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Summary
The guard took a sip of his wine. “The Crown Princess.”
Suddenly everyone averted their eyes. Phainon, clueless to what was going on, cocked her head to the side. “What about her?”
“Have you seen her?”
Phainon shook her head. “Not yet, no.”
A girl sitting opposite of her blushed a deep, deep red. She hid her face in her hands.
“You’ll know when you see her then,” someone in the back said, their gaze faraway. “The Crown Princess. That’s the true rite of passage in Castrum Kremnos.”
Every place had its rules, its unwritten traditions - getting tangled in Goldweaver's golden threads was one for okhemans, jumping off a tall cliff was one in Bulsa. For Castrum Kremnos, though, it was having an infatuation with their own Crown Princess apparently.
Phainon had quickly found out just how troublesome it was when she became one of the personal guards of that very princess. But Phainon was a professional. She'd never let her feelings get between her and her work, right?
Right?