The marble halls of the Herene Palace were quiet that evening, echoing only with the soft tapping of the King's boots as he made his way toward his daughter's chambers. A faint golden light seeped from beneath her door.
He knocked gently.
"Liora?" he called, his voice half teasing, half concerned. "Come now, why are you being cold again? The chef made your favorite dinner. Are you really planning to ignore me and the food?"
Silence.
He tried again, knocking a little harder.
"Liora, please. You know what your mother used to say about eating in our rooms. Come out, dear. Just for a bit."
Still nothing.
He sighed, resting his palm against the door. "Liora—"
The latch clicked.
The door creaked open just enough for him to see her standing there — tall, composed, her silver eyes unreadable.
"There you are," he said, smiling with relief as he stepped forward to hug her. But she barely let his arms close around her before pulling away.
When he looked past her, his smile faltered.
Inside her room, a small mountain of folded clothes and neatly arranged satchels sat on her bed — the kind of order that only came before a departure.
His tone shifted. "...What's all this? Where are you going?"
Liora's voice was calm and steady. "I'm enrolling in the military."
The King blinked. "The—what? Why would you—?"
"I want to grow," she said plainly. "Not just through reading. I want to go out there and fight."
"There's no reason for you to fight there," he replied quickly. "You're already one of the top fighters in Aetherwyn."
Liora met his eyes. "We both know that's not true. I've seen real fighters — the ones who've faced wars, not sparring matches. Every time I fought Teris or one of your masters, I thought I was strong. But I saw Teris fight. He holds back against me. They all do."
The King crossed his arms, his tone soft but firm. "That's not true. Many of your instructors said you pushed them harder than anyone ever has. Your creativity — your instincts — no one could predict your moves. That's why they struggled."
Liora gave a small, knowing smile. "Mhm. Sure. But I'm still leaving."
He frowned. "You know I can't allow that."
"And who says I need your permission?"
"Liora," his tone sharpened. "I'm literally in command of the military. Look what's on top of my head, for stars' sake."
She stepped closer, her voice quiet but unyielding. "Dad. I want to go. I'm not eight or nine anymore. There are kids younger than me getting drafted every month — and you won't let me go because…?"
His voice broke slightly. "Because you're my daughter."
"I will go," she said again, eyes unwavering. "King or not — I'm your daughter. And it's my choice. Which means it matters more to me than it ever will to you."
The King let out a long breath and chuckled, though his eyes were glassy. "Same attitude your mother had. Always more into fighting than me, just like her." He smiled faintly. "Oh dear, I feel sorry for the man who'll marry you one day."
Liora's response was sharp and cold. "You didn't feel sorry for him before, though."
The King froze — the jab flew straight past his guard — and he forced a small laugh to keep the air light. "Guess I can't hold you back any longer, huh? Gotta let my baby fly free."
"Could you not call me your baby anymore?" she muttered, already turning away. "It's annoying."
He smiled gently. "No. There's a lot I'd stop doing if you asked me to, but that's not one of them. Unless I'm dead, you'll always be my baby."
Liora sighed. "...I'll come eat soon. I'm not done packing." She closed the door softly.
The King stood there for a long moment, staring at the carved wood.
His hand rose halfway, as if to knock again — but fell uselessly to his side.
His smile faded.
That's how your mother died, he thought bitterly.
She wanted to fight in the war beside me and Altrath. She was so good… too good. And it got her killed.
He placed his palm flat on the door, his voice barely above a whisper.
"So please, dear… reconsider."