Corridors of bookshelves stood like a labyrinth around the table where Dasha sat. Concealed in their depths were stories of con-quest, prosperity, and despair. They were fantastic compilations of historical tales recorded from numerous storytellers that had traveled the land.

Dasha often read these stories, hoping someday soon, her parents would let her explore the world they described. Maybe, in her exploration, she'd discover an adventure worthy of its own story.

She was next in line to be Queen, so someone was bound to write something. She hoped it would be something good. Her parents ruled well, and she intended to do the same.

There were stories in these corridors that told a less fortunate journey. The realm would prosper through the entire reign of a king or queen, only to fall when their heir took over the throne. Peace was lost, wars broke out, and thousands perished. They made for wonderful stories, but it was a life Dasha never wished to live.

She stared blankly at the book laid open before her, but rather than focusing on the aged writing within it, she fiddled with her mother's ring, lost to thoughts unrelated to the text at hand.

Her magister slammed yet another book against the wooden tabletop, jolting her back to reality. She'd nearly forgotten the woman was there. "Dasha, answer the question," said the magister.

"Could you..." Dasha paused, unsure how to begin. In the end, she decided on simplicity. "Could you repeat it?" she asked, bracing herself for the scolding she knew was to come.

The magister exhaled through pursed lips. "Have you lost your head this morning, child? Which god rules over the second month of the year?"

Dasha couldn't say whether she'd lost her head or not, but her mind had certainly gone elsewhere. She'd started reading a most grievous book this morning that'd been gifted to her by the squire boy named Prince, and she wished desperately to return to it.

"Odemus," she replied before the magister's impatience grew. Her thoughts, however, remained in a time long passed. The story Prince had given her was one that'd taken place in the era of Dragon Hunters. Reading about those days brought an ache to her heart that she couldn't shake. She'd always loved dragons, despite having only ever seen a few.

Dasha hadn't seen much outside the castle walls. She'd walked around the city a few times with her father, but exploring was an ordeal. Guards must be summoned, and travel arranged.

She knew, though, that once she enlisted into the Royal House, she'd be given more freedom to wander. She'd need to know what was out there if she ever intended to lead. Her father had told her as much. She figured there'd be more books to read out there, too. She was quite tired of these books.

"Correct. Why is this name important to know?" The magister asked, pointing a bony finger at the face of the god on the page, the fuchsia ring on her hand twinkling in the candlelight when she moved.

"Because the god of each month controls the conditions of each month," said Dasha, quicker this time. She'd already read this book, and she thought if she answered fast enough, the magister would end the lesson early.

"That's right! Tell me this as well, what does the month of Odemus hold in store for us?" The magister paused. "What is Odemus the god of?"

"Death... Odemus is the god of death." It was a dreary thing to rule, thought Dasha.

"What month is it currently?"

"The month of Wynris, goddess of winter and ice."

Dasha grazed her thumb over the metallic curve of the ring in her hand. It had an amethyst stone lodged in its silver hold, and there was an intricate design of a dragon engraved along the side. She liked the look of it and imagined that the dragon would come to life and flee from its silver cage. It kept her mind busy as boredom threatened. Perhaps one day she'd join in its freedom.

"Which means?"

"Many will fall ill from the Touch of Wynris in preparation for Odemus," Dasha said. It was a process often recited to her. Every winter, the warnings came. Wynris claimed souls for Odemus, and Odemus led the souls to the realm of the deceased, where Xudor, child of Death, ruled. It was in that realm that the souls lived out their days in the afterlife.

"And how many days are there before Odemus takes charge?"

"Seven."

"He's on our doorstep, child, so stay warm and stay healthy. Don't let Wynris claim you for the dead."

It was a message with good intentions, but one Dasha had no need of. People recorded gruesome details of the illness within their books, and she'd read a good many of them. She had no intention of suffering the same way they had.

"Yes, ma'am," Dasha assured.

"Good, next question. Which god, or goddess—what do you have in your hand?" The magister pointed to her clenched fist. The ring had been spotted, and she wasn't supposed to have it.

Dasha tried to hide it, shoving it beneath her leg, but the ring clattered to the floor, and the magister snatched it up. "Why do you have this?"

"I found it."

The magister looked down the sharp angle of her nose, dubious. "Where?"

"In my mother's jewelry box."

"This doesn't belong to you yet, and you know it. It is a great shame to walk around without one's ring. Your mother's reputation would be ruined."

Dasha nodded. It wasn't like her mother planned on going anywhere anyway.

"Your ring is your identity," said the magister, arms flailing about in hysteria. "It represents who you are, your occupation. Without it, you're no one. A convict who's escaped their shackles. Convicts are the only ones without rings. Gods, child, what will your mother think of you for stealing such a thing."

Dasha looked at the band around her finger, a thought brewing in her head. "Why do children get rings?" she asked, trying to diverge the conversation. The rings for the youth were empty; there were no engravings and no crystals. She hated hers.

"Children haven't reached their enlistment day, so they have no trade to claim as their own. When you turn eighteen, you'll get an amethyst ring like this one." She held up the ring. "But, for now, go return it to your mother."

Dasha grabbed the ring and made her way out the door, dragging her feet along the way. Her footsteps echoed off the long, empty halls as she wound her way through the castle.

The door to her parent's room stood slightly ajar. Maybe they weren't there, she thought, hoping she could sneak the ring back into its box unnoticed. She peered through the crack, and the door creaked open. Her mother stood on the other side, arms crossed.

Dasha lowered her head, cowering from her mother's glare. "Sorry... I was going to return it," she said.

"And what would have happened if you'd lost it?" her mother asked.

"I would have searched the castle until it was found. This is the only place it'd be."

"Why do you insist on taking mine? You'll get your own soon enough."

"I would hardly call it soon," said Dasha, passing the ring to her mother, eyes falling once more to the beautiful dragon on its side.

From what she'd been told, the dragon reflected the period of her mother's life when she'd trained with the Dragon Keepers. Her mother had been a member of their guild before her father asked her to marry him. According to stories, her mother even had a dragon of her own, but it had been killed a long time ago.

Dasha longed for the freedom of choice her mother had had in her youth, and her thoughts broke through her lips. "What if I don't want that ring, what if I want a different one? Why can't I choose my guild like everyone else?"

Her mother looked down upon her with pity. "I know you want adventure, Dasha. I was just like you, but the amethyst is in your blood. You'll find it bears its own adventures in time. It is also a gift only a few can ever dream of. You mustn't say you don't want it."

"I want choice!" She didn't mean for her voice to raise, but it did so unbidden.

"Alas, you were born with duty instead."

"It's an obligation."

"It's a chance!" her father chimed in, silencing the room. "It's a chance, Dasha. A chance to be somebody, a chance to make a difference, and a chance to leave your mark in history. With the amethyst ring on your finger, you have the power to change the world. Your job will be to serve and protect the people of this nation, and you'll do that without further complaint." His voice rumbled through the air. "I never want to hear you say you don't want it again. It's not for you, it's for the people. To say you don't want the ring is selfish, and selfish people cannot lead."

Dasha retreated into herself, regretting her words, but also angry. "Isn't this castle selfish?" she asked. "We have all this space; all these empty rooms and empty halls and we need none of it. Is that not selfish? We could be living amongst the people in hovels and huts, but no, we're stuck up here, watching the commoners below." She'd thought of this often. The halls had grown lonely. Down in the city, she'd at least have had a friend.

"Believe it or not, these rooms were needed at one point," said her father. "When your mother and I first took office, Alyria was in need. The streets abounded with homeless and penniless citizens. This castle was filled, housing hundreds of people each day until circumstances bettered. We live in a time of prosperity now, and the halls have fallen silent. For the sake of the people, I pray they stay that way." He took a long breath and lowered his voice. "Go tell the magister she is done for the day. You're to study elsewhere for now. There's only so much that can be taught in that library."

Dasha didn't move. "Where else am I supposed to learn?" she asked, and the king smiled.

"The city. Your mother and I have decided you're ready. I did it when I was your age; I figure you can manage too. Go out and learn from the people. Books can only say so much, but looking into a person's eyes, seeing their life story play out before you in the small glimpses you catch of them, that is the thing that teaches you most about the leader you will be." He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Some-one, a momentary friend in a far off city, once told me the world was our greatest teacher. I didn't believe him until I opened my eyes to actually see it. It's amazing what lessons you can find hidden in the rarest of people."

"I'll go!" Dasha said, eager to explore.

Her father grabbed a quill and parchment, and he wrote out his orders for Dasha and the magister. When finished, he handed her the paper, and she bounded to the library, shoving it at the scholar upon arrival. "I'm going out!" she beamed. "Father's set me free."

The magister sat there in utter confusion, eyes flitting between the paper and Dasha, who gathered a pack and slid a few books and a pencil inside. Within seconds, Dasha was gone again, leaving the magister behind.

Her father held his arm across the front entry, stopping her before she crossed. "We need to establish a few ground rules," he said, brow raised.

Of course he would, thought Dasha, annoyed, but she listened regard-less.

"You mustn't pass the walls of the city while you're out, and I expect you to return by night fall. Your purpose of exploring will be only to study. I want you to record what you see. Write down trades you witness, stories you hear, and discussions between common folks. You will do this every day for the rest of the month. I expect to have your findings in hand by the end of the week when the month changes."

A black cloak was draped suddenly over Dasha's shoulders by the squire who'd given her the Dragon Hunter book. She'd seen him around the castle on occasion, but never long enough to say more than a few passing words. He'd be off to claim a guild within the next month, so her chances of forming a friendship were slimming. "Tell no one your identity and keep away from the Touch of Wynris," her father said before lowering his arm so she could pass.

"Yes, sir."

Cool air rushed in as the doors were pressed open, and she stepped out, pausing a moment when they closed once more behind her. The crisp wind brushed over her skin and sent a chill through her spine. She pulled her cloak tight around herself as protection against the winter goddess, then she started down the path to the castle gates. They opened at her approach, and the guards ushered her through.

Beneath her feet, the carefully laidcobblestone path slowly faded into scattered gravel and dirt, and the iron gatesto the castle disappeared behind her.