Tamara gazed into the abyss of her thoughts, weariness etched across her face. A relentless wave of dread and despair had clung to her every day since the fateful encounter in Byiron. Each subsequent town they traversed seemed to spiral further into chaos.
The empire before her eyes was unrecognizable—a realm in turmoil, a stark departure from the order she once knew. Reports streaming in painted a grim picture of capital cities across the Trasidar kingdom struggling to maintain control in the face of dire circumstances.
Her father’s cherished empire, a bastion of stability for years, now crumbled under the weight of decay. A profound sense of disillusionment enveloped her, leaving her feeling jaded and hollow. She allowed herself to succumb to the weariness, an emptiness that seemed to seep into her very core.
In her state of downheartedness, her handmaiden tried to preserve her dignity. Yet, she had become detached; she doesn’t bother to fix herself up anymore after the ordeal in Byiron. Each new town they entered witnessed her futile attempts at projecting grace and elegance. The harsh reality of the people’s suffering, a consequence not solely of her brother’s actions, but of the empire’s unraveling, haunted her.
Imperial soldiers, devoid of remorse, became agents of a tyrannical will imposed by the Arch Chancellor and the Imperial Council. Humanity, whether Trasidian or not, became inconsequential to them. The empire, once a symbol of order and prosperity, now crumbled as they callously tore through the fabric of society.
In a moment of stark realization, she turned to Emerys, her trusted confidante, and voiced her helplessness. “What can I do, Emerys?"
Emerys sat before her, gently clasping her hand. Her gaze fixed on her face, and a reassuring smile graced her lips. “I’m here, your friend, alongside your guards who trust in you. We believe in the strength you bring to us. And if that’s not enough, you have the people; I guarantee that.”
Kind words from her confidante, her heart aches to know that she was weak at a time that she needed to be strong. “I feel so lost. The chaos tearing through the lands, it’s too much for me to handle,” she admitted, tears streaming down her cheeks. Days of relentless weeping had left visible traces of her anguish. “Decades of progress, of prosperity, unraveling in a mere year. It’s so wrong. All because of my brother,” she added, struggling to compose herself.
Emerys held her hand firmly, offering solace as he tried to calm her. He smiled empathetically, even as he, too, fought back tears. The news of her father’s disgrace lingered heavily in her heart. The revelation that her brother openly rebelled and collaborated with their enemies only deepened her distress.
In the midst of the turmoil, she confided in Emerys, “I am all I have right now. But, above all else, I worry about my brother. His abrupt rebellion and the council’s call for his head—it’s too much for me. It doesn’t make sense."
“I want to hear his voice,” she continued, her grip tightening on her dress as she whispered, “To understand what pushed him over the edge. As his twin sister, I should know. I need to know.” Struggling to reconcile the recent events with the brother she thought she knew, she delved into memories, searching for any missed signs of the impending storm. Deep down, she understood his genuine concern for the people’s well-being, adding another layer of complexity to the puzzle.
If her brother witnessed the same atrocities she had, he would undoubtedly respond as he was doing now.
“Do you worry about your brother, milady?” Emerys suddenly inquired.
“Of course, I worry about him!” She bursted out, shouting. “The Imperial Council and Menoich have called for his head!” she exclaimed in frustration. Yet, she quickly caught herself and immediately composed herself, not letting her anger get the best of her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouted at you. I just — I just can’t understand what is going through the council’s head and Menoich. Something is wrong,” she said, expressing her bewilderment.
“We will find out soon once we arrive at the capital, your Grace,” Emerys assured her.
She nodded in agreement, multiple times. “You are right. Once I take the throne, maybe I can still call it off and just have him back alive.”
“Yes, you can do that once you take the throne of Four Horns,” Emerys reassured her, offering an additional layer of assurance.
However, a realization washed over her. Despite being the de facto crown princess, she felt none of the expected power that should accompany such a position. The overwhelming events unfolding around her were too much to bear. The worry etched plainly on her face did not escape Emerys’ notice.
Abruptly, Emerys gently held both of her cheeks, locking eyes with her. “Your Highness, there’s a reason you were in Remolus in the first place. All those years studying law, learning, and even shadowing the Lakan Datos of Remolus for your training — this is what it’s all for. This is your time. I know it could’ve come at a better time, but this is it."
She acknowledged the truth in Emerys’ words. All those years of dedicated effort would be in vain if she didn’t seize this moment.
“Remember, your Grace, we believe in you. So much so that Remolus now stands firmly behind you, rallying support across the fourteen kingdoms of the Empire. You’ll find your sword in each one of us. Now, all that’s needed is the courage we know resides within you, much like your brother.”
As the weight of her potential dawned on her, she locked eyes with Emerys. Recollections of her brother’s dream of a prosperous empire flooded her mind. His tireless studies, wisdom, cunning, and unmatched martial prowess were etched in her memory. They were twins, after all, and she resolved to carry forward his unfulfilled dream.
“I will ensure my brother’s dream comes to fruition, even if he can’t accomplish it himself anymore,” she declared, hastily wiping away tears and cleaning up her face. “I may not possess his martial prowess, but I will be as cunning as him.”
Emerys nodded in agreement, a smile gracing her face. Overwhelmed by the role she was about to embrace, she hugged her handmaiden, feeling her heart race.
Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt. Uncertain of what had transpired, both women awaited an explanation.
“Wait here, Princess,” Emerys instructed before stepping out.
Approached by a guard who seemed perplexed, they walked toward the front, disappearing beyond her view. Patiently waiting, she eventually took a deep breath and stepped outside.
There, in front of the carriage, she found Emerys, her guard captain, and three additional men, one of whom bore wings.
The men, catching sight of her, were taken aback and promptly kneeled as she approached them.
“What’s going on?” she inquired.
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Emerys looked at her guard captain, whom seemed equally perplexed.
“Well, Princess — it’s a bit complicated,” Emerys explained, her expression reflecting confusion.
Observing the men still kneeling, she noticed a distinctive emblem on their left arms, instantly recognizing its significance. — It was her emblem.
“Who are you?” she questioned.
“We are part of the Glaenarm Defense Garrison. Our Town Master received a call to arms, and when he informed the imperial soldiers, they began to ransack the city. They overwhelmed us when the advance forces of Go’Renhor arrived to help us out,” explained one of them.
Curious as to why they bore her emblem, she insisted they rise.
“Your Highness, we are glad to see you,” expressed a man who appeared to be a Falconkind imperial soldier among them.
“Likewise. Now, tell me, why you are wearing my emblem?” she inquired once more, though the men only exchanged glances.
“Well, we were called — in your name, your Highness,” one of them responded, whom was clearly confused by her question.
“What?” she exclaimed, confused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t call for anyone.”
“Your Highness, look,” Emerys directed her attention toward the smoky town and the wall gates, where her emblem adorned with a crown was visible.
“The Lakan Datos of Remolus has summoned us to arms. They said you will need help to retake the capital, Tamara, back from the council. We are here to escort you back into the town,” explained one soldier.
“What happened here?” she asked as she saw smoke coming from the large town.
“There was a skirmish. Some of the imperial soldiers who were following orders from the council took over the city forcibly. Luckily, Glaenarm was one of the gathering points proposed by your supporters. So when we got here, we were able to free the city and return it to your control.” Explained further by another.
“Take me to whoever is in charge of the city now.” She said as she quickly board her carriage, with Emerys closely behind.
They rushed to the town, and what they saw was the state of the town. It was manageable but still — the damage was done. They immediately went straight to the town hall where everyone was gathered. The people who saw her emblem finally noticed them as they rolled through town, so they began to head towards the town center as well.
There, she was greeted by her supposed loyalists, but also the soldiers who were here under the council control. Tide up.
She slowly stepped off her carriage and her guards quickly moved to formation. While some soldier rushed to them.
“These were the survivors. Base on our own findings, it looks like they were actually deserters from the eastern flanks. They managed to make their way here. Some of his men were following the council’s orders.”
She walked to one prisoner as she looked him in the eyes.
She found no remorse in the man’s eyes. No sign of guilt.
“How many civilians died?” she inquired, maintaining a piercing gaze on the prisoner.
“About fifty, Your Grace. A hundred more are injured,” someone responded. The soldiers continued briefing her, but their words became indistinct as her focus zeroed in on the particular individual before her.
A surge of anger welled up within her as she examined the prisoner’s face. Images of the council and Menoich flashed before her eyes, followed by the vivid recollection of the atrocities witnessed in the past month.
Shallow breaths escaped her as the faces affected by the unfolding crisis flickered in her mind—those saddened by her perceived failure, those who turned away when she hesitated, the countenances of those who viewed her as weak.
Though endowed with her father’s wisdom and her brother’s political acumen, but she lacked something that both of them have.
In an impulsive act, she seized her guard captain’s sword and struck the prisoner in the stomach, shocking everyone present. The man became the receiver of her pent up rage. All the anger she had bottled up ever since leaving Remolus. The guard captain attempted to intervene, drawing her away, but it was already too late. The man was no more.
The rhythmic beat of her heart resonated in her ears as she witnessed the fading life before her.
“Princess,” Emerys uttered in a hushed tone.
While lacking resolve moments ago, she had now found it.
“No more!” she declared with a sudden shout.
“I will not allow it,” she proclaimed, her voice resonating with depth and authority, tears streaming down her face.
All eyes remained fixed upon her, and she sensed the collective gaze of Glaenarm’s people as she turned to address them. Her face revealed the absence of restraint; her eyes mirrored the fierceness reminiscent of her brother’s, a fact well-known to everyone present.
“I, Princess Tamara Lluch of the royal family, hereby declare myself as the Crown Princess of the Empire and the true heir to the Throne of Four Horns. I will reclaim what is rightfully mine and rectify the wrongs committed this day!” Her proclamation echoed with unwavering determination.
Shifting her attention to the prisoners, she singled them out. “You,” she called, “if you wish to amend the wrongs you have committed, you will do so under my command.”
The prisoners exchanged glances and responded in unison, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Whom will you serve?”
Again, they exchanged looks and answered, “The heir, our Grace."
“Who is the heir now? Who is the crown heir now?” she asked once more.
“You are, Your Grace,” they declared in unison, this time with evident conviction.
“Good to know. Now, swear your allegiance to me,” she demanded.
“I swear by the twin Gods of Arumar and Shardon, and by the One Father, the God Yor’Jod, witnessed by the Animos Freigurd, to live out the rest of my life, protecting and serving the royal family, the one true heir, Princess Tamara Lluch, and the Trasidar Empire and its people.” They recited the age-old oath to the four horns.
In that moment, a surge of power coursed through her — a power she never imagined she would possess. It was the instant she felt complete, ready to embody strength like her brother and wisdom akin to her father.
“I promise you all, I will get to the bottom of this. I will force the prince to say why he has done this. I will make sure justice will be served!” she added.
A wave of rejoicing swept through the crowd, their enduring love and loyalty for the prince still palpable. Surveying the kneeling assembly, she spoke with authority, “As your Crown Princess, I will return to Tamara and will take the reins back from the council and reverse everything that is being done and that has been done! I will not let this crude council ruin my father’s long years of work. I will make sure that this unity will last, not because of sheer force and ill will, but because of bonds as brothers and sisters to one another!” she shouted, then looked upon some soldiers and pointed at them.
Her voice rang out, commanding soldiers with a pointed gesture. “Let my will echo across towns, cities, great gateways, and every outpost. Crown Princess Tamara commands all to defy the council’s orders, pledge allegiance to me, and spread the word. I, Crown Princess Tamara Lluch, decree the immediate reversal of all unjust laws and the restitution of seized property. Opposition will be deemed treason, punishable by death. Go!"
Soldiers swiftly mounted their horses, racing to convey the empress’s directives, while the townspeople echoed her name in chants. Some soldiers promptly returned the confiscated items, and the jubilant populace celebrated a day etched into her memory.
Approached by the emotional town master, gratitude evident in his tearful expressions, he thanked her profusely. “Your Grace, you cannot fathom the magnitude of what you’ve done for us. I extend my deepest gratitude."
“Restore life to this city as it once was. Display my insignia beneath the imperial flag, signifying your allegiance to my crown and authority. Let it be known!” she commanded, ensuring the mark of her rule flew proudly alongside the imperial banner.
“We will take back control of the towns along the way, compelling the council to yield to my authority. Be strong for me!” she proclaimed before making her way into the town hall.
“Your Grace!” another soldier urgently called out. “I’ve just received word that the Remolus Royal Army is en route as we speak, accompanied by Rosalessium and Pinedran’s armies.”
Emerys interjected, “It appears they’ve secured the south enough to dispatch their armies.”
“We will need them as a show of force. We can expect a fight if they don’t hand over control of the capital.” Her guard captain advised.
“Then let us show them that this rose also has sharp horns. That I am a Lluch not just by name alone,” she asserted as she pressed on toward the town hall.
“I look forward to serving the new Crown Princess,” Emerys declared with a bow.
“You can count on my sword, your Highness,” the guard captain affirmed.
In a moment of sincerity, she turned to them, saying, “I will need you to help me be strong. Currently, you both are my only friends.”
“I’ll stand by you, your Grace,” Emerys reassured.
Taking a deep breath, she contemplated the newfound sense of power coursing through her veins. The declaration had marked a turning point, a moment where she stepped into the authority she never knew she possessed. As she reveled in the thought, a surge of confidence replaced the earlier feelings of doubt and weariness.
Yet, amidst this newfound strength, her mind fixated on the looming confrontation with Arch Chancellor and the Imperial Council. The sharp horns she pledged to reveal were not just symbols of strength, but also of defiance. Her determination was set, and she found herself eagerly anticipating the chance to prove that she was a Lluch not just by name alone.
End of Chapter XVIII