The kingdom of Hollander simmered with rage three days after the Tournament of Swords, the air heavy with the stench of rotting corpses and the acrid smoke of pyres burning the fallen. King Henry Hollander, a titan of muscle and fury, stood atop the castle battlements, his burgundy doublet torn at the shoulder from a skirmish, revealing a chest matted with graying hair. His beard bristled as he roared orders, his green eyes blazing with a father’s wrath and a warrior’s thirst for blood. His daughter, Princess Jamie, had returned, ravaged, her emerald gown in tatters, her golden hair matted with dirt—but alive. She stood beside him now, her hazel eyes hollow yet sharp, her pale skin bruised from Robin Hood’s assault and the village women’s cruelty. Her beauty remained, a defiant flame—lips swollen, breasts heaving beneath a borrowed tunic, legs trembling but unbowed.