-Lust. Blood-

{Excerpt}

In the dawn of the Middle Ages, before the Great War's shadow loomed large, Udoris dwelt in a realm of spoken lore, where knowledge passed from lip to ear, rather than from quill to parchment. The rise of the Band of the Six heralded a new era, spreading Morgar, both scholarly and written, across seven of the twelve kingdoms. Monasteries stood as citadels of wisdom, nurturing minds and souls, oft hosting schools within their hallowed halls.

As the High Middle Ages dawned, when the Band of the Six held sway, fresh fonts of learning emerged. Song and grammar schools blossomed, honing the skills of priests in music and the intricacies of Morgan grammar. From the 1390s onwards, these schools multiplied in number and scope. By the era's close, every major burgh and many a hamlet boasted grammar schools, catering chiefly to the church. Yet, alas, many were razed in the continent's upheaval, following the fall of the Band from its pinnacle of power. Education in rural realms waned, save for humble reading schools offering rudimentary teachings. Privileged households offered private tutelage, evolving into "household schools" over time. Records speak of scores of such institutions before the Reformation wrought by war. In 1396, the Education Act decreed by the nineteenth Grand, Lotelinus, mandated the attendance of grammar schools by sons of barons and substantial freeholders to master Morgan in its purity. These efforts bore fruit, fostering literacy among two-thirds of the nobility and one-fifth of the peasantry by the epoch's end.

Alas, the epoch of enlightenment met its demise with the Band's fall. Sovereigns, wary of ecclesiastical influence, dismantled song and grammar schools, bulwarks of the Church's sway and bastions of its creed. Ancient tomes met their end in conflagration, and monastic sanctuaries were reduced to ash. In dread of wisdom's annihilation at the hands of aristocratic paranoia, a fellowship of sages and scholars risked life and limb to safeguard knowledge. These brave men would later go on to form what is known today as the Sanctuary of Scrolls.

…

Excerpt from Jonas Diane's book on Udorian History- 'Our Origins'

{END}

[12.03.1624]

Helsbury.

The darkness was heavy and all-consuming.

Alina called out for help, her voice echoing in the darkness. But there's no response. Just the sound of her breathing and the beating of her heart. The emptiness felt like it was closing in on her; suffocating. She could not think, could not focus. All she could feel was the overwhelming sense of fear and helplessness that eroded her mind.

Her sanity.

Minutes turned into hours, and hours into days, then years. She could feel herself slowly losing grip on reality, her mind unravelling underneath the desolation that threatened to so fully consume her. Her body trembled. It felt as if every muscle she possessed was tensed up, ready to run. But she couldn't escape. She was stuck in this moment, for all eternity, and there was nothing she could do to make it―

The princess awoke, sitting up with a start so violent that the heavy fur quilt which covered her slid from her bed to the floor with a muffled thud. Her forehead was beaded with perspiration and her breathing laboured. The princess looked around her luxuriously furnished bedroom in fright before heaving a sigh of relief. The windows were all opened to let in the warm morning sunlight. A few copper mirrors were placed strategically around the room to banish the worst of the shadows lurking about.'

"Another nightmare, Your Highness?" a voice asked from the entrance. Molly, her handmaiden, shut the door behind her as she entered the room with an empty laundry basket in the crook of her arm.

Alina rose from her bed with a tired sigh, ignoring the question. "Is my bath ready?" she asked, pulling the knot of her dress and letting it fall from her shoulders.

"Yes, your highness," Molly replied, bending over to retrieve the discarded garment before putting it in her basket. Freed from the burden that was her sleepwear, Alina made for the bathroom, crawling into a large copper bath where she waited patiently. Behind her, Molly tugged at a red bell pull before leaving the room with her now full basket, having gathered the princess' sweat-soaked bed sheets

A little while later a pair of scullery maids arrived, and with them a large bucket of warm, scented water. Alina sat in silence as she was washed, soft hands and warm water rinsing away soap suds from her silken mane. Soon, she was clean and dressed in a long-sleeved gown that covered her wrists. Molly returned with some utensils, a fruit platter and a pitcher of clear water. The scullery maids, careful not to disturb the fragile quietude, washed and emptied the used bath before filing out, leaving behind a fresh potpourri on a shelf by the door.

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The room lulled into a peaceful calm with Alina unenthusiastically fingering her breakfast as Molly, who had settled down behind her, tended to her hair. But the princess's peace would not last though. The door swung open and a figure with auburn hair and light grey eyes walked in.

"Who let you in?" Alina asked, a frown forming between her brows as she stared at her half-brother. "Ser John! Ser Aaron!" she called angrily, her gaze flickering towards the door.

"Don't bother," Prince Brandon drawled as he approached her. "Your bothersome knights are at the moment… indisposed. They wouldn't be disturbing us―"

"Leave!" Alina snapped at him. "You know I detest your presence. Why then do you insist on imposing it on me?"

The prince smiled, ignoring her as his gaze panned towards Molly who stood by her side. "Leave us," he ordered. "I desire to speak with my sister alone."

"Molly, stay," Alina hissed, glaring at the prince.

"Ser Lauren," Brandon said, glancing sideways at the knight standing just outside the door.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Please escort my sister's maid out of the room."

"As you will it, Your Highness." The knight walked forward and grabbed the frightened maid by the arm before dragging her out of the room despite Alina's angry protests. The door shut behind him, leaving the princess alone with her tyrant of a sibling.

Alina glowered at the prince as he sauntered closer towards her. "I thought the realisation that you are nothing more than a thing to be bartered at will would have dampened your shrewishness," he said leaning against her bedpost. "Apparently, I was wrong."

"Leave my room, Brandon."

The prince fell silent, staring at her with a complex gaze that sent a disgusted shiver down her spine. "I said leave!"

"But why?" Brandon muttered, his voice so low that she barely heard it. "Even now that you are being sent away to that buffoon of a man you still scorn me? Why?"

"Get out Brandon! I am not obligated to explain anything to you―"

"Oh, but you are!" the prince snarled, his face a rictus of hurt and anger as he took one threatening step forward. Alina took one step back in turn. "I loved you, Alina!" he nearly screamed, pulling at his hair. "I still do! My affection for you remains as strong as it ever was. So why would you, out of the blue, turn on me!"

Alina watched, aghast, as the prince reached for her; she slapped the offending appendage away in disgust. "Don't touch me, you filthy animal…"

The prince's gaze remained fixed on her, confused. "It's been nearly two years since you last embraced me," he said, his gaze hurting. "I have tried everything, Alina. I have begged. I have grovelled. I have killed men for you … Has it all been for nought? Every night I dream of you. Every time I see you my heart lurches in longing! You've changed. You stopped loving me. Why? What happened to you? What happened to you, Alina? What happened to my Alina!"

The princess glared at her brother. Seeing he had no intention of leaving, she picked up her dress by the helm and made for the door. The prince once again reached for her, this time succeeding in grabbing her arm.

"Alina!" Brandon pleaded. "Please! I will do anything! Just please, don't leave me!"

"I said, let go of me, Brandon!"

"Please―"

*SMACK*

The prince froze as he reached for his smarting cheek with his free hand; his features stiff with cold anger. Alina watched in mounting horror as rage slowly bubbled onto his countenance. Rabid. The room descended into an ominous silence.

"...You are mine, Alina," the prince declared in a whisper, his voice cold and hard as he tugged her towards him. Alina struggled but to no avail. "I do not care what anyone thinks or says,' he continued. "Not the realm. Not father. Not even you, Alina. None can dispute the claim I have on you."

"Let go of me!" Alina screamed as he ripped open her dress, pushing her against the table behind her. Alina struck against him with her fists but he ignored her, ripping open her corselette underneath before greedily fondling her exposed cleavage. Alina reached behind her, patting the table's surface. Her fingers touched a smooth handle, and in a fit of desperation, she swung at the prince's head. The pitcher she wielded exploded in a shower of water and porcelain shards. Stunned, Brandon stumbled back, slipping on the wet tiled floor and hitting his head on the wooden edge of her bed behind him.

"Wha―?" The prince murmured, caressing his head in a daze. Alina winced as his hand came away bloody. Abruptly realising that the blood on his hand was his, Brandon screamed before promptly falling unconscious.

The door burst open and the prince's guard, Ser Lauren, entered, a worried-looking Molly right behind him. The knight's gaze flickered about the scene, jumping from Alina's ruined dress and exposed cleavage to the unconscious prince leaking blood on the floor. "Murder!" the fellow screamed, much to Alina's chagrin. Behind him, Molly fainted, falling to the ground in a boneless heap.

Alina sighed as she leaned back against the table, dreading the storm to come.