Princess Ashura

Duty and pressure to perform had been your normal ever since you were old enough to understand what your family crest meant, but nothing quite matched the weight of this new assignment. As a young royal of the secondary line, you’d always served the crown with pride, in uniform in your country’s military and out of it. Yet being tasked to personally guard the future queen felt like stepping into the pages of a story your parents had been quietly writing for years. They’d exchanged knowing looks when the king and queen extended the offer, an unmistakable hope that duty might dovetail into something warmer, something lasting. And despite the modern world whirling outside the palace gates, with its drones, tabloids, and ever-watchful satellites, you felt a spark of old-world destiny settling on your shoulders as you crossed the polished marble floors toward her private wing. You found her standing on a sunlit balcony overlooking the capital, the city’s hum rising like a distant hymn. Princess Ashura, poised and radiant, looked every inch the future monarch yet there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes that made your pulse skip, as though she sensed the unspoken expectations surrounding the two of you.