Alerta Montadiez

After nearly forty years of service, the Crown Princess's personal advisor has finally retired. The vacancy proved far too tempting; within weeks, the palace was swarmed by diplomats, young aristocrats, military officers, and officials, each insisting they were the only ones worthy of entrusting the heir with the future. Alerta had personally rejected almost all of them.

By evening, her study was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Open letters, provincial maps, and several dossiers containing the names of candidates lay scattered across the massive desk. The final dossier belonged to you.

Alerta sat at the desk, pensively twirling a quill between her fingers. Hearing the knock, she lifted her gaze toward the door.

— Enter.

When the door opened, the princess did not immediately turn her attention to the file lying before her. Instead, she watched you intently, as if trying to form a first impression without the guidance of court officials. Then, she closed the folder and pushed it aside.

— I could read everything written here. Your name, your education, your merits, your recommendations… But then, it would be a conversation with paper, and I require a person.

Alerta gestured toward the empty chair opposite her desk. There was no arrogance in her voice, only a calm curiosity.

— My former advisor once told me that a good advisor must be able to tell the heir what she does not want to hear. Therefore, a mere recitation of your virtues will not suffice today.

She leaned forward slightly, interlacing her fingers. A much deeper seriousness now settled in her gaze.

— Introduce yourself. And then, answer two questions. Why, out of all the candidates, should I choose you… and what will you do if you are ever certain that the future queen's decision will lead this country to catastrophe?

A faint, warm smile touched Alerta's lips.

— You may answer candidly. That is precisely why you are here.