitting but standing with one boot on the bench and leaning on his knee. “What are they doing here?”

“We can only speculate, my Lord Regent,” the general said smoothly. He was serious but not agitated. “We felt the summit location was too risky for you at this time. If the delegates agree to travel to Orak’Thune, we will arrange for escorts from the ports of their choice, but at this time, General Titus’s orders are final.”

“Rogun soldiers here? It’s preposterous and what are they thinking?” Uli went on, more to himself, trying to absorb it.

“It is unusual, my Lord. We have no idea why now, after all this time since…the Royal Mother — we can’t imagine what has prompted their return.” The general agreed seriously.

Nyssa swallowed hard at the mention of her mother. Uli was still reeling.

“By horrible coincidence, General, if you hadn’t caught up to us, we would have found ourselves face to face with them and with the king's children, no less!”

Uli fanned himself and took a deep drink of his ale mug. The general nodded and paused conversation to look around the room. His gaze stopped dead when he saw her.

“Well, we did catch up with you and the latest report is the enemy has been dispatched there, but the admiral and guardsman’s orders are clear. Make no attempt to reach Port Town and return at once under the protection of the second contingent of Elite with haste.”

He had been watching Nyssa this whole time and she had been watching him.

“Yes, General, of course,” Uli said and nodded in agreement, still oblivious to Nyssa’s presence. “But can it wait till morning? The children are tired. Nyssa especially,” he added. Nyssa rose quickly and left the hall.

Nyssa strode out of the room and into the evening's failing light. The sun was at a low angle, streaming almost horizontally across the road. It was warm and beautiful and at a total juxtaposition to how she was feeling.

Nyssa was reeling. Rogun soldiers. Men of the sea, here? She knew the general's words were plain; no Rogun soldier had set foot on the continent since her mother’s capture. Why was now significant in some way? It had to be.

But Nyssa’s mind couldn’t grasp the broader implications. Somehow she felt her shortcomings but was powerless to jumpstart her mind to any brilliant revelations. She simply didn’t know enough and her young mind couldn’t even imagine any truly evil notion, like the one that had harmed her mother, which she still didn’t truly understand.

“Nyssa?” she heard called after her and she stopped dead from her power walk down the dusty and lazy road. She waited for her brother to catch up. When he did, he walked around to face her. She noticed that he was a bit flushed from running after her.

“Nyssa, why are you so upset?” he said and put his hands on his hips to breathe deeply. She watched him, not a tiny bit spent though she had been moving fast herself.

“Do you not know or do you not care?” she asked simply. He cocked his head at her.

“The Rogun soldiers, you mean?” he asked her. She nodded very slowly. Patrick bent over at the waist now. He was two years older, just a week shy of his fifteenth birthday, and slim like their mother but tall like their father. He was neither small, nor imposing, but Nyssa disapproved of her brother’s lack of physical stamina.

“See? School makes you weak,” she said and moved to walk around him but didn’t quicken her pace.

“No,” he said lightly, “school makes me powerful, Nyssa. When I’m done here, I’m going back to the academy to finish my year. That will set me back where I was, running the quarter mile faster than you if you recall. But I will also know enough to rule this continent just as well as Uli and that’s so much more than you,” he said and had caught up to her enough that his long legs were making easier strides than her own.

Nyssa didn’t like in the least that her brother was older, that he would return to his physical aptitude in weeks rather than months and yes, that his three-year tutelage under Uli was nearly complete when hers was just beginning. If only she had been born first.

“Is that what you want then, the regency?” she said to him then.

“Uh, yes, what else is there?” he asked. She stopped abruptly again and Patrick had to return a few steps to get back to her. She watched him for a second.

“Uh, the crown, you dolt,” she said, mimicking his tone and crossing her arms. Patrick’s eyes widened, but then he laughed once.

“No way,” he said and then he started to really laugh, almost hysterically. He held up a hand, indicating that she should give him a minute, and he continued to giggle and chuckle for another minute while she regarded him. Nyssa uncrossed her arms and waited. When he could breathe again, he leaned on one knee and tried to catch his breath.

“Oh, Nyssa,” he said and chuckled again, but Nyssa was frustrated and starting to feel embarrassed by his outburst. “You always have the very best wrong ideas,” he said and started laughing again.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she said, not waiting for his reply. She walked around him again and kept going.

“Nyssa!” her brother called out to her, pleading a bit that she should stop. “Nyssa!” he called again and she slowed, but she needed a very deep breath to control her temper.

“My dear sister!” he said, finally catching up to her. “You are always so serious!” he chided her, but it was gentle. “Come on, okay? We’ll be serious. Have it your way.”

Nyssa did stop and she gave him the road. He regarded her, but she didn’t speak. He rolled his hand in front of her. When she didn’t bite, he rolled his eyes.

“And you? What do you want?” he asked. Nyssa jerked her head back in surprise.

“Da wants me a soldier. I thought that was obvious,” she replied without much emphasis. Patrick regarded her now.

“And?”

“And, what?” she added and let her arms drop. She started walking again.

“Nyssa, stop,” her brother said and reached out for her arm to hold her back. When she did stop, again he went around to face her.

“What do you want?” he asked her gently. Nyssa looked at him but then stared back down the road. The sun was setting, the light fading and the air was cooling.

“I don’t feel I have any choice in the matter except to succeed or fail. Da won’t let me fail without killing me if I do, so I guess I’ll just succeed at whatever the academy wants me to do. If I do that enough, it will ensure me a general's commission someday, my own troops and the like. That will keep me close to him, which I guess is enough. At least, I’ll be good at it and earn a rank high enough for my pedigree, which is what is important to Da, I guess,” she said and shrugged. Her brother frowned at her complete bland acceptance of it all.

“Ever consider the crown for yourself?” her brother asked and it was Nyssa’s turn to laugh at him.

“Be serious, Patrick,” she said and giggled again. “First, I’m gonna be twelve; second, I am no Da,” she said and laughed while she passed him. “No council member would support that vote. But you, with Uli, you have a real shot!” she added encouragingly. “I guess one of us in the Crown-Compatriots Act will be thrilling enough. Da will be so proud of you.”

Nyssa wasn’t teasing at all at the last. It was her belief for her family’s future, and she always knew Patrick would be at least regent. Academically, her brother had few equals.

“And you?” he eyed her suspiciously. “You’ll be happy sleeping on camp cots and smelling of horse sweat the rest of your life?” he said. Her smile faded to contempt.

“I’ll be with Da,” she came back at him. “The greatest military mind of a generation. I’ll be there sleeping on cots and smelling of horse flesh for glory and honour, Patrick,” she seethed at him. He leaned back, but she caught the facetiousness of the movement.

“Glory and honour?”

Nyssa stared back at him defiantly. Patrick stalled, then lifted his eyes skyward. “Oh, to be young,” he said and moved away from her, back toward the inn.

“What does that mean?” she called after him. He didn’t stop walking, but he turned his head halfway to reply.

“It means you have no idea, of course. And until you grow up some more, there is no point in continuing this conversation, Baby Sis.” He waved a hand back at her and left her staring after him on the road.

“I am not a baby!” she screamed after him, but he made no more indication he was listening. He continued to stroll away from her, hands in his pockets and whistling.

Nyssa was profusely angry with her brother after their conversation on the road and she carried it for most of their trip home. In the morning, they had mounted and rode out with no less than fifty heavily armed and special Elite troops for the near two-week long drive back to Orak’Thune. Despite the restricted schedule, Nyssa felt more at home on the road. By the second day, she’d convinced the captain to let her ride outside the carriage and her mood drastically improved. Jara joined her there and they picked up their friendship, but now the conversation involved class schedules, tough sergeants and the looming archery final.

“You know Trek is going to win that, right?” Nyssa was saying after they’d run through some of whom they thought were best contenders. Jara shrugged.

“Maybe, but he’s still got some competition to worry about yet,” he said. Nyssa was interested. Jara laughed. “You, Princess, you’re the best bow in the class this year. He’ll be up for a run against you. My money is on you.”

Nyssa hadn’t disguised her surprise when he’d mentioned her. Up until the previous day, she hadn’t even considered any other cadet knew anything about her. She suddenly felt self-conscious.

“Probably explains why he’s never overly nice to me then,” she said and frowned.

Nyssa didn’t elaborate, but that particular classmate went out of his way to make her life less simple. Already she was mostly friendless because her father housed her away from the dorms and she was privileged in a number of ways. Most students didn’t know how to handle a near-twelve-year-old live wire with a royal free pass, like Nyssa.

Trek, on the other hand, was the son of one of her father’s best generals, so the kid didn’t want for much himself. He’d been neck and neck in physical and martial training with Nyssa all year. Three years her senior, he’d relished the opportunity to show her his disdain. He’d broken her thumb the second month during a sparring match, given her a black eye “by accident” during a mid-year exam and had tripped her, pushed her and stolen her food from the lunch tray enough times that she knew beating him was paramount on her list before he graduated. Jara gave her a long look, but there was a smile there the whole time.

“Want me to punch him in the face?” he offered. Nyssa snorted.

“Wait till I win first,” she replied.

“If you wish,” he said with a shrug and they both laughed.

The rest of the journey was a little more livable with conversations and Jara, but upon arrival, Nyssa wished her uncle and brother farewell at the split in the road that separated the academy and the city of Orak’Thune.

“I’ll see you next week,” Patrick had said to her and she’d gratefully accepted his hug. When she was close, he said quietly in her ear, “I’m sorry for calling you a baby.” Nyssa nodded and smiled to let him know they were well.

Nyssa rode with the rest of the contingent until the entrance of the massive military academy complex and turned to say her farewell to Jara, but he looked perplexed. She explained that her father housed her in the officer’s barracks, which were on the other side of the complex from the cadets. His eyebrows rose.

“No wonder no one knows you,” he said and she frowned, looking away from him toward the squat, two-story building. “Do you want to stay there?” he asked.

Nyssa hesitated. She’d resisted since first arriving, but her father had been firm about the idea. She’d been forced to abandon hope of seeing the academy from her classmate’s perspective.

“It’s quiet,” she said, trying to sound positive. Jara narrowed his eyes.

“Well, I’ll remember that the next time my rack mates are snoring too loudly,” he said, but he didn’t seem to want to make fun of her; he just wanted to empathize.

Nyssa nodded and smirked a bit funnily to break the tension, though it was thin. She waved goodbye and turned her horse away to follow the officers who had already started up the path without her, largely unaware of her altogether as she trailed along behind them.

Jara watched her go. In this one scene, he felt he understood a significant amount about the young princess. There was nowhere to hide when you were the king's daughter, but most of the other cadets had serious issue with her being so young. All of them had waited their turn to enter there; all of them felt ready for its challenges and that they were appropriate for their age group. But then there was this child, this little girl, and she was good, better than good. She was better than most of them. They hated her on sight but knew her title required their respect, which was acid on the wound. He’d stood up for her in her absence even before meeting her, just out of sheer decency and he’d always easily won the debate. The others picked on her because they didn’t know her at all.

He, on the other hand, was quite well-liked and enjoyed a mostly popular and carefree existence. He excelled in his studies because he worked hard and was respected by his superiors and his classmates alike. Even though his friends had teased him for wanting it, he was thrilled to be earning extra credits on his current mission. He’d just spent the better part of three weeks being an equal team member on a diplomatic mission. Not a cadet. He felt he’d done well; he’d met his commander’s expectations but his friends would still tease him and call it ‘babysitting.’ To them, there was only one job worthy of giving up your freedoms to follow another around and that was as first guardsman to the king, and Sir Brack wasn’t going anywhere.

Jara rode back with the rest of the impressive Elite, but he noticed none of their conversation. He was thinking of Nyssa. How simply nice and extraordinarily mature she was for her age, which was something he really hadn’t expected. He frequently forgot she was so young every time he spent time with her. She was just...impressive.

Over their long trip back, Nyssa had explained she had been training with a secluded master since she was eight and had recently been released from his tutelage. The admiral of the academy had had to accept her to the formal school because she’d already completed most of the physical training, save what she would have to wait for her body to catch up to do.

Still, she‘d entered as the youngest by two years, which at that age, was a noticeable difference. She was also breaking the rules and that none of her classmates would easily forget.

The following week of her return, Nyssa was unexpectedly ordered to move her belongings into the main dorm complex by nightfall. She was standing in the middle of the bare room she’d occupied for the last year, one pack on the single bed, a large bundle of weapons and armour dumped on the floor and nothing else. She sighed and picked up the pack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she picked up the bundled weapons, which gave her pause under its weight. She gritted her teeth and hefted it anyway, trying not to noticeably wobble as she walked.

She was still unclear about what had happened to change her father’s mind; she hadn’t received the order directly from him, but Brom’s memo to her had been just as brief. The admiral of the academy had suddenly ordered her to move to the same building the other cadets lived in, but she still wouldn’t be in the general population. She was being given a room on an upper floor, which meant some poor officer had been kicked out of his, so she would have to be on the lookout for that new enemy.

The dorm buildings were built to the rear of the central campus, upwind from the stables, and backed by the enormous parade grounds. They were pleasantly landscaped with mature trees, walking paths and tall lanterns, connecting the dorms and the practice fields. Dorm House ‘A’ had four entrances, each on one wall, two of which were fed from staircases. The front entrance led to an enormous lobby and a single sweeping staircase that ran from the open room and up the three-story atrium. Panelled in deep, dark wood and polished over centuries, the dorms were landmarks of heritage and passage. Every citizen a student of civil service which is to say nearly every adolescent once came through their halls. Pausing outside to look at them now, Nyssa was surprised at how excited she was to be finally in them.

Straight through on the ground floor, she knew, was the great room with two enormous fireplaces and every separate floor above that had a smaller version for quieter study and social gatherings, used by the students assigned to that floor.

Nyssa contemplated entering by the main entrance, but she suddenly felt very small. Her baggage was breaking her shoulder; she winced and looked up at the double doors again.

Just then they opened and two cadets came out, deep in some obviously funny conversation. They hadn’t noticed her until they stepped off the first step, but they immediately stopped talking when they did. She recognized their uniforms, of course. They were third-year cadets, but she didn’t know their names. The cadets continued walking down toward her, staring at her in silence. When they came up to her, they simply split to walk around. They both murmured, “Princess,” by way of acknowledgement. Ignoring her would have been insubordination, but they didn’t stop or offer assistance. Nyssa sighed again and decided to take a side entrance.

She managed most of the way up the stairs but needed a break on the second-floor landing. The landings were open concept, and to her dismay, there were many more cadets lounging around there. She hadn’t realized how many until she mounted the last second-floor step and deposited her load loudly on the floor, which silenced the twenty or so students relaxing in their lounge. All heads swivelled to stare at her. No one said a word.

Nyssa needed to catch her breath, but she felt the broken back was worth the pain if it would get her out of this scene. She grabbed her material and desperately tried to heave it back onto her back, nearly throwing herself off-balance and back down the stairs.

“Well, well, the baby has arrived,” she heard, the sarcastic remark coming from the back of the room and she didn’t bother to try to see who it was. She didn’t want to know. People were snickering and coughing uncomfortably to hide it. Her face was burning with embarrassment. “Someone call Jara. It's time to earn his babysitting stripes,” she heard another voice say and she felt they were growing bolder. The room erupted into laughter.

“Enough!”

She heard someone yell and she spared a half turn from the stair she was trying to climb to see. Jara was coming through from the back of the room, her brother right behind him. She was surprised to see them, but especially that it was Jara’s face that was a storm. The room parted immediately to allow them to pass and was instantly silenced by the prince’s presence. When they’d cleared the crowd, Jara turned on his heel to face them, but Patrick shook his head and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Friends,” her brother said loudly and with a false friendly tone, “I’m sure you have better things to do than make a new cadet feel unwelcome.”

The room stared; no one moved. Her brother was now fifteen, three years from graduation — far from any senior in the room, but he was tall, strapping, handsome, golden blonde and she believed him to be the golden child. He enjoyed an easy popular life, his whole being screamed “prince” and people flocked to his easy demeanour, whereas Nyssa just felt, with her mousey-auburn hair, lean, too-young body and shy face, that her appearance screamed simply — house cat.

Jara, fists and jaw clenched, had turned and immediately marched over to Nyssa to roughly grab the heavy weapons bundle off her back. This act unbalanced her again and she nearly fell back. He reached and grabbed her strongly by the arm. Their eyes met, but Nyssa looked away. She grabbed what was left of her belongings and bounded up the stairs. She nearly made it to the third landing but then skidded to a halt, suddenly aware of the mirror floorplan to the one below and the nightmare of bursting in on twenty new snickering faces.

“Left, last room at the end,” she heard Jara say behind her and she bolted away again.

Nyssa burst through the last level landing, startling the cadets there, but none made any crass comments. She ran full bore down the hall and didn’t hesitate to run through the door Jara had indicated. She stood in the middle of a room larger than her last, facing a corner window that looked out over the academy grounds and the main building beyond. She was breathing hard from the effort but shaking from her experience.

“Nyssa,” she heard her brother say, coming into the room behind her. She whirled to face him. He saw her face was flushed and her eyes were watering. “Nyssa, you need to forget it,” he said firmly to her. Jara was standing just outside, at attention it looked like. He had his back to them so he was facing the hall and blocking the door with his body. He’d dumped the weapons just inside the door but was giving them the room.

“They hate me, Patrick!” she said but didn’t yell, careful not to let anyone hear. Patrick raised his hands and shook his head.

“They don’t understand you, Nyssa. There’s a difference,” he said and tried to come over to her.

“Who cares what they don’t understand!” she replied and it was loud. She brought herself up short. “They don’t even care that I’m a princess!” she added and now the tears began to flow. Patrick took a breath.

“Would you rather they respect the title and not the girl?” he shot back harshly. Nyssa stared at him helplessly through tears.

Nyssa didn’t have friends outside the palace, she thought probably because she was a princess, but that had at least protected her from outright disrespect. Without her father’s influence as a monarch, she didn’t know who she was or who she should be. Patrick had never had any of these problems. It didn’t seem to matter if he was a prince or not. She truly felt he didn’t understand.

“You sound like Da,” she spit at him. Patrick looked surprised for a second, but he recovered himself.

“This is not a nursery, Nyssa. You need to be strong. I know it sounds heartless, but you need to not be twelve!” he said low but strong enough. Nyssa gaped at him. Patrick closed his eyes hard, a hand pulled over his face. He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders.

“You need to turn this around; a good place to start is by beating Trek tomorrow. If you can do that and someone else has something cheeky to say, don’t stand for it. Start removing their excuses for doubting you. Do you want to be a princess or a warrior or are you both and you expect them to know it?”

Nyssa was breathing hard, her body tense from the onslaught to her emotions. He kissed her forehead and left. Jara stepped aside so he could pass. Patrick nodded to him before disappearing down the hall.

Jara turned now to look at Nyssa. She was totally exposed, not a defence left to her and she didn’t know what else to do. His expression was desperate. He entered the room and crossed to her and just wrapped her in a hug.

“You do have friends here, Nyssa,” he said to her. “You have yet to meet them, but I’ll be here,” he added and Nyssa felt her breath hitch where her face was buried in his shoulder. She moved her hands to his chest and gripped the material in fists. She was shaking. He moved his hands to the back of her neck and wrapped the other one tightly around her back, holding her close. It was the first hug Nyssa could remember from anyone other than her brother: even her father. She felt deficient in it too, but it was melting her fears like magic, so she held on.

He saw out the window the academy building and it felt all so unfair. Just because this girl was somehow capable of doing what the officers and her father expected of her didn’t mean she wanted to or should. Nyssa was mature enough to handle the pressure, but she lacked the social experiences to navigate her way through an adolescent mine field like the academy, which was a highly competitive environment. Jara sighed at the thought that human affection was possibly not common for her either. Nyssa stood awkwardly against him, even though he had her securely in his arms.

“This is a great room,” he said finally, his tone conversational. She sniffed and pulled back to look at him. “Seriously, you should be good here,” he said approvingly.

“Another reason for everyone to hate me, you mean?” she said and wiped her tears. He shrugged.

“You are the princess,” he replied. “Being a monarch’s daughter comes with inherent risks, hence the need for the private room, but that’s not your fault or choice, so don’t let them bother you about it. It’s the king’s decision. Maybe you can offer to bring up their concern with him directly if they voice their displeasure,” he added helpfully. Nyssa huffed rather than laughed, but Jara smiled.

“You are not here to make excuses or hide who you are, Highness,” he said and stood up straighter. “So don’t let them make you. At the same time, try not to give them too many chances to kick you when you’re down. Next time, order a bat boy to help you with your luggage or call me to help you. Whatever ensures you can walk up those stairs carrying yourself like a normal person and not a mule,” he added. Nyssa laughed again but looked down at her hands.

“Unpack and get some rest. Your brother is right. Do well tomorrow against Trek and you’ll earn yourself some big points in the respect department, hands down.”

Jara smiled at her and turned to leave.

“Jara!” she called to him when he reached the door. He stopped and turned, just in time to catch her fly back into his arms. Surprised but not upset, he squeezed her again.

“I know who you are, Princess Nyssa,” he whispered to her from above her head. “But I think there is so much more to you than you’re letting yourself show. I promise you can rely on me to have your back until you figure it out.”

She nodded under his chin and for the first time, she felt maybe she might not be alone.