What did it take to become a great hero? Was it the strength to defeat one's enemies, or the title to which someone was born? It was something that was constantly on Adam's mind through his first year with the King's Army. He had once thought that working hard with determination would get him noticed, but it became quite clear that the only way to move up in the ranks was through money and birthright.

Adam sighed as he sat in front of his stark white tent, gently carving a small hunk of wood with his sharp dagger. His eyes occasionally flickered up to take in the lit battle camp. The sun had set not too long ago, marking the beginning of the Royal Imbolc Festival.

The festival was a pathetic attempt to boost the morale of soldiers who marched in mud and grime while nobles sat in fine dining halls. The truth was that King Ridoc's human armies were no match for the ancient magic the Fey possessed, and this knowledge wore on everyone’s minds.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adam noticed two of his fellow soldiers, obviously intoxicated, stumbling after a pretty figure. He let out another deep sigh, knowing Wilhem and Farkus were getting themselves into trouble again.

The young woman could hear a man's voice calling out to her. She tried to ignore it, needing to return to her father's tent immediately, but she was completely lost among the identical white tents.

"Come on darling! Spare a moment for us please," Wilhem called out, reaching to touch her shoulder. She flinched, about to scream when Adam stepped between her and his fellow soldiers.

"You two are drunk fools. Do you even know who you just touched? You're lucky if you keep your hand tonight," Adam said sternly, narrowing his eyes at his peers before turning to face her. He went to one knee, gently took her hand, and placed a light kiss. "Are you alright, your highness?"