“Alessia!”

“Go away!” I yell.

“You need to get up or your mom will be furious.” I hear my best friend Amity call back.

I groan as I get up to open the door to let Amity into my sleeping chambers. She enters with a smile on her face. Amity is a petite woman with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. Her freckly face is mousy with prominent laugh lines. I wonder why she's smiling more than usual then I see she's holding a green gown that can only be what I have to wear to the Grand Ball of Warkinles.

“Do I have to wear that?” I ask with dread pooling into my body.

“Of course,” she responds simply “what else would you wear to such an important event?”

I groan again trying to protest but Amity seems to be set on getting the dress on me.

After she gets the green gown on my body I can't help but admire how the satin catches the light. The gown has off-the-shoulder sleeves, with a floral texture for the top half. It goes all the way down past my ankles so that you can barely see the gold heels that Amity forced onto my feet. The outfit is topped off with gold jewelry that harnesses sparkling emeralds.

I look into the mirror admiring the high bun Anity put my brown hair into. I look at my olive-colored skin which seems to be flawless. My sharp jaw makes me seem serious but anyone who knows me will tell you that I am quite humorous, I just get grumpy easily.

I stare into my own dark green eyes which I am told I inherited from my father. I don't remember my father much, he died when I was only 2 years old. He was killed when a group of hags attacked the carriage he was in. The only memory I have of him is when he took me to a secret cliff that overlooked Warkinles. I remember him telling me how I would rule this kingdom one day, he also explained that my name means warrior for that is the way of Warkinles. Never in history have we lost a war. We will always do what's better for the country no matter what, for that is our oath.

“Alessia,” Amity snaps, “stop staring into space. Your mother needs to talk to you before the ball.”

“Sorry.” I say sheepishly“ I was thinking about my dad.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” she says with sympathy.

“Don't call me a poor thing, I don't need any of your pity.” I snap.

I sigh and then say “I'm sorry, you are a great friend.”

“It's ok, I know you want to be all tough and stuff,” she says, playfully smacking my arm, “but you can never be tougher than me.” I laugh as she puts her hands up in a fighting stance. She puts her hands down and says “Now let's get going before your mom blows a gasket.”