The rich smell of food wafted through the tavern and set Lunar’s morning hunger alight as the kitchen door was kicked open.
One of the servers rushed from the kitchen, hauling a titanic platter of fantastic breakfast foods. The early morning was the best time to enjoy a pot of coffee, but an even better time to enjoy heaps of bacon, onions, and potatoes, the aforementioned coffee already steaming on the table. Three plates to share accompanied the pile of food, and Lunar set into the meal with a ravenous hunger matched only by her friends. Their meal the previous night had been filling and delicious, but it was over twelve hours ago. And twelve hours was far too long without food.
She could remember it now, almost craving the signature dish of the tavern, until she noted a few pieces of jallian laid upon the platter beside the rest. She quickly dug into the slaughtered foul, aching for the sweetness that accompanied the juicy, tender meat. It was rare that a tavern could live up to its namesake, but The Crowing Jallian seemed appropriately named considering the ways it could prepare the exotic bird.
The night’s stay and meal had only been a few silver pieces, a price that concerned the former monarch. Silver was superior to bronze and balen but inferior to javen and gold, thus carrying only a moderate value. For three intending to stay the night in a room with a roaring fire, along with their dinner and breakfast covered in the bill, the price was a worryingly low one. But now, as she appreciated the second course of the tavern’s cuisine, she realised it was simply good value for money. Even the stew the previous night, jallian heaped with various vegetables and other meats in a rich bone broth, was worth the coins on its own, and now the breakfast proved to be the same.
The demonstration of the Gratsinmornian Royal Guard was far worse than merely disappointing. It was utterly pathetic. Lunar had dared to peek out her window before bed to the knights still battling in the square and found herself sorely displeased with the sights. Lazy, sloppy strikes were thrust in tandem with clumsy, full-throated swings that had no place in actual battle. Flashy movements were the least of the knights’ failures, Lunar eventually realised. Timing, tempo, and power were far greater threats to their bodies, though she suspected they were holding back. Why, she didn’t know, but she hoped against hope that no royal guard could be this incompetent.
She tore her mind away from the disappointing memory, for her gaze fell upon the approaching barkeep. While they ate, the barkeep, a charming man of about thirty, approached the table with a winning smile, addressing it with a great, welcoming warmth. His dirty blond hair framed fair skin, from which a pair of dark brown eyes enveloped them in a homely welcome. And as the grogginess of the last night fell away beneath the wrath of her coffee, she returned his beaming smile.
“Can we help you?” she asked, aiming for a friendly tone as he approached. He was fresh-faced, guileless, and greatly enthusiastic in her duties if only to welcome patrons for an extra coin. But it felt far too genuine for her to discard. So she grinned, meeting his positively enchanting smile. The question he asked was far less welcoming.
“Yes, actually!” he remarked. “What are your names?”
Lunar’s heart stopped. Suspicions began to sneak in, even as Michael’s attention was focused on the food. Amelia seemed nonplussed by the question, but Lunar was not deterred from her suspicions. She could feel a slight bead of sweat running down the side of her face as the bartender’s eyes pierced into hers, and her heart began to pound. Was this a spy? Did he want revenge for the fallen knights? A loyalist to the throne? She waited in breathless anticipation for her friends' reactions for several moments, though she received blank stares from both of them. Amelia’s expression shifted to confusion before she spoke to the awaiting barkeep.
“I’m Amelia Kivens!” she exclaimed cheerfully, and the awkward tension in the air vanished at once. The tension that Lunar had unknowingly created, and now felt an incredible guilt for her suspicions. Perhaps it would have been best to progress less uncertainly and be more open to others.
“Michael Fabijaka,” Michael declared, and the man’s expression turned mildly puzzled as Lunar replied.
“Lunarvian EveningStar,” she murmured, and the barkeep’s smile wavered as his eyes widened. His gaze swept across the three travellers, and a light of surprise entered his gaze. A surprise that was almost immediately matched by the light in hers as his leg swept out, and he ducked into a deep bow. Lunar’s eyebrow arched, the shock within her gaze mounting as he greeted her with a tone nearing reverence.
“Your Royal Highness!” he exclaimed, and Lunar was stunned into silence, her lips parted in a perfect ‘o’ of shock as he spoke with great fervour. “I’ve hoped for so long that you would come to this tavern!”
Silence gripped the table for several seconds. Though the barkeep grinned, Amelia and Michael were no more talkative than the flabbergasted Lunar, who only stared blankly as she took in what she was hearing. She had not been referred to as royalty, ever. Not even in her time at the palace. The third in line, she had no royal title. She was unlikely to even take a seat at the Royal Court. But here she was now, at the tail end of the barkeep’s courtesy. And she tried to find the words to reply but could only manage a halfhearted squeak.
“I… I’m not a princess,” she stuttered, but the barkeep was undeterred.
“But of course you are! The rightful heir to the throne, by most accounts! Especially given the rather dismantled state of the Kingdom!”
“Your words are treason… How can you be so confident with what you’re saying?” Michael whispered, his voice teetering between tremendous, overwhelming respect and utter disdain for what he said.
“Princess Solara has long fled the Kingdom in the wake of recent conflicts, Prince Ashton has been killed, and King Ragarak’s time is nearing its end!” the man declared confidently, and Lunar’s eyes widened further. She exchanged horrified glances with her friends before staring at the confident tavern keeper.
“Sir… Maybe you are misinformed…?” she wondered hesitantly, the situation a right mess in her head, and he only made it worse with a jovial smile.
“Not at all!” he declared with a great, misplaced cheer. But as he continued to speak, the cheer notably dwindled. And it took only a moment to understand why. “King Ragarak has declared war upon Earl Paul Regmend of Kairon District for the death of Prince Ashton, claiming that Earl Regmend ordered the assassination, and Princess Solara has fled. The Northern Districts have united beneath Earl Regmend’s banner, and several of the Eastern Districts are rebelling against orders from the crown to gather their armies and march to war. That is why the demonstrating royal guards are here now, or so that’s what they have said. To eliminate potential threats, especially as Kairon’s influence has begun to shake the loyalty of the Southern Districts to the crown.”
Lunar was silent. Her heart thudded against her chest, and she felt an overwhelming tide of fear rush through her breast. This was, truly, where it began. The Gratsinmornian Empire, the Kingdom once revered for its ability to face off against the Galvion Empire and the guardian of tarons even beyond the Werrek Taron, was now thrown into civil war. One could say she was foolish for trusting a barkeep nestled in the far reaches of Gavleni District, but she knew better than to ignore his words. Barkeeps did not lie, nor did they pretend. It was practically law that barkeeps were honest, at least to the noble cause. And she had learned, over many years, to read people and their intents. And she knew the truth now.
Gratsinmorn was in a civil war. It was about to tear itself apart because of her father’s arrogance. He had plunged his Kingdom into anarchy, and Earl Regmend had allegedly stood against him and, in doing so, carried the hopes of a better future for the nation squarely on his shoulders.
Before the barkeep had even finished talking, Lunar had made her decision. She wasn’t the Queen, nor would she ever become one. She wasn’t even a princess. She was Lunarvian EveningStar, the unfortunate daughter of Ragarak EveningStar II. She would not be the champion of the rebellion, but she knew she had to take a stand. If Ragarak won the war, the nation would be all but lost. But if Regmend won, there was hope.
She did not know much of Regmend. But she knew enough to know that he was the reason Gratsinmorn remained an empire to be feared. The Northern Districts were the backbone of Gratsinmorn’s virtues, and she knew Regmend had climbed up through toil and battle to reach where he stood now. Earl Regmend’s tales were public, even at his displeasure, for he disdained praise and acknowledgement. But he could not hide his victories. Traton, Raivon, Werren, and Yalten Fief had all once been Khavellian-dominated territories, but he had reclaimed them for Gratsinmorn and built them into fiefs capable of holding their own. And so if there were a rebellion and a civil war to be had, he would be the one to find and support. She could not be the spearhead of the rebellion. But she could stand as their beacon to bring a victory and save her home.
Then maybe she could return to her life of peace.
“We have to go,” Lunar whispered, and the barkeep leaned in to heed her words as she lifted her stare to meet his eyes. Their eyes met, and she saw the acknowledgement in his gaze. She had not said a word, but this man seemed to understand what lay behind. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” the barkeep murmured, pausing as he stepped back. And Lunar could barely hide a wry smile as she noted his hesitance. She may not have realised it, but his words would ultimately define the fate of the Kingdom. For now, she had a goal. But she still keenly heeded his words as he spoke a final message. “Be careful, Princess Lunarvian. The Kingdom’s fate is at stake.”
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Lunar offered a wan smile of farewell as she wordlessly motioned for the others to stand, and she noted many eyes of the tavern were now set upon her. The barkeep’s words had not gone unnoticed, but she doubted it mattered. Even as a few stares, some from villagers, some from guards, and one from a lone red-clad figure at the side, returned her gaze, she simply departed, snatching her travel pack as she went. But she made sure to pause and offer a handful of javen coins to the barkeep. At first he accepted, before hurriedly trying to return the valuable crimson coins. But she had already left, leaving him with over a week’s hard labour in the tavern.
She never saw the barkeep’s nervous glance cast to one of the serving girls as he drew scant breath. His faint “let’s hope it was enough” was left in the tavern as the group hurried out. The cold morning, laden with a gentle drizzle, was no deterrent as they all broke into a wordless march for the gates, which opened to admit their exit. The royal guards were still performing, but Lunar paid them little heed as she stormed from Govenheg. They had come for money, received information, and now left with a chilling reality.
Gratsinmorn truly was up in flames. Though she found it somewhat ironic that as Gratsinmorn burned, rain poured upon them all, splattering the road and covering their path in the downpour. Kavetstone was resistant to water, but even it was home to puddles as water washed up along the sides of the otherwise vacant path.
Lunar realised that the families that had travelled before them must have known about this too. Not just of the Royal Guard but the war itself. And Gavleni, being so close to many potential rebel districts, would become one of the first crown districts to fall under direct siege. They were fleeing, though, to where she did not know. A part of her hoped they would flee to Kairon District, but she wasn’t sure about the strength of Regmend’s defences. The King was still the King, and Gratsinmorn, arrogant and lazy as it was, did not stand against the forces of its enemies with reputation alone. It was not the soaring empire it once was, but it was still a formidable threat.
But as Amelia and Michael spoke, Lunar’s attention was drawn to her nagging mind; her footsteps were heavy as she trudged alongside her conversing friends. Her interest was faint, and she only vaguely eavesdropped over their conversation. Something was weighing her down, and it wasn’t the soaked gundar around her pack. The clang of their baggage, the longswords in his pack all gathered as one in his bag, filled the air as they walked.
“What do we do, then..?” Michael wondered. “Gratsinmorn is about to tear itself apart. We have to do something.”
“The King has no heir in the Kingdom left except for Lunar,” Amelia murmured. “But I don’t think he’s too keen on finding her.”
“Not for the right reasons,” Lunar mumbled. “And even if he wanted me to rule Gratsinmorn, for some crazy reason, I don’t know what I’m doing. He, and all the classes he made me take, never taught me anything.”
“But… You’ve got two older siblings… Surely they taught you something,” Michael murmured helplessly, and Lunar’s icy stare turned to him. Anger lit in her eyes, a rage as he spoke of her family. But even Michael could see that there was a deep, ravenous pain eating at her from beneath the veil of fury. And her quivering voice could not hide it.
“My brother died. A long time ago. And back then, my dad swore I’d never hold the throne because I couldn’t save him. You know that, Michael. He died long before any of this happened. It’s just an excuse.”
Michael went silent before he averted his gaze. And Amelia broke the silence as Michael huffed.
“I guess we know who was sending all those mercenaries,” she mumbled. Though her words were unpleasant, Lunar felt a faint wave of calm washing over her as the brunette spoke and closed her eyes to heed Amelia’s gentle voice. “We’re at war with ourselves, huh?”
“We are,” Lunar murmured. “And I guess we know exactly why there were soldiers sent all over the place. And why those soldiers at our cabin were so well-armed.”
“The King… Never cared about Gratsinmorn,” Michael muttered, almost to himself, as they trudged along the path. The clang of their baggage continued as he spoke. “He always seemed to hate it. Weirdly, he would send royal guards to Govenheg during a war, though.”
At that, Lunar’s blood went cold. Her thoughts drifted, and she mentally came to a screeching halt.
The royal guards would not have come to protect Gavleni District, let alone Govenheg. The village was far too insignificant, but the district was one of the few to maintain a standing army. While the Northern Districts were hardened by frequent battles with Khavel, the Forgotten Forest, and Shadinara, a few of the central districts allowed their discipline to slack and gave in to the temptation of laziness. Gavleni had not, and its army would surely be a part of the force attacking the North.
But Solara was gone. Ragarak had no heir save for her. It was no secret, at least to the townsfolk, that Lunar’s brother was out of the picture. That much was clear from what the tavern keep had told them. But Lunar would never be able to take the throne so long as Ragarak lived, for it was not his will. He would never surrender it to her. And without a rightful heir, even a victory from Earl Regmend would only lead to a greater civil war as the earls fought for power.
Without the competing heir to the throne, Ragarak’s hold upon Gratsinmorn would be unyielding until his death.
And Lunar’s blood grew ever colder.
The royal guards had not left Govenheg when Lunar and her friends did, but she had noticed they were gathering their belongings by the time they departed. And she, as she walked, only began to understand. The timing of the first attack. The arrival of the Royal Guard. Their foolish display made them look like no more than a group of travelling performers.
It was a trap. And she, unknowingly, fell right into it.
As she framed the thought, she felt a searing pain spread at the small of her back and stared down in horror to see a spear protruding from her chest. She had only a moment to gasp before a violent impact struck the back of her head. The ground rushed to meet her, and she fell unconscious in moments.
Michael’s shrill cry rang through the air, echoed by his blade as he pulled the weapon free and turned. Amelia had already whirled around, and her weapons were naked as she hurled herself at the offender. Over six feet tall, heavy plate across every inch of the man’s towering figure, and highlights of red and yellow gleaming across his figure. His visor opened to reveal a cruel pair of brown eyes, alight with a satisfied malice as he brought his spear across to bat Amelia away from Lunar’s unconscious figure.
He was too slow. The polearm fell to the ground as Amelia, with a furious cry, jammed both of her daggers into the open visor. The man had no time to scream as the brunette tore her weapons free and finished him off, yet he had no time to celebrate as more knights burst free of the trees. The pattering of the rain had covered their approach, and she faced the heavier-armed soldiers as they converged on the injured Lunar. Amelia charged at one, her blades flicking through the air to find their target, as Michael deflected an oncoming sword stroke and smashed the flat of his blade against one of the royal guards. The man was sent staggering, and his predecessor’s halberd cleaved down to sever Michael in two.
The polearm met cold raksteel as the man of metal accepted the axe to his head with a sarcastic smirk before Michael grasped the weapon and yanked it away. The knight, disarmed, hurled himself at the blond man, screaming his fury as he aimed to drive his shoulder through the metal man’s chest. Michael was too slow to stop his sudden charge, and both the men fell to the ground with pained cries as the royal guards’ arm hung uselessly at his side. Michael was momentarily winded as he struggled to his feet. But in the corner of his eye, he saw Lunar’s prone figure sprawled against the ground and hastily rushed to her side. Terror gripped his heart as he held a hand to her neck, and he breathed a momentary sigh of relief as he felt her pulse.
Leaving their baggage behind, he swiftly hauled Lunar up onto his shoulders, turning to call for Amelia to retreat before his heart sank.
The brunette was ringed in soldiers, half a score of the Royal Guard converging upon her. Even if Lunar was not unconscious over his shoulders, he was not already wounded from the confrontation, and even if he could challenge more than two of the Gratsinmorn elite at once, he could not break through to save her. But he was already beginning to lower the blonde, preparing to draw his blade and fight, as Amelia planted her foot in the chest of one of the soldiers to push him away before he met her panicked, terrified stare.
“Get out of here, Michael!” she screamed, narrowly avoiding a spear thrust and slashing her weapon against his helmet. Predictably, the raksteel armour held. “Take Lunar and go!”
Michael hesitated still, refusing to obey the command to retreat. She was encircled, but he could charge into their ranks, barrel through them, and buy her time to escape. He could pull out his sword and distract them long enough for her to take Lunar and flee, and he could catch up later. He wasn’t good enough to beat them all. But he was good enough to maybe hold them off.
But her words cut across his plan. An enraged note in her voice, fuelled by fear, as she continued to fight for her life while still more knights erupted from the trees. Nearly a score approaching, heavily armed and well-trained, and relentless in their advance. And some were turning to chase him down.
“Run, Michael! If you must, avenge me! But run!” she shrieked, and Michael could do only one thing.
He hauled Lunar across his shoulders, left their belongings behind, and fled. Tears stung his eyes, mixing with the heavy rain that blurred the path ahead and left him freezing beneath the blonde. He kept her slung across his back, charging into the trees and away from the battle until the sounds of clashing metal, the hiss of arrows launched from bows, and the screams of the combatants were replaced by the drum of the pouring rain.
His heart screamed in agony as he ran, his mind raging at his incompetence. His hesitation and his ineptitude… He had always known it would cost him. From his time in the academy, as a royal guard, and from his time with Lunar, he had known his slacking would cost him. He had taken every loophole, every break, and every easy route he could in his journey, sneaking through life and avoiding the most troublesome tasks. His cowardice and his hatred for work had lingered for too long, and it had taken one of his only friends from him. One of only two people who had ever cared about him. One of the only two people who had loved him, and fought as a sister-in-arms and a housemate for four years.
She was gone.
The pain was overwhelming. He could only travel so far before the agony filled his body, the heartbreak and the rage too much to overcome. His legs buckled, and his body betrayed him as he felt himself trip and fall. The raksteel faded, flesh replacing it, as he collapsed, Lunar’s unconscious, limp figure bouncing off him and unceremoniously falling into the soft earth nearby. But he could not look at her yet as his cries filled the air, sobs tearing from his body as he fell, prone against the earth.
His fault. All his fault. He couldn’t protect them. The one task he’d been given. The one duty in his life was to protect them both. And he had failed.
The grief did not ebb, nor did it fade. It grew stronger with each moment he lay, memories flooding his mind as he finally dared to stare at Lunar. The last bastion of hope he had for a better life. She was the only thing he had. The only thing left of his life as a royal guard and the only hope he ever had of becoming something more than just a common soldier. The only friend.
The pain was too much to bear, and sleep mercifully took him. His body failed to remain awake, and, praying to anything who would listen that both he and Lunar would remain safe, he collapsed.