The Princess Without Parents

“Welcome to Peridotia, Duchess Yuli, and honored guests. It is a pleasure to welcome you to our palace. I trust your journey was a safe one.”

The duchess, accompanied by her attendants and guards, returned the greeting. A young knight beside her faltered for a moment, captivated by the princess’s poised beauty—until the duchess gave a pointed cough. He straightened immediately.

The grand hall was bathed in golden afternoon light, streaming through the stained-glass windows. Peridot green and gold—the royal colors of Peridotia—danced across the polished marble floor like forest leaves lit by the sun.

Peridotia, the kingdom of the evergreen, was blessed by the sacred spring and the great Mother Tree of the enchanted forest. That magic, ancient and unseen, was the lifeblood of the land. It was said that those born of the royal line carried the forest’s blessing—that they were entrusted with its protection, and in turn, it protected them.

At the far end of the hall, beneath the crest of the royal family—a tree entwined with a golden thread—sat Princess Charlotte.

Her golden hair seemed to melt like sunlight, and her eyes—peridots, true to her name—held a quiet, steady light. Yet behind that gleam was a stillness. Not the calm of peace, but the stillness of someone holding her breath for too long.

She wore nothing that made her feel like herself— not the soft, light dresses she favored, nor the red ribbon her mother had once gifted her, which usually tied her hair with care and familiarity.

Instead, she sat draped in a heavy gown embroidered with solemn elegance, a deep green dress stitched more for ceremony than comfort. The braid that usually swayed freely down her back was now pulled tight, her head adorned with a gleaming tiara. Still, she did her best to maintain her composure, to sit with grace and dignity befitting a princess.

Before her stood Duchess Yuli of Bahharis, the desert kingdom to the west. Tall and silver-haired, the duchess carried herself with the kind of grace only earned by surviving storms. Today’s visit was a formality—a renewal of goodwill before discussing trade.

"You resemble your mother more with each passing year," Yuli said, her tone soft but assessing. "And your father’s kindness—yes, that too. I had my doubts about Peridotia’s future, but seeing you now… I am reassured."

Charlotte’s breath caught for a moment.

Her parents—the beloved Queen Jeanne and her consort Wilbert—had vanished five years ago. They had been the guests of honor at a wedding in Bahharis, a celebration meant to symbolize unity between the two lands.

They never made it home.

The sandstorm struck without warning. No caravan. No guards. No farewell. Just silence.

The kingdom trembled at the loss. Many mourned—noble hearts and common alike wept for the queen who had listened, and the consort who had stood beside her like an oak. And yet… in the absence of wreckage, bodies, or even remnants of their carriage, hope refused to vanish entirely.

There were those who believed—perhaps foolishly, perhaps faithfully—that they might return.

But five years had passed.

Peridotia could not linger forever in the shadow of the ones it had lost.

All but two had accepted their fate: Charlotte, their only daughter, and Jack, who served as both Knight Commander and mage of Peridotia.

But these were thoughts that belonged to quiet moments. Not in the gilded light of a diplomatic hall.

“That is kind of you to say, Duchess,” she said with a practiced smile. “I am doing my best to honor their legacy.”

Yuli gave a solemn nod. “Your parents built this kingdom into something strong and wise. I’ve no doubt you will grow into that strength.”

Charlotte nodded, but in her heart, uncertainty stirred.

…Will I? Can I?

Yuli studied her for a moment longer, then let out a knowing chuckle. “You’re still young. In time, you’ll find your way. Just remember—you do not walk alone. Allies stand with you.”

She gave a soft gaze, lingering on Charlotte with something almost maternal. She knew the girl had never had the chance to grieve—not properly. And perhaps she never would. It was a quiet kind of strength, the kind that broke your heart to witness.

“It means a great deal to hear that,” Charlotte said, dipping her head in gratitude.

Their talk drifted into safer waters: seasonal exports, invitations to the flower festivals, and tariffs on luxury goods. As the conversation circled to imported weapons and the magical restrictions placed on enchanted items from the Eastern isles, Yuli’s voice took on a different note—slightly more measured, slightly more wary.

"Speaking of enchanted items," she said, setting her teacup down with a faint clink, "we’ve recently had issues at our southern border. Smugglers, yes—but not all of them acted on their own will."

Charlotte blinked. “What do you mean?”

Yuli’s expression shifted, shadowed. “There is a sorcerer.”

The word fell like a crack in the light.

"A phantom, some call him. No name, no face. Only his work. He rules from the dark, with a thousand puppets and a few living servants who carry out his will."

Charlotte stiffened, but whether Yuli knew it or not, she continued to speak.

"His creations are not men, but constructs. Puppets made of sand. Controlled by strings none can see. They do not bleed. They do not feel. They only obey. And once they have chosen a target, they do not stop."

Yuli’s voice lowered. “We liken him to the Nahas-Serqet—the desert serpent that never releases its prey. Once it coils around you, the only escape is death.”

The name sent a chill down Charlotte’s spine.

She’d heard stories as a child. Tales of that serpent—how it moved without sound beneath the sands, waited for the heat of day to burn high, and then struck with impossible speed.

Charlotte felt the weight of the crown on her head—even though she wasn’t wearing it.

"That sounds…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Like a dangerous foe. Are you not afraid...? To have such an unknown enemy out there..."

Yuli gave her a smile—steady, unshaken. “Of course. But rulers do not have the luxury of fear. We must place trust in our people. And in those who will rise when we fall.”

Charlotte’s admiration stirred again—this woman spoke like the leaders she had grown up watching. The kind who bore their own fear so others wouldn’t have to.

“I’ll remember that,” she said.

Yuli gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “And if your magic is anything like your mother’s… I think Peridotia has little to fear.”

Charlotte forced a small laugh. "Ah… well, that remains to be seen."

She deflected the compliment as always—with grace. But doubt coiled quietly beneath her skin as she touched her hand, unconsciously.

Yes, she had magic. She had the blessing of the forest, like other royal blood of this kingdom.

But she carried a secret few knew—a burden that cast a long shadow over her heart.

This conversation, this meeting, this entire performance—it was a dance she had learned well, but she could not shake the feeling that she was merely pretending. Pretending to be the ruler her parents had once been. Pretending she had all the answers.

Still, she could not afford to falter. Not here.

She lifted her chin and said, “Shall we move on to the trade negotiations?”

Yuli smiled once more, and the conversation resumed.

But long after the hall fell quiet and the sunlight faded from the floor, the image of a snake slithering through sand lingered in Charlotte’s mind.

A nameless sorcerer.

A thousand unfeeling puppets and obedient servants to their commands.

And all the while, Peridotia waited—quietly, politely—for its next queen to stop pretending.