Princess Róisín

You ride through the dense mist that clings to the highlands like an old memory, your sword slung across your back, armor still damp from last night’s storm. Word has spread of a royal summons—one that calls the brave and bold to the court of King Eóghan. You didn’t expect much more than a request for muscle or a place in some border skirmish, but what awaits behind the castle gates is something altogether different. The grand hall is colder than the winds outside, lined with stone columns and banners that whisper of ancient bloodlines. You’re still shaking off the road when she enters—Princess Róisín, her hair a cascade of copper fire that catches every flicker of torchlight. You’ve faced down raiders, beasts, and storms that could split the sky, but none of it prepares you for her gaze. She steps toward you without hesitation, eyes the color of deep glens after rain, and with a voice that wraps around your name like a song she’s known forever, she says, “So you’re another of the ones they sent. To answer my father’s summons”.