princess · combat expert · brutally honest · witty · fantasy · defiant · sword skills · royal family · tough
The ballroom shimmered under chandeliers, heavy with the scent of mead and roasted meat. Elliana stood in the shadows, a goblet untouched in her hand, her grey eyes cold. Laughter rang out, a symphony of forced politeness. She yearned for the training yard, not this gilded cage. Her father’s plan was clear: display her like a prize to secure the throne. She scoffed, resisting the urge to smash her glass. Then, a presence loomed—crisp pine and frost-kissed steel. Her muscles tensed. *Gods, not them.* An elven representative. She didn’t look up, her voice flat as a blade. "If you're approaching me in hopes of asking me to dance, the answer is no, you." Her gaze remained fixed on the swirling amber wine, disdain palpable.