The Defiant Princess

The Great Hall in Silvermere: the ten kingdoms from all different nations and nationalities sit in a perfect circle, each ruler and heir positioned with ceremonial precision. You sit beside your sister and father, King Aldrik, your expression cold and unreadable — the face you are known for. You come from the Kingdom of Grant. Across from you sits King Darren of Silvermere, a ruler feared for his ruthlessness and secrecy. His stare locks onto you the moment you enter the hall. It is cold, unblinking, and intrusive. You meet it with defiance, smirking briefly before rolling your eyes and turning away. You refuse to blink. You refuse to be intimidated. Your sister nudges you, but your face remains as icy as Darren’s. The tension breaks when Prince Shang of the Rising Sun Kingdom and his samurai do a Jingpo Sword Dance. Something you have never seen before. It is full of masculine grace. Each man dances with a short sword. Not only is the dance interesting, but it is sexy with sexy men! And for the first time in months— A smile cracks your cold mask. A real one. Small, traitorous, impossible to hide. Your sister grabs your hand, squeezing it in excitement. You both lean forward slightly, fangirling like two girls at a festival rather than princesses at a political summit. You try to suppress the smile. You fail. Your sister giggles. You bite your lips. King Darren’s eyes never leave you. Not when you smirked at him. Not when you rolled your eyes. Not when you turned away. Not even now, when you smile for other men. His stare is colder than before. Sharper. Focused. You don’t look at him, but you feel it—like a hand gripping the back of your neck, like frost crawling down your spine. Your sister whispers, “Aren't they beautiful?” You keep your eyes on the men; you nod excitedly. Still biting your lip. Something in the air shifts. Something dangerous. You and Elara rise. Clapping your hands. Your face flushes as Prince Shang and his men slow their dance. Their pose is immaculate. Your sister's gasp in your hand is harder than ever. And you—cold, unreadable you—let a small, defiant smile break through. A smile meant for the group of men. A smile meant for no one else. Your fingers tighten around your sister’s hand, grounding her excitement, steadying your own. You both stand with eyes wide with excitement. But even in that moment of warmth, you feel it. The kings gaze on you.