Ana climbed the long stone steps toward the palace. A guard held up his hand. No entry, he said.
He pointed at her name tag. It read ANA. Ana gripped the blue ribbon in her pocket and walked around him.
She stood before the Royal Tournament sign-up table. The signaller shook his head and swept her parchment into a bucket of ink.
Ana fished it out, dabbed the ink on her dress, and pinned the parchment to her chest with her star brooch. The crowd snickered.
She marched past them toward the archery range. She stepped up to the bow, drew the string, aimed, and let go.
The arrow zipped past the target and bonked the signaller on the head. He dropped his clipboard. Ana picked up the arrow and tried again.
She drew the string again and let go. The arrow flew straight — and stuck dead center in the bullseye. The crowd fell completely silent.
Her knuckles whitened on the bow, then slowly relaxed. Above, the King lowered his spyglass and called out, Who shoots like that?
Ana held up her ink-stained blue ribbon. I am Ana, she said. The King's eyes widened behind his glasses.
He rang the great golden bell three times. Bells clang. Bells clang. Bells clang.
The kingdom threw a celebration. Colorful bunting flew between the tall towers. Musicians played on every corner.
Children chased glowing paper lanterns through the market. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was smiling.
Ana sat beside the King on the palace steps. She wore her blue ribbon like a crown.
Street performers tossed candied flowers into the air. Ana caught every single one.
The kingdom cheered. The blue ribbon gleamed in the candlelight. It was her crown.
That night, Ana slept with the star brooch under her pillow. She dreamed of arrows and kingdoms and happy bells.