Her red hair flew behind her like a curtain of blood, catching stray leaves blowing in the late autumn wind. Her long pointed ears poking proudly through the veil of crimson. She inhaled deeply, the smell of winter rode in the air, crisp and cold and soon to arrive. She looked out on her fathers kingdom, soon to be hers, and felt what she always felt when looking at the vast land of Ashalon, a strong sense of power.
This land had been in her family since King Ruven had parted from his brothers, and now, a century later, Ashalon is the most powerful realm in Odrus.
Her mother had given her father four children, three girls and one boy, and to the kings dismay, his first born was her, a girl, and she was set to inherit the throne. She had been trained her whole life to become queen, shadowing her father in everything he did. And she was ready. Wasn't she?
Her eighteenth birthday and coronation was in two months, she had two months left of freedom, two months left to be as crazy as she wanted to be before she had to sober up and rule the land of Ashalon.
But she wouldn't be crazy. No, she would act like the queen to be she was supposed to be. She stood up straiter, the green velvet of her dress clinging to her form. She would rule justly, as her father had, the people would respect her.
She lifted her chin higher, after all, she was the great, great granddaughter of King Ruven the first, first born of King Anion Galatatheth and heir to the throne of Ashalon.