My eyes widen and my mouth is left agape. As Rigel stands at the center, a thunderous applause fills the room. There is no hesitation. I feel the earth shatter beneath me and a knot tightens around my stomach. I feel nothing but scorching pain. I take a step back, then another and another, until I’m at the wall. I watch my parents hold Rigel and raise his hands. Spica looks at me with pity and I grit my teeth.
Everything shatters. My mind twirls and I fight the dizziness, trying to understand what the hell happened. Seconds later, I storm out of the throne room, through the closest servants door. The guards let me pass. My skin burns.
I leave the foyer and find myself inside the courtyard. What I feel, it’s more than hurt, betrayal. It’s something growing, picking up the pace. It pushes out of my ribcage and I feel sick. I cough, it’s difficult to breathe without coughing three times in a row. I put my gloved hand on my chest to try and feel my heart. It’s jumping out, liberating itself from the bone cage.
I stare at the ground, eyes crazed with unending and relentless terror of what has occurred. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for that outcome. I struggle to stand straight. My feet lose their balance and I fall on the stone ground. I shake, letting out small cries. They’re not sadness, they’re not dismay, it is fury and revulsion. I taste the words I’ve heard on my tongue and it’s bitter, vitriolic, abrasive. They cut my senses and I laugh, because I don’t know what else to do.
A thunder and then a loud bang pierced my ears. I let out a shriek of horror. I get up, but a blast of wind pushes me off balance. I look up to see black smoke. No. Not now, not after what happened there. I regain my balance and swipe dirt off my gown. I hear screams coming from the ballroom. I turn around, unable to think.
So I let primal fear take over, and using it as an anchor, I conjure a light sword. I barely know how to wield it. I have trained, but I will still strike these bastards right through the heart. I rib the outer layer off my dress, and cut the corset off with my sword. It’s sharper than a kitchen knife. Perfect for cutting throats. I hear footsteps coming to the courtyard, so I hide behind the fountain. People, dressed in black, enter in mass and pass through the corridor, opposite of where I stand. My breathing is shallow when I understand who they are. And they have blades and bows, but no armor. Which means they’re easy to kill.
I hear distant clanging of swords. I don’t dare to move. They might have no armor, but they are trained. I think of Auretta, powerless against their weapons. I hope she followed my advice and fled away from this madness at the first bang. I move my shoulders in circular motion and stand out of the shadow. I follow where the revolutionaries went.
And that’s when I see him. Demus, still in his knight slacks, standing in the middle of the gardens. His eyes are wide with rage as he looks at the sky. That’s my chance. It’s a stupid, horrible chance, but I have to do it. I have to fight back. Even if he kills me like he killed West.
“Kaytus!” I call out to him, standing behind. His true name rings wrong as I pronounce it. The rays of moonlight slither through the skeletal trees. His face is cold rage when he looks at me. “I will demolish you.” Is the only thing I manage to say. I stand in a magical fighting stance, readying my left hand to summon energy.
The man seems unimpressed, as he strides towards me. His calmness is terrifying, but I can’t back away, not now. I can’t run - because I don’t want to run. Deep inside I want to fight him, even if it means I’ll lose my life, because that’s how bad my wrath is.
“You…” He whispers. I can’t read his face. It’s distorted. “Knew.”
I don’t have time to talk, so I summon a fireball. It grows steady in my palm, starting off with warmth and turning to unbearable heat. I throw it at him, but he strides left and avoids it, as if it was simple. I breathe hard. “What are you waiting for?!” I shout, desperate.
He takes the shining sword from the sheath. He swings it, cutting air, and starts approaching. I feel like cattle, ready for slaughter. I shut my mouth, otherwise I’d squeal. I keep the stance, throwing fire at him, but he simply swings his weapon, fire ricochetting. I huff through my nose. So, I hold onto the grip of my conjured sword with both hands, gloves nearly tearing at the strength I put in.
He runs towards me and I stop his strike with mine. Our swords clash and lightning pierces the square. I’m pushed against the ground, keeping balance on one knee. I’m not strong enough to fight him like this. I must get away, get farther to throw more magic at him. Maybe try electricity, something to stall him enough to attack from a more advantegeous point. My common sense cries to escape the death sentence I’m signing. But I don’t want to flee.
I slide on the ground, unaware of the sharp stones cutting my legs. The dress is in shreds around my thighs. I roll on the ground, while the man looks down, I’m already up. I move to the farthest corner, throwing the sword on the ground as it dissipates in the smoky air. It’s hard to breathe, I don’t know if it’s the fire or my body struggling to keep up with the movements.
Kaytus looks at me with hatred. He wants to kill me, and will probably do so. My death is near, just like West’s. It’ll be agonizing. I’ll suffer for my ignorance. I’ll die powerless and without a crown. And there’ll be no one to save me this time.
I gather energy and a few soft lightning streaks appear between us. They don’t stop him, still, he winces. It hurts. Then, I remember one book I’ve put on the top shelf. The one I dared not touch. It was my only chance.
So, I close my eyes, and before he can strike me, an energy cloud envelopes my being. I open my eyes to see I’ve created a barrier. It’s stronger than Kaytus’ hits. It must be the gem Auretta gifted me. I cringe, as the forces push me to the ground. I cry out, realizing the barrier holds him out, but holds me prisoner too. It was stupid.
He sees me struggle against my own energy and kneels. His eyes are cold like ice. They study me, like they studied before. I grit my teeth. There is no hurry in his movement. He gets up and instead of hitting tha barrier, he takes off his chest plate, letting it clank loudly agains the stones. Underneath a coat with inner pockets. His hand disappears and a small knife is in his hand.
He plunges it into the barrier. He slams the blade again and again, until cracks are visible on otherwise transparent barrier. I gasp, not understand how he manages to best magic. The moment the barrier disappears he grabs me by the hair and throws me across the courtyard. I land on grass and pant, every dot on my body hurting.
There is not time for me to get up, he is already upon me. His sword is in his hand, he swings it and cuts my arm. I scream in pain but manage to get away from the massive blow. My arm is bleeding pretty badly. I feel no pain at first. Adrenaline kicks in and I jump at him, pushing my hand against his face, summoning lightning.
It blows in his face, but also hurts my hand. It burns and particles of skin fall to the ground. My left hand is now red meat, painted with deep cuts that will leave scars. He hisses, holding onto his face, the left side hidden behind gloved fingers. He roars and punches me right in the face.
The tip of his boot impales my gut. It feels as if he cut through the flesh and bones, to hit where my intestines lie, usually undisturbed. My eyes roll back in pain, and for a second, all I see is pitch-black. He pulls me up and pushes again the wall, his tip of his sword at my neck.
“You knew I was the spy and didn’t do anything.” I grit my teeth, as I feel the cold blade so close to my veins, to the vital artery hidden in the neck. It must be his favorite way to kill. Firearm or cold weapon, whatever the case, he kills by blowing a rapid and lethal blow to the target. For the first time I realise just how dangerous he was, and I was so close to him. Kept him so close I nearly believed he was innocent.
“I didn’t want to die,” I whisper, afraid of meeting his gaze. “I needed time.”
“You wanted to plan a counter attack?” He asks. It feels like an interrogation, as if I had any information of value to him.
“I wanted to stop you from attacking the castle,” I close my eyes and a tear falls down. “I’ve failed.”
His grip on the blade strengthens. I feel it cutting my skin. “Why didn’t you tell everything to the king?”
“I tried,” I groaned, so scared, it actually gave me enough adrenaline to act annoyed. “But he didn’t listen.”
“He didn’t listen to you, the crown princess, his eldest? I have difficulty believing that.” He huffs in disgust, as he pronounces my title.
“You were there, Kaytus, you saw everything.” My voice but a plead. “He would never have listened to me because I was already replaced.”
My heart thuds hard against what is left of me. I feel like I'm floating. I realize my feet don’t touch the ground, and Kaytus’ hand is holding me up by the waist. His grip is strong, so strong he can crush my bones in one go.
It hurts too much to say anything else. We hear footsteps and the sound of armor clanging. He lets me go. I cough, holding onto my neck. I see a speck of fresh blood. I’m still alive, when Kaytus climsb the wall, leading to the main exit. He glances at me, and for a second, I’m afraid he’ll come back to finish the job.
“We’ll meet again, betrayed princess,” there is no mockery in his voice as he disappears into the smoke.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I lay on the ground trembling, me arms barely holding my weight. Someone runs to me and I put my hand above my head. “Your Highness, thankg the spirits!” The knight, whom I recognize as Christian, carries me bridal stule. There are sounds of fighting somewhere in the distance, but the hallways are empty. Compared to the ball, this is a ghost town.
He brings me to the foyer, opposite of the library, where the explosions took place. The south and east wings were the epicenter of the attack, which seems like a miracle, as most of the people were gathered in north west.
“Where is my family?” I ask, applying pressure to my wound. My arm is sore, hurts like it’s been cut into million pieces and I am too afraid to even look at my left hand. If I don’t see a medic soon I’ll either lose my hand or end up ugly. Both are unnerving.
Tears don’t fall, they don’t wet my eyes. My hands shake as Christian holds me. I don’t feel safe in his embrace, even though I want to. I want to believe it’s over. That he’s gone, that everyone is gone, and my people and family are safe.
“They are safe outside, the perimeter is being secured.”
I can’t talk anymore. I have nothing else to say, anyway. I fought the best I could and I could not kill one man. I tried, but he gave me no time to retaliate, to think, to counter attack.
I hear people shouting outside the main gate. As we pass through, I notice bodies lying around. Black clothes, no armor, these are the revolutionaries. By instinct, I search for Kaytus, but it is dark and the moonlight is hid by clouds.
Christian puts me on the ground and cries for a medic. A man in a robe comes through the crowd, stepping closer and closer, towing above me, their hands on their mouths, as they notice the blood.
I cough due to the smoke and grit my teeth. I cry out in pain as the medic rips off my sleeve and puts his hands on my wound. He takes out a parchment, and paints runes I recognize from my studies. I could have done it if I wasn’t in such a shock. I’m sure I could have…
The darkness takes over for seconds, then my eyesight returns. The people are being pushed away, letting me breathe better. The medic does his work, his gentle hands calming the excruciating pain of blade and lightning.
My family is nowhere to be seen.
“Where is my family?” I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut at the tang of pain in my lower abdomen.
“They’re controlling the situation, people are being driven away by the king and queen.” the medic says and pushes my head back to the ground, as I try to look around.
“But I am here,” I plead, tears rolling down to my ears.
“I am sure they will come see you, Your Highness,”
I wince at the words. No, they won’t. Why would they? This is ridiculous.
“Bring me Sir Christian, now.”
“But he’s helping-”
“I said now. It’s an order, doctor.” I snap and breathe through my teeth.
The medic jerks his chin at the guard, standing beside me, to shoo anyone other than family trying to see my vulnerable state. I feel more than vulnerable. I feel dead. In more ways than one.
“Your Highness?” The old knight kneels in front of me, taking my healthy hand in his.
“Get me to my rooms and find the king and the crown prince,” I snarl. “You will continue the healing there.” I glimpse at the medic, who has no choice but to obey.
Christian takes off his cloak and puts it over me before lifting me up.
Only in the privacy of my own room the medic notices the bruises around my stomach and legs. He puts bandages over my scrapped knees and applies oils to the abdomen. I am left solely with my panties, as he applies herbal mix to the skin, calming the pain. He talks under his breath, noting that my wounds will take time to heal. His magic cannot fully heal my arm, nor my hand, only calm the pain and sew the skin up.
I’m left with multiple gauzes when he takes his leave. Sir Christian is waiting outside, to assure my safety. All windows in the palace are closed, the doors shut and the public dismissed or hospitalized. Malachite doesn’t have hospitals like in Celeste or Hanwi. We are a nation where medicine is not thriving due to ideologies from this day broken. From this night forward the lack of medicine and physicians will be a political problem.
The door opens and Mother enters, already changed into comfortable domestic clothes. Her robes are silk and her shoulders are covered in Father’s cloak. He enters second. I don’t see Rigel nor Spica in the corridor. My mouth is shut.
“Norella… Oh, baby,” she approaches me, her hands up in the air. She kneels before the bed and puts her hand on mine. I have no strength to push it away, even if I’m dying to do so. Her eyes are tired, as is her facial expression. Father stands at the door, unwilling to come closer, it seems.
“What have you done?” I whisper, brows furrowing.
“I…”
“What had to be done to ensure Malachite’s safety.” Father’s voice is thunder in a quiet room. There are no other sounds, no swords, no screams, no clicking fire.
“How did it work out for you?” It is not a question, really. He knows crowning Rigel did nothing against the attack, and even more, if to believe fate, it triggered the explosions.
“I am very sorry to see you in such a state, daughter, but there are things bigger than any of us, bigger than your position.”
“You are not harmed, of course you say that!” I grit my teeth, trying to move, but my body shrieks in pain. I stay still, feeling the sheets underneath. It feels like my death bed.
“Spica was hurt, Norella.” Mother gets up. “Don’t say you are the only one who is suffering.”
I do not believe it for a second, and yet the sincerity in her eyes staggers me. Has she always lied this well? Or am I completely unhinged, seeing things that are not really there?
“Do not change the subject. Rigel will be crowned, you made it official and, what blows my mind the most, publicly humiliated me in the process!”
“You deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Because of your speech towns are burning.”
“How is calling for aid and enlightening people on Peregrine burns houses, Father?”
He says nothing, turns around and slams the door. I can hear him shout at the guards to move out of his way. Looking down at my healthy hand, I see it tremble. Mother watches me for some time. She says nothing, and I don’t either. There is nothing more to say to them. It’s all over.
“You’ve taken my only chance to save us,” I finally whisper, looking at the ceiling. The curves of gilded cavities. “Now look who paid the price.”
“Nobody has paid anything, you’re barely hurt!” Mother exclaims, putting her hands on her face. She turns around and exhales.
Indeed, I am under heavy blankets, and my right arm is under the sheets. She cannot see the meat and skin sewed together. She cannot see what’s underneath the bandages of my left hand. I lose all desire to show it. Mother, it seems, is in denial, and there is nothing in this world that will prove to her that they made a mistake.
Rigel is barely sixteen. He is a child, uneducated and adulturous, crazed by fights and tournaments - even I had a hard time believing that, but apparently he fancies blood and girls more than anything. He will be a bad replacement for Father just because he is his mirror self. They laugh together, they share a connection, meaning my brother would never go against Father’s will. I would have. I would have done so much.
“It’s his way of protecting you, Norella... From all of this. You’re not made for war, none of us are, really. But Rigel is strong, he has ideas and sources in the city…”
“He is sixteen!” I glare. “He is a kid. Arrogant, spoiled and a bully.”
Mother turns her head to me and there is a tint of darkness in her basil green eyes. Her upper lip curls in a funny fashion and she storms off. She knows I am right.
I shake awake, in the middle of the night feeling extremely sick. I have several seconds of peace before a wave of bile fills my throat and I shakily run to the bathroom by my chambers, but only when I lie on the cold floor, I feel all the pain come back in a wave. I puke my guts out for several minutes before it calms down. I feel disgusting, and miss West’s hand on my head, freezing the instinct to throw up. When staring at my out bile becomes unbearable I get up, knees and biceps shaking. I stumble to the bed and lie down, afraid to close my eyes. I light up a candle with magic and put it on the bedside stand. Only with a bit of light I’m able to fall back asleep and be undisturbed by the images of death.
***
The next few days Father and Rigel are away on business. Even the Queen doesn’t know where, even less Spica. Whom, as I was told, has been suffering greatly with her bruised elbow. She fell, running from the smoke. The gravel hurt her baby skin and she cried.
The medics come check on me every morning, at dawn, changing bandages, suggesting herbal teas and lots of rest. I have nothing else to be now, so I stay in bed, patiently waiting for my body to recover. I don’t dare using my magic to heal faster - after the lightning strike, it feels any magic I call for would be offensive.
Auretta brings me plates with food, for faster recovery. Nobody talks about the banquet. Nobody mentions I am no longer the crown princess, as if being striped off a title was nothing but a bad dream. Except the ache in my abdomen and chest are proof enough it was reality.
I don’t have a plan now. I don’t know what I was thinking. Keeping Kaytus close was supposed to stop him from communicating with the spy - and if lucky, he would change his mind. It was stupid to hope. Chance made it so I had time to prepare, somehow train in swordart, which I barely used, and magic, that in the end, hurt me more than the opponent. Still, I had tried and failed. These words haunt me to this day. It hasn’t been long, and yet it feels moons ago.
I lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to ignore the raging possibility of yet another attack. In a bed ridden state I won’t withstand ant kind of fight. I’d be killed in seconds.Only several guards were killed, others managed to annihilate the revolutionaries. It’s the only positive idea I harbor. It helps me sleep better at night. But deep in sleep, I see Kaytus’s face, distorted and foreign, delicately woven with emerald eyes and silver hair. He sneers, hitting me, time and time again and I let him. I let him destroy every part of me, so nothing but ash remains.
Yet again, the sun sets swiftly and my eyes close as I lay on the bed, breathing in the scent of musk. The candle was gifted to me by Mother years ago, and I never once lit it, afraid it might burn away and I would be left without the rare gift. Time has passed and things around the castle changed, and I was not afraid to let it burn. I inhaled the odor again, and tried to sleep early. It would help recover, as the physicians insisted.
I’m pushed awake by a hand over my mouth and a strong grip on my waist. Someone big behind me, the front of their body pushing into mine, as I pathetically struggle. Their hand reeks of herbs I recognize, as they pull me over to the window. I have no choice but to breathe in. Valerian root. I try to summon fire, but a mere flicker is all I can master. I bite their hand, it doesn’t budge. Their steady grip on my waist now travels to my throat. They have me in a headlock and I try to scream. Only muffled sounds leave my covered mouth and terror fills me up.
“Stay quiet and I won’t hurt you,” That voice… how could I ever forget the slight baritone of his voice. I try to shout and Kaytus’s other hand grips my throat hard, air flunging from it. The sheer strength of his hand stops my attempts to escape. “What did I tell you?”
We’re at the window. Kaytus hesitates and the moment his hand leaves my mouth I scream on top of my lungs but before I can inhale for more, I feel a sharp pain on the back of my head. Everything goes black after that.