The morning mist still clung to the old stones of Eldoria Castle, a cool, humid veil that seldom pierced Prince Albert's chambers' thick glass. From his window, he could see the patchwork of Eldorian woods stretching to the horizon, a wild beauty that mocked the gilded cage of his life. The first day of the fall inspections, a mundane rite, felt more like a precisely choreographed show than an obligation. Today, his schedule called for a review of the village blacksmith. Was a prince's life really nothing more than these never-ending statements and empty pleasantries?
Albert sighed, running a hand through his usually perfectly neat golden-brown hair, already dressed in well-fitted but functional riding clothes—a concession to the expected dust and dirt of the day. Mirroring the skies outside—clear but subtly suggesting an unspoken weariness—his vivid blue eyes usually had a distant, contemplative gaze. Though his shoulders hinted at a soul yearning for something beyond the monarchy, he moved with the inherent elegance of royalty. King Solomon, Eldoria's father, thought its strength lay in its strict customs, in the purity of its lineage. Albert understood the monarchy required more than simply a flawlessly crafted image. The castle atmosphere was one of silent, nearly asphyxiating anticipation; every movement was examined, and every word considered.
Mounting his horse, he welcomed the rhythmic clopping of hooves as a relief from the oppressive silence of the castle. From the high, elite world of the aristocracy to the colorful, grounded reality of his subjects, the quick trip to Eldoria hamlet was a descent. A welcome departure from the musty smell of ancient paper and beeswax was the perfume of woodsmoke combined with baking bread.
A rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil resonated across the town as he headed toward the blacksmith's shop, a strong, continuous beat that seemed to vibrate through the very ground. It was the sound of raw material being pushed into usefulness, of creation. Entering, the air hung heavy with the tang of coal and hot metal. Like small, flaming sprites, sparks danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows. He saw her in the midst of this ballet of heat and strength. As she lowered the hammer with trained accuracy, her back to him, her form was outlined against the raging forge, her arms muscular from her skill, moving with an almost primitive elegance. Usually braided, her raven-black hair had slipped free from its boundaries and become smudged with charcoal.
Who could have such raw power with such simple elegance? Usually composed and perceptive, Albert was momentarily dumbfounded. Although he was there to examine the business, the blacksmith drew him. The air, already scorching from the forge, grew electrically hot suddenly. Little did he know that this seemingly commonplace inspection, this sudden rush of interest, was about to create a love story powerful enough to challenge a king and destroy Eldoria's strict customs.