“Eliza, would you be a dear and run me a bath? I want to look good for the raffle, you know.”

The voice that spoke was gentle, sounding a simple suggestion rather than a command. The red-headed young woman settled back into an armchair. Stretching her legs out in front of her, she rested them on the small stool a little way from the edge of the seat. Ariannya Vasquez, heir to the English throne, nestled into her favourite chair.

The soft red velvet was smooth against her small hands, as she rested her them on the armrests. With her eyes shut, she thought about the raffle, a chill trickling down her spine as it crossed into her mind. She let out a deep sigh, pushing the thoughts from her mind, and returning her attention to her book.

A slight movement beside the door distracted her, as the handmaid pulled it closed behind her. The dark wood that made up the door seemed to melt into the panelling around the walls of the room. A smile danced across Anya's lips, before she looked back to the deep blue cover of the heavy book in her lap.

The book's cover was a well worn shade of navy. The layers of leather peeled up in the corners, revealing the cream of the base and spine.

This particular story had been one of her favourites. It had been one she had loved ever since she first heard her father reading it to her. She knew the place of every word, and remembered the sound of her father's voice as he had read it. It had been a deep sound, one that had brought her peace of mind, a sound she knew she would never forget.

Anya leafed through the pages, scanning the numbers on the bottom right-hand corner. She searched for the page at which she had left off. Anya had long since passed the need for a bookmark- she knew the precise location of every part of this book. Her current chapter, "The Blue Headscarf", took place close to the end.

She began to read, her mind whisked away into a realm of fantasy. Finding herself deep in her own imagination, she thought of the characters. She herself was in the place of a narrator, looking on the story itself in enjoyment, invisible to the rest. Pulled away from her own world, and thrown deep into another she knew just as well.

Ten minutes had passed before Eliza Tanase, Anya's handmaid, rushed back in. Her sharp voice cut through Anya's visions of the green meadows.

“Your bath is ready, my lady.” She informed her, bowing deeply as she did so.

Anya looked up, allowing the book to fall closed. She pulled back her legs, putting her bare feet flat on the soft carpet that covered the floor. Leaning over, she placed her book on the small end table, positioned by the chair itself.

She dipped her head toward Eliza, in silent gratitude, and strode toward the door. Her footsteps were silent on the carpet, too soft to make a sound. The handmaid waited until she had entered the large bathroom, before she shut the door. Eliza had other duties to attend to, and preparations to make for when her mistress had finished.

The clean tiles of the floor were warm and spotless, and they shimmered in the soft sunlight. It filtered through the heavy lace curtains, illuminating the bathroom in a golden glow. The setting sun shone at the perfect angle, hanging low in the crimson sky.

The princess slid out of her robe before she dipped one toe into the hot water. A sudden wave of heat lapped over her freezing feet, working its way up as she stepped into the water. She slid down into the warmth, relishing the pleasure of entering the bath. She lay there, her red hair pooling around her, floating on the surface like an autumn leaf on a pond.

Little more than an hour later, she was in her most formal dress, walking down the steps of her home, hand in hand with her mother. The pair of them put on their best smiles, pretending not to notice the large crowds that gathered around them. People pushed against each other. They tried to get closer as they yelled out their questions. Maria held her daughter's arm tight, wishing to shield her from the world a little longer, hoping to keep her as her own little girl for just a year or two more.

They reached the royal carriage in a few minutes, and they sat opposite each other. Anya sighed with relief, glad the experience was over. She leaned back against the seat of the carriage, shutting her eyes for a moment. Most of the time, Anya hated dressing up. It took forever for the servants to get her into a state that her mother was happy with, and even longer to make sure all preparations had been finished. Security around the palace was the tightest in the city- something which she had been informed was a relatively new development.

It was all because of Kole's theft that they required a fully armed guard for the smallest trips, and larger, more extensive groups of bodyguards for the more important trips- like the biannual raffle. To Anya, it had become little more than an unnecessary bother, something that was put in place only to hinder her journeys. She had noticed, much to her annoyance, that the guard around her was particularly skilled. Which of course meant that even more measures had to be taken.

“Anya.” Maria started, her voice softer than it was normally. “You need to pay attention now, okay? The people expect us to greet them as we ride.” The Empress gestured outside the window, where they had broken free from the large crowd, and a few citizens ran after them, shouting and waving. Walking beside the door, there was one of the palace guards, holding his rifle straight, appearing to look straight ahead. He was in the inner ring of defence, tasked with the security and protection of the Empress and her daughter. His eyes never strayed from the crowds, and he watched them out of the corner of his eye.

Anya's eyes snapped open, and she returned her attention to the streets outside, watching the buildings move past, focusing on the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse's hooves amongst the whirling of gears, and the distant whistles of pressurised steam as it was released.

They were headed to the Atrium- a large building near the centre of the city- to watch and announce the results of the raffle. She pulled a face. The raffle.

Since the Arcane Rune had been stolen, only forty years ago, one single person was exiled from the city, every two years, to go in search of this vital piece of equipment. It was not until the Arcane Rune was found that they could be certain of the city's safety. In the four decades that had passed since its theft, the great city of London had become a cesspool for crime, a city in which the only safe places were those illuminated by the golden glow of the city's lights. Any dark alley or street shrouded in darkness could be hiding something deadly. Even murderers themselves dared not enter these particular areas, in fear of the monsters that were said to lurk in the shadows.

As they drew closer to the Atrium, Anya’s thoughts were called back to the present. Bells rang out all around, singing for the raffle. Each Raffle was held on the first Sunday of the Fourth month, every year that ended with an even number. The week that followed was deemed a holiday for all but those aiding the individual chosen in the raffle. During this time the people of London would feast and celebrate, nobles throwing extravagant parties, and common folk gathering in market squares for fairs and fêtes. It struck Anya as quite sadistic- after all, the raffle marked the departure (and inevitable death) of one of their own. Perhaps they thought there was some glory in it.

The road beneath the carriage changed texture, the wheels wobbling less as they switched to a smoother brick path. Anya glanced outside, confirming that they had indeed arrived before the Atrium. The carriage was pulling up before the doors specifically for the Empress and her heir, a long carpet stretching from the front steps to the door of their carriage. Crowds swarmed either side, held back by various guards and fences. Lining their path- the carpet- were braziers of white marble, matching the entrance of the Atrium. Flames burned brightly within them, lighting the way.

The building itself was something to behold; a giant structure of white marble, with pillars supporting massive panes of glass. Small pieces of brass served as decorations, bordering windowpanes or forming elegant signs and pictures to decorate the walls. It seemed to glitter in the light, the dying embers of sunset and the warm glow of the braziers reflected off the metal, creating patterns on the buildings lining the other side of the street.

The carriage came to a complete halt, and the guard on the side of the Atrium opened the door to the outside. Maria gave her daughter a smile, “Smile, dear,” she reminded her, lifting Anya’s chin with one hand before standing and stepping out of the imperial carriage. Anya took a deep breath, letting her face relax into a smile, before taking the hand of the footman waiting outside, and stepping down the steps onto the carpet.

Her own personal guard stepped in behind her, and Anya started the trip down the carpet, following close to her mother. People on either side cheered for them, for the Empress and her Heir.