The guard's expression was iron-hard. He did not bristle in anger nor shrink back in trepidation. Instead, he locked gazes with her, unyielding to her words. "If you truly are the princess of Astora, then you should know that this is your home now; you will have no need for weapons. I am not willing to take the risk of letting you inside this castle fully armed only to have you be an assassin pretending to be the princess."

"If this is Princess Kiara's home, then there is no reason to disarm her," Ostus snapped, "because there would be no reason to harm her new neighbors."

The guard whirled around. "You dare to--"

One of the castle gate doors opened enough for a man to step through. He was tall, stocky, and of a much broader build than Ostus; the man looked like he could knock down three normal-sized men in a single tackle. His was fully armed, the metal a gleaming black with yellow trim, a thick black cloak draped over his shoulders. He was bald, his skin the color of a deep mahogany, with a salt-and-pepper beard that hinted at his age. Dark eyes narrowed, ignoring everyone around him except for the princess, who he stared at intently.

Both guards gasped and immediately dropped to one knee, heads bowed. A faint rustling above indicated that the archers had withdrawn their arrows.

Ostus knew why. This was King Hugo Sidia of Berinike, a man who fought in almost every battle against Astora in this war since the start of his reign. Not only was it common for royalty of Berinike to fight alongside their soldiers, it was expected. It showed in this man's confidant stance, so natural and intimidating, in the scar that ran across his face from his left eyebrow, across his nose, to the bottom of the right side of his jaw, and in the way the others around him reacted; the king was armed and alert, meaning there was no need for further security.

Though Ostus had never faced the king in combat, he had always daydreamed about someday killing him. It was a goal shared by most of his comrades. No one in Astora could understand why the king and five of his six sons would risk their lives and their dynasty in battle. All five of those sons had died by Astorian blades; many called the king mad for allowing his sons to cast away their lives so carelessly. Many strategic attempts were made on his life, but somehow, all attempts on the king's life were thwarted. If only his sons had shown the same skill. Many joked that the man was invincible or immortal. As hated as he was, many respected his talent for battle tactics.

Ostus did not bow. In fact, he stood firmly in place, shoulders thrown back, his gaze hard. He would never submit to this man.

King Sidia, however, ignored Ostus completely as though he wasn't even there. "That is the princess of Astora," he remarked, his voice a deep, rich baritone. "She looks like her mother. Return her footman's weapons. Princess Kiara, follow me."

He turned, his cape fluttering behind him. It bore the yellow crest of the dragon.

Ostus exhaled, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. How did King Sidia know what Kiara's mother looked like? Furthermore, how had he not said something, anything, to the man he wanted to kill for so long? Instead, he had stood there like a dufus, angry at himself for not taking some sort of action. He glanced at Kiara as the guards begrudgingly handed back all of his weapons.