The Princess And The Enemy Introduction

-Characters Introduction-

KING EDMUND WELLINGTON Age: 50 The King of Elarindale did not crave glory, nor did he chase the weight of titles. He ruled with quiet resolve. When King Edmund spoke, the air stilled. His words were not many, but they struck like arrows—sharp, swift, and final.To his people, he was strength without cruelty. To his enemies, the silence before the blade.But to his daughter, Elizabeth, he was something far more sacred. He was warmth tucked beneath winter furs. A gentle hand on her head when she read by the fire. A father who taught her not how to wield a sword—but how to choose when not to. And when the world began to crumble, it was not the throne he clung to—it was her.

QUEEN ISABELLA WELLINGTON Age: 45 The queen is Graceful, luminous, and quietly powerful. She was no ornament to the throne, but a force beside it. Kind without weakness, strong without pride, she ruled with an open hand and a fierce soul. To the people, she was not merely their queen—she was their healer, their hope, their ever-present light. Children swore she had magic in her smile. Mothers wept in her arms and left comforted. She knew every face in the kingdom and remembered every sorrow. Many called her a fairy godmother, and it wasn’t hard to see why—she made impossible things feel possible.To Elizabeth, she was warmth incarnate. Her mother, her guide, her constant. She taught her daughter that compassion was not a softness, but a sword—and that loving fiercely was the greatest kind of strength.

PRINCESS ELIZABETH WELLINGTON Age: 22 Princess Elizabeth of Elarindale was not the sort of royal who filled a room with command. No—her power was quieter, gentler, like sunlight warming stone or the hush of morning dew. She spoke softly, listened deeply, and carried peace in her presence as surely as she wore her crown.Elizabeth was beloved not for her title, but for her heart. She remembered every face in the kingdom, from palace maids to market boys. She sang to sick children, stayed through long winter nights at the bedsides of the dying, and still believed—fiercely, foolishly, beautifully—that kindness could save a broken world.

KING OLIVER MONTGOMERY Age: 52 King Oliver of Draevenmoor was a man of iron handshakes and golden words—a ruler admired by many and trusted by more. For years, he stood beside the kings and queens of Elarindale as an ally, a brother in arms, a man of reason. He upheld peace, offered aid, and spoke of unity. But beneath his polished crown and steady gaze, a different fire burned. Oliver wanted more.

PRINCE THEODORE MONTGOMERY Age: 28 He was raised by war, not love—and it showed in every step he took. He bore the weight of a crown never offered in gentleness.he was a man carved from steel and silence, shaped by a father who taught him that mercy was a weakness and affection a distraction. He was trained to strike before he questioned, to win before he understood. His hands knew the grip of a sword better than a touch of kindness. The battlefield was his classroom. Blood was his inheritance. And in all his years, no one had ever taught him what it meant to be loved—or to love in return.

PRINCE ROSCOE MONTGOMERY Age: 26 His father tried—tried to mold him like Theodore, to shove a sword into his hand and command him into a soldier. But Roscoe’s grip would always slip. His stance would always falter. And his heart was never in it. Because Roscoe was never made for war. He was made for quiet corners, for poetry scribbled on scrap parchment, for wandering under moonlight while everyone else slept. He ran—often. From duty. From the palace. From the eyes that saw him as a failure. Guards would find him by riverbanks or in the streets disguised as a common boy, breathing in the world his family sought to rule. Eventually, King Oliver stopped trying. He turned his back on the son who would not fight. And Roscoe, in turn, learned to live unseen.

YARA MEREDITH Age: 65 Her hands bore the scars of old wars. Her heart, the weight of too many graves. Yara was not a woman of soft words or gentle smiles. She had lived long enough to know both the cost of kindness and the danger of hope. Yara was cold in speech, sparing in affection. But her kindness ran deep, like roots beneath frost.