Whispers of the Dragon Prince

The door shuddered under the weight of frantic knocking in the dead of night. Dominico Cruz, with hastening steps, made for the entrance, his eldest son Lotha at his heels. Upon flinging open the door, they were met by the terror-stricken visage of his lifelong comrade, Aldus, who cried out in alarm:

"They're coming, they're coming!"

"Who is coming?" demanded Dominico, his pulse racing.

"Florian and his men! His desire for your daughter Esthela has turned to fixation. They are on their way to take her! We must flee; their numbers of men are too great!"

With a voice laced with trepidation, Dominico issued commands to his kin: "Lotha, find Esthela. Escort her to your grandparents' dwelling and ensure her safety!"

Dominico shouts, his voice filled with desperation."Esthela, run! Daughter, you must escape!" "Maurin, Dustin, help her! Anora, aid her!"

In a maelstrom of panic, the family is galvanised into action. Esthela's mother, Anora, swathes her in layers of shawls and ushers her into the courtyard where Lotha is waiting astride his horse. With eyes brimming with tears, Anora embraces Esthela fervently and hands her a satchel packed with hastily chosen essentials. With one final effort, she boosts Esthela onto the horse. The trio of horses bolts, thundering into the night, away from the looming peril.

"You can't stay here," Aldus declared, his voice imbued with determination. "We shall repair to my abode. We'll give them the impression you've departed on one of your customary trading journeys."

Dominico makes sure to place the family sign they employ whenever they set forth on those ventures, and they withdraw to conceal themselves amidst the shrubbery on the far side of their abode. They had barely ensconced themselves when they espied a contingent of knights arriving. These knights, with a heedless vigour, splintered the door as they issued their clamorous edicts.

Foremost among them was Florian, the scion of a knight whose name invoked dread throughout the shire. His eyes had once tarried on Esthela's comeliness during a church service, kindling an inexorable yearning to possess her.

"They must be nearby! They cannot have gone far!" Florian exclaimed, his ire palpable as he cast aside the sign that suggested their absence. "They haven't departed; I am certain! Seek them out! Esthela will be mine!"

"They are wont to do this, Florian," one of the knights tried to assure him. "They abscond for days seeking wares and are oft delayed in their return. Upon their homecoming, the maiden shall be yours."

"They have not left! We've been betrayed," Florian insisted, gesturing towards a servant roused by the tumult. "Where are your masters and Miss Esthela? Speak truthfully, lest you desire to be beheaded."

"They embarked on a journey, sir," the elderly servant responded, his understanding of the peril clear upon sight of the toppled sign.

"On a trip? When? I saw them at Mass not long ago; they cannot possibly have left!"

Florian was beside himself with fury, struggling to come to terms with the fact that Esthela's visage was unmarred, contrary to the disfigurement he had imagined for so many years. The old servant, fully cognisant of the grim fate that would befall Esthela should he disclose her location, steadfastly maintained his invented account.

"They departed this very night, as is their wont when embarking on their trading ventures. They attend Mass to beseech the Lord's safeguarding before setting forth."

"And whither are they bound?" Florian pressed.

"To the kingdom," the servant answered. "As for Esthela, whispers abound that she is to be betrothed to a duchess as a lady-in-waiting."