The relentless tapping against her window pulled Sara from the depths of sleep, a persistent rhythm that grated on her nerves. She burrowed deeper into her covers, a futile attempt to reclaim the fading remnants of her dreams, but the sound only grew louder, dragging her fully into the oppressive darkness of her room.

With an annoyed sigh, she sat up, the thick blankets a comforting cocoon around her. The room was shrouded in shadow, yet her steps were unerring as she navigated the familiar space, a dance she'd perfected over twelve years. Every flagstone, every brick was etched into her memory – her beautiful, personal, comfortable cell.

Reaching the window, Sara pressed her face to the cold, colored glass. Rain lashed against the panes, tracing intricate patterns as droplets slid down the obscure surface. She hated this glass, hated that it blocked her view of the outside world, a constant reminder of the impenetrable barrier between her and everything beyond her gilded cage. Her father, the King, had refused every plea to replace it, just as he refused most of her requests that didn’t involve material gifts.

Shaking off the familiar sting of resentment, Sara reminded herself of her good fortune. She was lucky, truly. A princess, even an illegitimate one, confined in a tower, was still better off than many. She was loved, visited by her father, provided with every luxury. She lit a candle, its soft glow illuminating the room, and sat at her large desk, ready to tackle the tax registers her father had sent. It was an hour before dawn, too early for the doors to open, too early for new books. The rain continued its relentless drumming, mirroring the restless beat of her own heart.