Truly, the knights had no idea what ‘dusting their boots’ meant, and I doubted they cared. Their clanging came almost every hour, accompanied by shouting as they deepened the scratches in the castle steps. Only the thought of my bed—and a rare night of pastries and wine—kept me from screaming.

The idea dissolved when a fidgety messenger, reeking of nervous sweat, hurried up the steps with a single letter in hand. His cloak was unfamiliar, but a glance at the crest pinning it together told me he came from the Western Kingdom. A silver spider building its web. A little dreadful for my taste. 

Strange that a servant from the enemy king could walk so freely near the castle, though it wasn’t my concern. My priority was the platter waiting on my bed, and the thought of a quiet evening kept me moving.

When I had finished, my hands screamed for a rest, my feet were almost numb, but I wasted no time hurrying to the servant’s halls. The cleanest place in the castle. Its plain decor made it easy to find—not that we had chosen that. The maids complained more than once about that. However, I don’t spend enough time resting here to care. 

I yawned, though my heart leaped for joy as I reached for my quarter’s door handle. Only for disappointment to reach my ears as a voice called out to me. 

“Winona Winslet.”

Hiding my annoyance best I could; I turned to see the steward heading my way. The man seemed in high spirits, oddly high. 

“Yes, Osric?” 

He waved his hand, “Take that frown off your face. It’s pleasant news.”

“Pleasant news means more work.” 

“All of which advances your experience and betterment of character.”

I sighed at his cheer, though I knew he meant well. “Tell me what you need.”

“A letter has come in. Something urgent. The king and his nobles are holding a meeting tonight and I need you to serve them.”

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“Yes, but I’m rather busy tonight.”

“May I ask what?”

 I leaned closer, hoping for a clue. Only to be shot down without hesitation. 

“That’s none of your concern,” he said, adjusting tunic. “Now hurry along.”

The conversation ended before I could get a word in edgewise. He gallivanted off like a peacock, leaving me to imagine a wolf leaping from the shadows to teach him some manners. No luck there, alas. 

I shrugged and made my way down the torch-lit halls, to a room full of gray-haired, suspiciously idle men. Where dust lingered on every surface, and emerald banners draped above every doorway, each marked with the royal crest—a snake curled around the sun. The chairs were made of dark, polished wood, and the table stretched longer than my room at home. Impractical, yes, but probably impressive to someone who cared about such things.

With a light patter, I took my place behind the king’s cushioned seat. Surprised as I took in tonight’s gathering—every seat was filled. Normally some noble or advisor would bow out at this hour. This letter must be serious. The members must’ve not seen it that way, seeing as they took their time chattering towards their seats. 

When they finally did; the king motioned to Albert, the court reader, to begin the letter.

“To the King of the Eastern Kingdom, in the wake of the long and bitter conflict I write not with eagerness, but with necessity. Too many seasons have passed beneath the shadow of war, and my people—who have endured more than any crown should require—deserve the promise of quiet days once more.”

The nobles' faces had a strange mix of curiosity, confusion, and fear. And I could only assume his majesty felt similar, though it was hard to tell from the look of his back. Not a pretty sight, but I guessed it came with the territory of being king.

He continued, “Yet peace cannot be built on fragile words or half-kept vows. If we are to lay down arms, it must be upon foundations strong enough to hold the weight of all that has been lost. Therefore, let it be known that peace shall stand only upon these terms and likewise I expect to hear yours in return.”

His voice was calm. The only thing I liked about these meetings. 

“First, the borders seized in the last campaign will be returned to their rightful lines before the turning of the next season. Second, tribute equal to the damages wrought upon my lands be delivered to the royal treasury within the year. Last…” 

Albert’s eyes studied each line carefully. His mouth remained tight. 

“Well?” The king asked. 

“...A hostage of honorable birth,” he said, eyes scanning the parchment, “will be given into my care for a season, and as you have but one descendant, a Princess Vivian. I shall expect her presence, that peace may stand upon something more than words.

My eyes drifted to the envelope lying open on the table, its broken seal shedding black wax like ashes. It felt less like a letter and more like a warning of the fire to come. The princess was His Highness’ most prized. Nothing had ever come close to troubling her, and yet here he was, demanding her with all the bluntness of a hammer.

A chair scraped, urging Albert to keep going. “If these conditions are met without delay, I shall lay aside grievance and recognize your kingdom once more as a neighbor, not an enemy. But should you refuse them, the fault of continued bloodshed will rest solely upon your throne.” 

He lowered the parchment, “By my hand, King, Wulfric Pembroke.”

The chamber was deathly silent. Every face said the same: Vivan must go. Yet no one dared say it aloud…except Lord Collins. A fine fellow who, judging by his highness’ glares, is unwanted at every event they hold. 

“Your highness,” he began, voice steady, “we all care for Lady Vivian, but I implore you to think of the people first. If war continues, it will reach far into our borders. Sending her now might broker peace—an enemy turned ally.”

“Are you suggesting I send my daughter to be at the whims of some brute?”

He gripped his armrest, teeth baring like a preying fox. 

“It would only be for a season.”

An advisor to Lionel's side chirped up, “If we refuse this offer of peace, it could be disastrous. However, we cannot risk her safety. Perhaps if we send matching demands, he will rethink his terms. It will show we seek peace without much risk for the princess.” 

Lionel's grip loosened. “What say the rest of you?”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. All of which seemed relatively relieved. 

“Good.” His gaze snapped towards me. “Vivian—er—Winslet. Bring me fresh parchment and a quill at once.” 

“Yes, your majesty,” I bowed before walking to the door. It wasn’t the first time he’d mistaken me for the princess. We may look alike, but our temperaments couldn’t be further apart—Thank God—seeing as I’ve never had a servant’s family run broke for a miswashed dress. 

As the doors fell closed behind me, I heard an echo of the king. “Let us see how Wulfric takes to our demands.”