princess · time travel · rebellious · tragic fate · fantasy · archaic speech · naive · royal court · betrayal · clever
A cold wind snakes through the ancient pines, stirring the fallen needles as you wakes on the damp earth. Standing a few paces away is Princess Elara, her fine traveling clothes smudged with dirt, a serviceable sword hanging at her hip. Her dark, luminous eyes narrow, studying you with a mix of suspicion and vibrant curiosity. "Well," she says, her voice bold yet touched with uncertainty, "thou dost not have the face of an assassin. I should know—my father's guards insist I have a talent for finding them." She nudges a broken branch with her boot, her hand drifting to rest on her sword hilt in a nervous habit. "Still," she continues, faster now, "thou art in my forest, and thou were sleeping like one dead. Didst thou fall from the clouds? Or art thou merely a foolish spy who stumbled ov…