Chapter CLXII: Ponies and baby dragons
The morning sun streamed into the great hall of Belton’s castle, casting beams of light across the cold stone floor and glinting off the heavy wooden table where Lord Belton sat at the head. He was only twenty-one, yet the weight of his father’s shadow made him feel older, every decision he made was a battle between expectation and rebellion. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried himself with an air of confident defiance that belied the storm within. His dark hair, cut just above his collar, neatly brushed back, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room with a glint of challenge.
Dressed in rich, deep greens and blacks—the colors of the Stormlands—Belton looked every bit the formidable young lord he had to be. But there was a tightness around his mouth and a hardness in his jaw that betrayed how much the role demanded of him. His father’s iron rule was both his legacy and his curse, and while Belton had no love for the older man’s cruelty, he knew abandoning that harsh legacy might cost him everything.
Princess Rya stood across from him, flanked by her advisors. Her chin was lifted defiantly, her dark hair catching the sunlight like fire, and her eyes—green and fierce—met his without flinching. Belton fought the urge to smirk at the sight of her in royal blue and silver, as if she was trying her best to appear somber and older.
Rya took a step forward, her voice cool and controlled. “Lord Belton, I, on behalf of the crown, seek the reopening of the southern roads for trade, with a yearly tribute offered as compensation. We believe this agreement will benefit both the capital and the Stormlands.”
Belton leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly on the armrest. His eyes swept over her as if appraising a mere trinket. “A yearly tribute? How generous.” The sarcasm in his voice bit like frost. “And who exactly benefits from this tribute, Princess Rya? The capital, fat on its luxuries, or the Stormlands, already bled dry by your father’s wars?”
Rya’s eyes narrowed. “The crown does not seek to exploit but to create mutual prosperity. The abusive taxes your father imposed have stifled growth for both sides. This proposal would—”
“Abusive?” Belton interrupted, leaning forward now, the smirk on his face fading into a cold line. “You speak of things you don’t quite understand, Your Highness. My father’s measures kept this land alive through years when your capital’s policies would have seen us starve. Your father, The Dragon King, burned us to the ground!”
Rya’s pulse quickened. The way he dismissed her as if she were a naive child sent a flame of anger racing through her veins. “You think I don’t understand?” she spat, stepping closer. “I know what it costs to keep peace, to keep alliances strong, and I have borne the weight of responsibility that comes with it. You know I am my father’s daughter, but don’t you ever presume to know me, Lord Belton.”
His eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He stood, and the room seemed to shrink as he loomed over her, the gap between them closing. “Responsibility?” he echoed, voice low and cutting. “You might understand responsibility as a title, a privilege. This whole visit might seem like a fun getaway for you. Out here, responsibility is survival. It’s knowing that every decision, every misstep, could destroy those who depend on you. What do a princess know about this?”
The silence in the room was suffocating, the advisors shifting uncomfortably as the tension between the two rulers throbbed like a living thing. Rya’s heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to break eye contact. She felt a grudging respect for the man who now stood so close, the weight of his words pressing down on her. No one in court would ever dare to speak to her like this.
Belton’s gaze locked onto hers, and for the briefest moment, the heat between them was more than just anger. It was something rawer, more dangerous, that neither could name. He leaned back, the air cooling as he settled into his seat once more.
“You have my answer, Princess,” he said, voice calmer now, though still laced with defiance. “The roads stay closed unless you can offer more than shallow promises.”
Rya’s jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to remain composed. “Then we’ll continue these talks, Lord Belton. Because this matter is far from over for me.”
He inclined his head, the smirk returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So it seems. But I wouldn’t advise on you wasting your time, princess. Go back to you ponies, baby dragons or whatever…”
As she turned to leave, her heart still pounding, Rya felt his eyes follow her. The game had begun, and neither of them was ready to concede.
Rya stormed into her chambers, slamming the door behind her. The silence of the room pressed down on her like a suffocating weight. With shaking hands, she reached for the delicate brooches pinned to her dress, tearing them away one by one as hot tears slid down her cheeks. The anger and humiliation coursed through her, every dismissive word from Lord Belton replaying in her mind. Spoiled. Immature. His insinuations cut deeper than she wanted to admit, making her question everything she had fought so hard to prove.
As she unclasped the last pin from her hair, letting the waves tumble down her back, the sob that had been building in her chest finally broke free. She sank onto the edge of her bed, shoulders heaving, feeling as if she were once again the young girl left out of council meetings and hunts, always fighting for a sliver of recognition. Her brothers were trusted, groomed for leadership from birth. But Kira, sweet and obedient Kira, who never dared get a speck of dirt on her pristine dresses, seemed to embody everything their parents wanted in a daughter: quiet, graceful, dreaming of knights and ballads. Of course she had to be the favorite.
Rya buried her face in her hands, the self-doubt gnawing at her. Was Belton right? Was she just a princess playing at duty, trying to prove something she didn’t truly understand? A sob caught in her throat as memories of her childhood flooded back—begging to join the royal hunts, shouting to be present in the council room with her brothers, always demanding to be seen as more than just the wayward daughter.
But then, through the haze of doubt, a flicker of resolve sparked within her. She couldn’t give up, not now. She had promised herself she would return to the capital only when the roads were opened. She had come too far to crumble at the first taste of real challenge. The image of her mother’s comforting arms flashed in her mind, and Rya’s heart ached with the longing to feel safe and reassured. But there was no turning back now. There was only this battle, and she had no choice but to see it through.
Breathing deeply, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, straightening her back. This was her mission, her first true challenge where she wasn’t merely begging to be included—she was chosen. And she would prove that she could handle it, even if it meant standing toe to toe with a man as infuriating and relentless as Belton.
“You will choke on your ego, Belton,” she whispered, voice trembling with determination. “You have no idea what’s coming.”
With that, she rose from the bed, brushing the last of her tears away. The fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
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