You have to understand what it means to be born into royalty, especially when you also have a pretty pretty princess face.
Every step choreographed, every minute scheduled, every lesson in deportment or diplomacy. Every dress fitted for posing, not walking, let alone running. "Smile, Princess."
Every spell designed to charm and glitter and soothe.
The fire in your belly grows, no matter how you tamp it down.
So one day, maybe you run away. You keep the dresses and the jewelry because then people underestimate you, and the heels because they're basically concealed knives. You figure out how to turn the glitter and warmth into fireballs, and then you make them pay.
You run with the meanest, roughest crowd you can find. They laugh and call you "Princess," but you know they admire you for the way you set everyone's heads ablaze. You are their queen in fire and in fury.
Then one day, you look around and realize you're past it. You long ago burned down the palace where you were born, and most of the kingdom along with it, and a bunch of terrible suitors who got handsy, and piles and piles of these Shadow things, and it's good. You've run through all your fury. You're at peace.
You've had enough sleeping on bare ground and listening to men with beards talk about beheadings. You miss the company of people who learned their skills through long study of fine details. You hated your childhood training, but you'd like someone to recognize the ways you wield it with every subtle movement of your head and hand.
You're still really, really good at fireballs, though.
The silk pavilion warded by nested magic circles and sigils is filled with books and your fellow practical scholars. There's the scratch of turned pages and the mutter of Spell Binder trying to get her possession spell to last longer than two seconds. There's the almost silent sizzle of spells landing on targets the size of a gold coin. Outside, you hear the archers and sharpshooters talking quietly between rounds.
They don't call you Princess here, joking or otherwise. They call you Portal.