The Clockwork Princess

The King. The List. The Oath.

The palace, although desolate, was as grand up close as it was from down in the centre of town. Its towering walls stood nobly despite the slump of the outer roof with an array of untrimmed vines and deep cracks scarring the aged stone.

Amara rolled her shoulders back as she corrected her slouch. Her parents had always reprimanded her for her poor posture as a child, so she knew that was how she was supposed to stand, especially when meeting a king.

She took a confident breath and approached the guards who stood at the entrance. They each looked out of place in a Kingdom as rundown as Eldoria with their rich red gambesons adorned with shimmering golden thread. Even the old iron of their pauldrons and gauntlets was shined to perfection in a simple attempt to mask the scratches and dents. The near-perfect picture image of a well-kept guard.

"State your business," the guard to her left commanded. He wore no helmet and, unlike his armour, appeared rather rugged. His dark beard was short but unkempt and the underside of his lip seemed split from what was likely a valiant attempt at keeping the peace.

"Amara Montclair. Adventurer. I'm here to pledge my sword in search of the Princess's heart."

"Montclair?" the guard on her right asked. She could not see him properly under his helmet but from his voice alone she could tell he was older than the other guard. Perhaps old enough to remember that the name Montclair used to mean something.

She met his eyes and gestured to the sword hanging at her side. It was made by the same swordsmith commissioned by the king — Evelina Dawnbreaker — something any trained soldier would know. The Dawnbreaker family had crafted the finest swords in the kingdom for centuries, there was no one better. The sword Amara carried was her father's, one of the only things she had left of him and one of the last swords to ever be born from the Dawnbreaker forge. The last of their line died out during the first famine.

The elder guard respectfully bowed his head. "I am sorry for your loss. Your parents were good people, it was a terrible shame when they passed."

She hummed and raised her brows, waiting for them to grant her entry to the palace.

"Head on in." The rugged guard moved to open the way.

Amara nodded her appreciation and acknowledged the elder guard's condolences with a sombre smile before passing through the imposing gates into the once-majestic palace.

The throne room was large and elegantly decorated. Red and gold banners donned each column, embellishing them with the phoenix crest that signified the Eldorian royal family. Much like the armour worn by the guards outside, it seemed that the interior was kept at its best only to hide its flaws. A lavish throne room that was somehow still full of such lonesome emptiness.

Halfway into the room, sitting between two columns was a tall slab of garnished stone holding the names of numerous adventurers. It was a memorial and at its base stood a chiseller carving a new name onto the ever-growing list. A monument to those who had fallen in pursuit of the Princess's heart.

Amara approached the memorial, her eyes tracing the engraved names of the fallen. The chiseller paused from his work, acknowledging her presence with a solemn nod before returning to his task.

Each name etched forever into the stone spoke of a brave soul who had ventured into the unknown, their sacrifice memorialised in the cold embrace of the palace walls. These were all who had come before her. The countless men and women who had died for the greater good. All those who had made no difference, brought back no heart, or hope for Eldoria.

The thought that her name might soon join them brought with it a lick of fear, but she would not give up so easily. She wasn't Eugan.

Amara's footsteps echoed as she continued through the throne room and her gaze finally reached the throne itself, where an ornate seat, once occupied by royalty, now stood vacant. A steep melancholy hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the kingdom's descent into ruin.