On the road that leads to the town of Valtice in Bohemia, two cloaked riders appeared as the sun bent low, spilling its dying gold across the land.

 

Atop a large chestnut mare rode Sorina—youthful in form, regal in bearing. No stranger would have guessed she had already witnessed a hundred winters before the age of Basarab.

 

Beside her, on a small grey pony, rode Ornela—ten years old and no older in spirit.

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