Royal Epitaph

Rated for sexual innuendo, some violence. Fairly mature, so if you don't think you should read this stuff, then don't!!!

Set in an alternate, medieval universe or whatever. Written entirely in a span of 6 days- all with a fever dream...

She hadn’t felt especially special on the day of her birth. It had been a spring day, in the 82nd Royal year, when villagers farmed, traded and lived in the rich kingdom of Gabril, one nation in the country of Flaura, just like any other day.
But it was in the 82nd year, that the ascendant to the throne was born.
So every girl born in that year was to dedicate themselves to training their whole lives, to become candidate for queen.
Lora Wren’s father was Ariman Tybalt Delaroi, elite and honored knight of the King of Gabril himself. She remembered briefly her childhood days, traveling in the very company of Vash Lainor, king di Gabril, and the small prince, naturally, the same age as her. But he was kept apart, and rode with his father, never once permitted to run loose or look around. He had probably never acknowledged her existence, she thought. She pushed her heavy dark hair out of her face and secured the top of her braid more tightly. Oh yes, and any girl candidate running for queen grew their hair long from the day of their birth. They were easy to spot, having about 16 years worth of growth by now. The other girls and women had any style they wanted above shoulder length. Much more sensible, she thought, sweat running into her eyes.
Farming was excruciating work with a large weight of hair. She insisted on twisting every bit into two tight, long braids at the top of her head.
She pushed the rump of the large brown cow, and it lumbered slowly onward, complaining with dragging footsteps.
“Just a few more rows, darling” she called to the gentle beast, and as if understanding her, its pace quickened and finished the plowing, then sank to its knees with a sigh, not even waiting for the plow to be lifted off its back.
It was as tired as she was. “Alright, we’ll do the seeding tomorrow” she laughed. It was one of the hottest days of the year, and she deserved a break.
She decided to drape herself with a shawl and visit the palace today. They would let her in the courtyard and probably even inside, for she was a queen candidate, and more so, the daughter of one of the king’s best knights.
As she walked through the dusty streets of horse drawn carts, yelling merchants and clamor and bustle of people, she noticed the occasional lady candidate like herself. Some concentrated obsessively on their beauty- these would not make it, she knew- and others were off training exotic talents, and performing marvelous feats, to present the king come Queening Day.
So what was her great talent? Her father had had no sons. It was just her alone, and therefore, she had been farming her family’s enormous corn crop ever since she had been able to stand.
Her arms and back were strong, and hands worked and callused from plunging into the soil. She also knew quite a lot of sword fighting, thanks to her father, and had a blade of her own. Her father said it didn’t matter if she became queen or not, he wouldn’t mind either way. But, he had added, she had the spirit and workmanship of the very natives of Flaura in her blood. And surely they would see that. She felt doubtful.
A painting of the prince’s current portrait had been posted at the palace doors. Girls swooned over the boy’s inherited good looks, short, sandy blond hair and dull blue eyes, young and regal, with a stern and noble air.
Luc Atlar di Gabril, heir to the throne. Girls were already beginning to attach “di Gabril” to the end of their names. Lora mused over the lean face and shadowed eyes. He wore no smile.

Luc was depressed. Ceremony time was days away, and as the kingdom grew more anxious, he grew depressed.
He wouldn’t feel so reluctant if his mother had been here. His mother had had a way of knowing when her son needed interaction or affection. She would have introduced him to more friends, more people in all parts of the kingdom, other than the palace. But she had passed away when he was 4. Gentle and empathetic as she had been, she had also a weak heart.
He regretted not being like his mother, but was glad on not being like his father. His father was ambitious and demanding, always seeking to expand the power and territory of Gabril. He himself had turned out quiet, indifferent and withdrawn.
Certainly not what this nation wants for a king, he decided. He had only one thing that he prided himself on, and that was sword fighting. Not in war or conquering, but for protection, for himself and others. Yes, he could protect his kingdom. But that wasn’t nearly enough.
He could easily determine the candidates for queen at this time. They were the ones with unmistakably long hair. Some stopped the length at the waist, but some let it hang to their toes, as if choice depended on length.
He felt sorry for the girl who was to be chosen as his wife, as she would only serve as a tool to bear his heir. He had been cut off from socialism so long, he felt he could never love one of them, for beauty was fleeting, and charm was deceiving, and no one could love a sullen individual such as he.

The entire main hall was filled with girls born in the 82nd Royal year, 103 to be exact. Only 51 of the girls were Gabrilean, 52 were of neighboring kingdoms, some sent from far away as the Northern mountains of Flaura, and villages from the coast of the Ocean of Patlabor.
The event was causing an enormous turnout, because Gabril was becoming a more and more powerful nation. The kingdom had expanded another legion this year, and was now larger than the Aluetian mining kingdom to the west.
This was the work of the relentless king, Vash Lainor di Gabril, who led the fighting for expansion of his territory. The Gabril army was becoming larger and more powerful.
“And that is why it will be such a triumph when we conquer it.” The king of Hathor, with eyes of steel, and a shock of jet-black beard, made his large hand into a fist like iron, and slammed it on the table, startling the girl sitting at the other end.
“Do you hear me, Elise?” He yelled across the sitting table. A beautiful girl of 16, with an enormous mass of soft, curly black hair down to her ankles, answered,
“Yes, Father.”
Mouris de Hathor sat back in his seat. He spoke once more. “Then do not disappoint me, for it is the fate of your kingdom that rests on you.”
Just then, a page entered the room.
“My lords, it is time for the introductions.”
Elise stood slowly, smiled, and twirled to show off her dress. It was powder blue, with an extremely low bodice for one of her age, and a flared skirt that swept along the floor. The entire thing was flourished with gold ribbons and lace, and on her neck and ears, heavy clusters of diamonds. Her hair was pulled back and fastened with a diamond clip, and masses of curly hair fell like a train to the floor.
“I will not fail.” She giggled. She swept out of the room and the door closed. The king stared after his daughter.
“Elise...”
...Eloise.

It must have been 20 years ago. The princes of Hathor and Gabril, dearest friends by secret pact and sworn to be together to the end... but both desperately in love with the lady of Luthania.
At notice of her illness, befallen of silent sleep, they rode to Luthania as fast as possible, in desperate hopes that they could wake her. When the prince of the trading kingdom of Hathor saw his golden haired love deep in coma, he broke down, rushed to her bedside, and ordered everyone out of the room. For 7 hours he stayed by her side, speaking, cajoling, weeping, singing and sighing, ordering medicines, flowers, food, and basins of water to tend her with, attempt to revive her with. And as dusk gave way well into the dark, cold night, he emerged, looking years older, and announced that she would not wake up. Then the prince of the kingdom of Gabril, where the soil was rich and agriculture was their goldmine, stepped forward, and whispered a few words to his love. Without a tear or a frown, he touched her face. And before the eyes of the prince of Hathor, the girl’s eyes fluttered open.

Why him? He raged. Why, when I had considered him my friend? Mouris demanded of his reflection in the looking glass, much older looking and more worn than that of Vash di Gabril, for having never felt peace since that time in 20 years. Lost in love, the king of Gabril had practically forgotten his friend and wedded the lady Eloise del Luthania. Deceitful beast!
Plunging his oldest friend into depression and leaving him never to love again, making his only daughter a bastard child.
Well, when this bastard child weds the successor of the throne of Gabril, Mouris de Hathor mused, we will have our revenge.

Lora sat in her private chamber of the palace, and was surprised that the palace could hold all 103 candidates for queen in their own separate rooms. The residents quarters were more grandiose than she had imagined. A rich bed, bath and sitting room for every girl. The girls would reside in the palace for the next two weeks, as each candidate made their presentations to the prince.
Lora’s presentation was to be an enormous harvest of corn she had toiled with her own hands. The harvest would then be given to charity.
Of course, that meant the sacrifice of not having any barter for the trade season this winter, but it was nothing, her father had said.
She was satisfied with her appearance. She wore a dress of her mother’s, white, with gold thread embroidery. With a high neck and edged with golden braid. She had refused to do anything with her hair, and when her mother had insisted, she grabbed two white satin ribbons and tied the end of each braid with a bow. Now the bows drooped like wilted flowers.
Her father, the knight, entered into the room and grinned wide when he saw her.
“You look beautiful.”
It was enough for her. She smiled happily. He went over to try to tighten the bows at the ends of her hair.
“You look just like your mother.” He told her. It wasn’t true, she looked most like her father, straight, dark hair, sharp, angular face and soft brown eyes. But she was much like her mother- silent and swift as a deer, solitary and pensive. Her father sat on the edge of her bed and explained sternly,
“The daughters of the members of Gabrilean court will go last in presentations. You will have a while to wait, Lora.” He said sadly.
“No worries, father.” She waved her hand. “I can wait.”
He nodded, then extended an arm to the door. “But now it is time for introductions.” She curtsied to him, to make him smile, and marched bravely out the door.

Lora gazed in amazement at the enormous crowd of girls, all aspiring for the role of queen. Some dressed exotically, from others decorated in ridiculously elaborate costumes that made them look years older, to humble but proud warriors from hunting kingdoms, wearing garments of leather.
One by one, the assembly of girls was introduced to the prince, their full name, role and title, some names taking over a minute to say it all.
She finally moved up the line enough to see the prince. He was incredibly handsome, and looked much younger than his age. His skin was pale and his expression stern, unsmiling, she noticed, as always.
He wore the high-necked red vest of young royals, pressed trousers, and a uniform sword belt at his waist, holding a short jeweled knife.
“Lora Wren Delaroi, of Gabril.” Her name was called before she knew it. She nearly stumbled forward, heart pounding, and did as the girls did- dropped a curtsy, and then mumbled, “My lord”, as she thought was appropriate to do. He bowed to her, and she quickly stepped away. The next girl was called and Lora sighed as she headed to the back of the line. So much trouble for so short an introduction. But she had the chance to gaze into those icy pools of blue, and study his comely face. He was only a little taller than her, with elegant posture, excellent build and so perfectly trim he looked tailored. She suddenly had a need to know the enigmatic and seemingly emotionless young man. And figure out why he seemed so... empty.

Lora marveled at the rows of flowers in the castle garden. There were more than she had ever grown in her own garden in a year! She tiptoed down the little stone pathway and kept cautiously glancing around her. The girls weren’t allowed outside after dark, but she just had to see the royal gardens. She had tucked her distinctly tell-tale hair into her shirt and wore a cap and work breeches so at first glance she would look like a stable boy or gardener or something to that extent. She might have been taking cautions to extremes, but punishment was severe- expulsion from the contest.
She sat to rest on a marble bench, and stretched her legs. She loved evening walks. The dim light of the garden lanterns, the rustling of the leaves on the oak and the sleepy hooting of owls. As her father said- she had always possessed a deep connection to the earth around her. She coaxed the soil to grow the richest corn. She had once approached a wild deer and it had not detected her presence. She may not be graceful and dainty like other girls, but she was strong, swift and cunning as any forest creature.
Her ears perked to the sound of someone coming; too late! They rounded the corner and she froze, gripping the bench.
It was the prince. Skillful enough to have approached without alerting her sensitive ears, he was talented indeed. Would the evening shadows hide her?
“Good evening, my lady.” He called. He had a calm, smooth baritone voice, extremely formal and full of dignity. So much for her disguise, though. She panicked, stood up.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I’ll be going back to my room now.” But he took her hand and sat on the bench, and she found herself sitting back down as well.
She stared with curiosity, but then remembered- the prince was not permitted to go outside the castle after dark without a bodyguard. Perhaps then...
“You must be breaking the rules too?” She blurted, smiling. He barely blinked.
“I prefer to enjoy the gardens alone.” She almost laughed out loud, and relaxed. She sighed and removed the cap, then her braids from underneath the shirt.
He looked at her. “Lora Wren Delaroi?”
She gaped. “How did you know?” Surely he couldn’t have memorized every girl that had been put in front of him this afternoon!
He pointed at the little crumpled bows tying the ends of her hair, drooping comically. She almost flushed with embarrassment, but he added,
“Also, your father is master knight Ariman Tybalt Delaroi I believe. Our fathers traveled together on past merchant trips.” So that was it. He continued.
“I remember you- vaguely. Your hair was at your shoulders then, and you preferred gripping the side of the wagon to riding.” She was amazed. “You have an excellent memory. I nearly forgot it myself.”
He smiled sadly. “It all comes from being isolated, I suppose...” He shifted his eyes away.
Was he being sarcastic? Or pitiable? No, he was telling the truth, stating the fact. Her heart melted for him and she felt like reaching out to him.
But she had no time, because there was a great commotion, and five guards rushed out from the south end of the castle. Lora gasped, but they rushed right past the two, and entered the castle through the east wing. Luc stood suddenly. “What’s the matter?” She asked.
Luc shook his head. “I don’t know, but my father’s quarters are in the east wing.” He looked at her sternly and waved her away. She was indignant. But then realized she was supposed to be in her room. She bowed quickly and snuck in through the back entrance. Luc rushed up to his father’s room.

Vash Lainor di Gabril was doubled over on the floor, guards surrounding him, when Luc entered. Three armored soldiers were standing in front of the window. The healer arrived at the same time, and ordered the man to be lifted to his bed. The healer, an old, gnarled man with a wispy beard and eyes as clear as glass, took a dart from the king’s shoulder and studied it. He announced that it was dipped in hemlock poison and was working fast. The strong man’s pupils were dilating and his chest heaving, a fine sweat gathering on his body. And within the hour, in front of Luc’s eyes, the proud and brave warrior, Vash Lainor, king of Gabril, was dead.

II.

So in the midst of the Queening Ceremony, the funeral for the king of Gabril was held. Now it was urgent for the prince to find a wife and take his place as king.
Elise stared at her reflection with pleasure and began to giggle quietly, turning slowly, admiring her new dress. Peach-colored, with huge skirts and mountains of silk and chiffon, fit for a queen. Her hair spilled out of a jeweled tiara on the top of her head. A sure sign of her soon-to-be victory. She had been practicing her curtsy and sweeping her skirts for hours, making her movements so liquid and seamless it was stunning. She imagined the weight of the queen’s crown on her head, imagined herself gracing the throne beside her husband-to-be.
Marvelously good-looking, and surely the youngest king ever to succeed the throne! Indeed, he was silent and dismal, depressingly gloomy. However, he was so dignified... so serious... it brought a blush to her cheeks. She quickly shook herself and steeled her mind. She musn’t show any weakness. It would mean disaster...
Oh well, it didn’t matter, she told herself. Elise de Hathor is the most beautiful girl in the kingdom, she told herself. No man can escape.

Luc stood beside his father’s rich mahogany funeral coffin, carved with intricate designs and inlaid with gold. He played the formal part of placing a snow lily, the flower of Gabril, onto the coffin and bowing low. The coffin was marched throughout the streets in an elaborate and sorrowful parade, to the royal burial ground, where the 27th king of Gabril was laid to rest.
And the same day the prince’s coronation was held, tears still flowing down faces from the funeral. Bowing before the Duke of ceremonies, the heavily jeweled crown was placed on the prince’s head, and Luc Atlar di Gabril was dubbed King.
Still the Queening Ceremony was to continue right away. Luc, finally escaped in the sanctity of his private chamber, pondered over the previous 24 hours. In one day, his father had died, his date to marry was moved up to be this winter instead of the spring, and he was now King of all Gabril.
He did not feel mournful of his father. He did not feel stressed or pressured or panicked. All he could feel was simply and utterly trapped, but resigned and peaceful. His entire life was simply not his own anymore.
He drew his father’s sword, disbelieving that it was now his. It was heavy in his hand, as if mimicking his new pressures and responsibilities. A guard suddenly knocked at the door.
“Everything alright in there, highness?” Knocked louder.
Luc sighed. “Yes.” He called, and resheathed the sword. Been told to keep an eye out for me, he mused. He had been noted for his constant depression and indifference, now they think I’m suicidal.
He needed time to think. Time to stroll and be alone and ponder aloud. He casually swept a lamp from his desk and dropped it out the window. It landed with a soft crunch in the bushes below. He heard the guard outside his room hurry away in panic. He slid out the door and crept away.

The woods were the only place he could think of. The woods to the west, that shielded Gabril from the cold winds in the winter, and hot spells in the summer. It was thick, lush and green, and he enjoyed hiking through the tangling roots and soft forest floor. He knew of a waterfall in these woods, and had visited it frequently. However, he frowned, this would most likely be the last time he ever could.
As he heard the rushing waters and neared the spot, he gaped in shock. There was the same girl from last night! Lora Wren. She sitting by the flowing river and trailing her hands in the water, until she sat upright and called,
“Who’s there?”
He emerged from the trees. “You are indeed one with the forest.”
She looked surprised, but pleased. “What brings you here?” He walked over and sat down in the grass slowly, a strange sight to her of a boy so royally dressed. Then she remembered herself.
“My dearest condolences... about your father.” He stared into space, then began forming words slowly, piecing together his very emotions.
“My father was am ambitious man. He was war-faring and power-hungry and intrepid. I never agreed with his actions or his motives. He was strict and stubborn and unbending. He forced me to grow faster than I ever wanted. But... as my father... I loved him. More than anyone can understand. Perhaps because... I wished to be like him myself.”
Never had Lora heard such turmoil spoken aloud. And never had Luc spoken in such a way about his sentiments to anyone. This girl, whom he barely knew, brought it out of him. She was plain, but pure and innocent and intriguing. Maybe he was still in shock.
“The tower... across from your father’s window...” She began. She spoke of his father’s murder. He was stunned- she had pieced together the vague information that had been limited to the civilians.
“Yes, the suspicion goes that a trap was set, in that the king’s bedroom window was left open, and as he went to close it, a dart was shot from the tower across from him.” The look on her face prompted him to answer the unasked question.
“I have no idea who could have performed such a thing. He never fought any dishonest battles, and besides, the castle is heavily guarded. That tower was the Royal library and archives. No one resides inside. There is no beneficial reason for any visitors from the neighboring kingdoms to assassinate the king.”
He had read her like a book. He answered all her questions before they were even asked. Long silence followed. But the sound of rushing waterfall and wind through the trees was wonderfully distracting and comforting. He still couldn't believe how easily words came when he was with her. She was that convincing.
And pretty, he decided. She had straight dark brown hair, worn in two cute plaits. She wore a simple lace-up top and long skirt, well-worn and comfortable. Her skin was lovely sun-bronzed. She smelled faintly of lily-of-the-valley. Like a forest nymph, he thought. So alert and skillful, could she be human?
Finally, she murmured,
“How is it... to be king?” The question was curious and innocent. He raised his eyebrows. She had a talent for making him think long and carefully.
“Overwhelming.” He answered shortly. “All I can do is make it one day, no, one minute at a time.” Then he buried his head in his knees and his voice was muffled. “I am not fit to be a king.”
She was shocked. The king of Gabril looked exactly like a child, needing to be hugged, pulled on someone’s lap and comforted. Indeed though, the king was young, and still very much a child. But it upsetted her to see someone so downcast. She stood, looked down on him.
“Nonsense. You are not unintelligent. You are not foolish or gullible. You are talented and educated and wise. This kingdom could not ask for anything more. You ought to have more pride in yourself.” Had she really said it? Maybe it was infatuation talking.
He stared up at her. She had a gift, this girl. She could... feel people. She could tell if someone was happy... sad... And her words were simple, but immensely powerful.
Just then, the church bells began to sound for evening mass. The whole palace might be searching in a little while if he wasn’t back. Luc rose slowly, and uttered,
“Will you be alright getting back?”
She nodded, and pointed to a lantern she had with her. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Then, I thank you for your company, my lady.” He bowed, and in a minute, was gone.
Lora sighed, willed her heart to slow its rampant beating. She marveled at the thought of actually having talked to the prince, even comforted him. Everyone is human after all, she thought, and lay down in the grass, thinking of the young man with pale golden hair and deep, tortured eyes.
A cold wind swept through the trees and made her shiver. The first star appeared in the evening dusk and she quickly sat up, remembering she had to be back at the palace. She lit her small lamp and strolled back through the forest, catching a glimpse at random critters emerging from their burrows to dwell in the night. She winked back at small glowing eyes of mice and raccoons.
As she neared the castle, she suddenly heard the footsteps of someone tramping through the brush, coming nearer and nearer. She panicked, quickly extinguished the lamp and crouched close to the ground. She froze, still and quiet as a deer.
The stranger tramping through the woods passed, mere feet away from her. He was a middle-aged man, with a puffy, worried face and beady, shifting eyes, wearing a dark cloak and hood. He stumbled over the tangling tree roots of the forest floor, then stopped at a small patch of growth in some bushes. Lora closed her eyes and wished she wasn’t here, hearing the man shift and bustle over the bushes, then, finally, moving away.
When she was sure that he was gone, she rose, heaving a huge sigh of relief. Filling with curiosity, she slipped over to the bushes the man had been working over, and saw he had pulled up some plants roughly. She knelt closer, picked a small fragment of the plant tentatively, and inspected it.
Her eyes widened and she dropped the plant quickly, overcome with shock.
It was deadly hemlock. Highly poisonous, able to cause death in a matter of moments.
She calmed herself and gritted her teeth. She knew what she had to do.

The Queening ceremony commenced the next morning. Luc braced himself for the long days ahead, of sitting attentively as endless parades of girls presented themselves before him. He wondered if he could remember them all.
The royal judges and dukes of court decided and marked the presentations for him, though, he reflected. There was barely any thought of his own required. Which made it considerably worse.
Some girls had admirable talent and awe-inspiring skill. A warrior from Njord who had fought and killed five murderers. A princess from Palas who had been the court’s official mathematician and astronomer since she was 8. A large number of hunters who displayed their collection of game.
And of course, there were the dancing girls, the polite and noble and elegant ladies that could do no more than curtsy and look beautiful. Some girls did not have a trophy or title to impress the court with, but they came from good lineage, and were mostly very sincere. Luc paid equal careful attention to how each girl carried herself, how they spoke and how intelligent they seemed. There was more than what meets the eye. Such as the hunter with her impressive amount of game, but included some rare and dying species, he noticed. This girl who hunted with reckless abandon was not what he would want for a queen.
And the stunningly beautiful girls, who carried themselves so flawlessly and spoke so elegantly, it was hard to tell if they were not merely wind-up dolls.
There were charming and witty girls, ones he admired and ones that made him laugh, but none of them reached him, with a deep, fond, connection.
He sighed. This was going to be a long week.

As the presentations reached completion, and the final girl of civilian status in Gabril was presented, the daughters of members of court were what remained.
It rested Lora Wren and May Juniper. May went first.
Lora gave her hand a squeeze as the shy, red-haired girl marched bravely into the ballroom. Both being daughters of knights, they had spent many times together, keeping each other company, playing together since childhood. May was a sheep-herder, and possessed a deep, almost spiritual connection with the animals. Lora admired her considerably. She wished her friend luck, but had not told her about her encounters with the prince. Luc paid close attention, intensely interested in this red-haired girl. She was graceful and intriguing, with a lovely and innocent air.
She reminded him... of that forest nymph, Lora. He had been left stricken by their past encounters, marveling at what she brought out of him. She was a girl, just like all the others, but she seemed more human, more real than anyone.
He stared after the gentle redhead as she curtsied away and vowed to keep her in his mind. The judges noticed his obvious interest and marked her seriously.
But this was forgotten when Lora entered, last but not least. Luc was almost surprised as he saw her- he had almost forgotten that she was a candidate.
He didn’t want to favor her by knowing her personally, for that would be cheating on her part. He was forced to think only for his kingdom. But she was an excellent character and intelligent speaker, earning his interest even more.
“For my gift, my lord,” she announced. The pages waved a signal to bring in the harvest of corn she had to present, but she finished quickly, clearly- “I have discovered the assassin of the King of Gabril.”
There was a clattering of chairs of people rising to their feet in shock, including Luc’s, which he did unconsciously. She continued, firmly.
“He is a middle-aged man with a round face and dark eyes. He is near-sighted, but can move quickly and quietly. I glimpsed his cloak, which was a raincoat of design for work in Gabrilean fields. But his boots were soft and thin- such as for indoor use for servants of the castle.”
There was an uproar. The man was searched out immediately- the bookkeeper of the palace financial records for 10 years! Lora pointed him out with a shaking hand. He was tried for murder and treason, and sentenced to hang. Luc remained transfixed with the girl’s skillful discovery. Surely- he thought silently- she is indeed the winner...

Armand the bookkeeper sat miserable in his dungeon, awaiting the sunrise that would bring his death. He brought a small brooch out of his pocket. He remembered his cheerful wife, clipping it onto the dress of their small daughter.
He began to weep. He would miss them so... unless...
He leaned forward and clutched the bars of his prison and called hoarsely, “Guard.” Then louder. “Guard!”
“You weren’t thinking of revealing us, were you?” A deep voice came from behind him. He stiffened and turned, saw a pair of feet in the barred window to the outside. He reached out as best he could, out through the bars of the underground cell.
“Your Highness...” he choked. “Help me.”
“I have paid you well. Your wife and daughter will receive the money anonymously. They will live in prosperity for a considerably long time.” The speaker sneered. “Unless you want them killed as well. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” The man turned heel and walked away, leaving the helpless prisoner in his own grave.

Luc did not watch the spectacle of hanging the murderer. He could not believe that someone of his own court could turn on his father so horribly.
“He was a dull-witted old man.” His counselors told him. “He did not know right from wrong.” Perhaps so. Perhaps... he had to believe them...
He went to thank Lora that evening, formally, as he was instructed to do so. They sat at opposite ends of the palace foyer, she looking downcast despite the praise she was receiving. He hesitated, nervously. Then threw away the elaborate speech his court had prepared for him and thanked her with his own words.
“Thank you- for bringing my father’s murderer to justice.”
“Your thanks is accepted, my lord.” She answered sincerely. She still did not look up.
Concerned, he crossed over to sit beside her. “I’m sorry you had to witness such a spectacle. But you did the right thing.” She raised her eyes to him.
“I know, but something tells me it was not all about a cold-blooded murderer. That man had a wife, a daughter, too much to live for. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I cannot begin to understand the criminals of this world.” He told her. And repeated, “You did the right thing.” She gave him a thin smile, still shadowed with sadness and regret.
Thinking it was the right thing to do, he put an arm around her slim shoulders, surprising her somewhat. She blushed.
He stood and reached into his pocket. “I have saved the best for last.” He knelt before her, and she stared, bewildered.
“You have gained the approval of the judges and court of the kingdom of Gabril. You have proved yourself worthy of the title of queen.” Her face still stared blankly in shock. He smiled simply and presented her with his mother’s ring. “Will you marry me?”
He went on. “It would do me the greatest honor to have you as my wife, my queen, ruler of my people, and mother of my sons. Will you make me the happiest person in the world, and accept?” He gazed at her gently, sweetly, with smiling eyes... finally smiling... and a face like an angel. Her heart pounded so loud she thought he might hear it, and she trembled, summoning all her energy to reach out and take his hand.
“Yes,” she breathed.

Him! Marry her! A vase smashed. A pillow exploded in a cloud of feathers. Elise shrieked and grabbed for something else to destroy, faced the mirror and rammed her fist into the reflection. Shards dug into her hand and broke the skin. She screamed, clutched the bloody hand and collapsed on the floor, sobbing. Her beautiful hair was tangled and mussed. Her magnificent dress was now stained with blood. She curled up on the floor amidst the carnage she had created, and uttered a short cry between sobs. Damn them! Damn them!
She heard the door open, and froze. The heavy footstep of her father filled the room. He walked towards her crumpled form, then paused for an agonizing moment. He spoke,
“I expected more of you, daughter.” Whether he meant by her temper or her failure, she didn’t know. He left the room and quietly shut the door.
Screaming with rage anew, she slammed her fist on the glass-covered floor, cutting herself again.

III. “Pater... Natus... Spiritus”
Pater... a single downward thrust with the flat side. Natus... a strike to the left with the blade. Spiritus... a powerful slash to the right.
Luc brought the sword to a held position once more and breathed hard, sweat running down his face. He tried again to keep his stance from going wide- he was much too uncontrolled and tense. Disastrous in battle.
Lora could not sleep. She awoke with the moonlight shining into her room through a stained-glass window, and for a moment, forgot where she was. Then it all came flooding back. She was lying in an enormous bed in a royal lady’s chamber, awaiting her wedding day. It was a week away and the entire kingdom was strained with anxiousness, stressed with preparations and organizations.
She climbed- literally climbed- out of the massive bed, and slowly dressed, into her old shift and skirt that they never allowed her to wear nowadays. She pulled on a pair of boots and crept from her room, enjoying the silence of the large, dark castle. Just then, she glanced out the window, and noticed a thin beam of light coming from the stables. Who could be up this late, she wondered, and hiking up her skirt, she slinked silently outdoors.
On the way, she grabbed a few plums from a drooping plant in the palace orchard. She sighed upon seeing the gardens completely empty. All the flowers had been dug up and were being potted indoors, in preparation for the wedding. Oh well, they wouldn’t have survived the winter anyway.
She reached the stables, and peeked through a crack in the door. For a brief moment, she made out the figure of Luc Atlar, sword-fighting.
He looked stressed. His face was red and his eyes, hard and tense. She watched him for a moment longer, moving gracefully, perfectly synchronizing his movements and liquid strokes. She cautiously slipped through the half-open door.
Her foot crunched some dry rushes and he turned immediately, brandishing the sword. He looked surprised upon seeing her, and she murmured,
“At ease, knight.” He sheathed the sword and smiled faintly, approached her.
“What brings you here at this time of night?” She tossed him a plum and he smirked.
“I was bored, I couldn’t sleep.” She noticed his shaded eyes. “Have you been doing this often?”
“I’m out of practice. It is disastrous if my skills fail even for a little bit.” They silently finished their plums, and she drew a deep breath.
“I’ll be your sparring partner.” He glanced at her, taken aback. She raised her voice.
“I’m the daughter of the knight Ariman Tybalt. I have practiced since I could hold the blade. My skills are formidable enough for a soldier!” He blinked slowly, and responded,
“I did not doubt your skills for a moment. What blade do you use?”
“Straight-edged lance.” He walked to the armory wall and drew a second sword.
“Apologies, we only have broadswords.” He placed it in her hand and she stared at it.
“It’s... longer than I’m used to... but, I can handle it!” She told him.
He stepped back calmly and pointed his sword. “Then, let us duel.”
She attacked without warning, with a straight forward plunge. He blocked, pivoted slightly, and slashed precisely, making her step back. They sparred, her matching him blow for blow, stepping skillfully inside his strokes for surprise attacks, keeping him sharp to attention. He was filled with respect. This was a powerful girl who did not lie, he thought. Then he turned serious.
He launched the sanctus crux, the attack of three strokes in the shape of a crucifix- the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit- that could disable an opponent immediately. He blocked her slash with a downward stroke, knocked her sharply to the side with a left slash and struck again with a blow to the right, that would send her sword flying.
But it did not happen. She was flung to the side, but she whirled quickly and prepared again, still grasping the sword. He smiled in admiration, and praised her,
“I’m impressed. You’re the first I know who can still hold the sword after the sanctus crux.” She was trembling, and her hands felt as if they were on fire, but tried to not let it show.
“I have to give you credit as well. My hands have gone numb.”
With a warcry, she sped forward and thrust upwards, him barely blocking it and sending him falling backwards. She forced him to the ground and held him there, their swords scraping together in a test of strength. As she pressed forward, his legs swung up in a sudden movement and kicked her over his head, landing her in a carpet of hay.
He stood quickly and hurried over to help her up, but she waved him away. She stood slowly, panting, but laughing slightly.
“I’ll give you that one... you knocked the wind out of me.”
“Sorry,” He said sadly. “You started to cut me.” She glanced in shock at a small trickle of blood that appeared on his cheek.
“I’m so sorry!” She took a handkerchief from her skirt and gently wiped away the blood, then with an impulse, wiped the sweat from his face.
Her touch was soothing, and cool and refreshing on his face, and he closed his eyes. She watched his lips slightly part. When she finished, he softly took her hand as she lowered it. He suddenly whispered,
“Lora Wren... di Gabril.” She lifted her eyes rapidly, and her lips slowly began to smile.
“Yes?” She answered. It was his turn to smile, and before she knew it, he had placed his hands on her shoulders and enveloped her in a kiss.
His touch was hot, almost fiery in comparison to his pale skin. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him and pulled him closer. They parted, after what seemed like a sweet eternity, and with a serene smile, he bade her goodnight. Her clothes still smelled of him, and he could still taste plum on his lips.

They were wedded on a cold, crisp autumn day, when the last of the leaves were falling and the windows were decorated with feathery icy patterns in the morning. It was a sunny day though, a pleasant, yellow beam gracing the land.
Lora stared at her reflection disbelieving. This lady could not possibly be her, her hair shining and perfect, braided with strings of pearls and baby’s breath, crowned with a gold circlet. The dress was magnificent beyond her wildest dreams, whiter than fresh snow, with a square neck and long sleeves, and skirt that parted to reveal three layered skirts underneath. The train was an absurd 6 feet long. The entire thing was embroidered with an intricate design of pearl flowers. What she could not believe most of all was the make-up smearing her face, contrasting sharply with her tanned skin, making her face look as fragile as porcelain.
The entire Grand Hall was filled to rafters with the people of Gabril, visitors from far away countries as well as famous and legendary persons, all gathered to witness this momentous occasion. Luc Atlar di Gabril was dressed to the nines, wearing the king’s ermine robe, the sword belt and the heavy jeweled crown, awaiting his bride.
The thundering notes from the massive pipe organ began playing its exultant march, and Lora swallowed her nervousness, gripped her bouquet of snow lily, and stepped into the aisle. Row by row, the people stood, rising at her presence, in humble and solemn respect. The spectacle before her eyes was hazy, as if walking in a dream.
Then, Luc. Looking like a monarch, without a doubt, majestic and royalty itself, confident and powerful. Yet gentle, pensive, and extraordinarily intelligent. The sincere and heavenly angel she could love for the rest of her life. As she neared the pulpit, she cracked a smile to see the half-dazed look on his face, staring at her as if in a trance. He smiled back and raised an eyebrow at her make-up, making her feel instantly at ease.
Their vows were simple, short, and heartfelt, spoken with the truth of every fiber in their being. As they were pronounced man and wife, king and queen, he graced her with the sweetest kiss she had ever tasted. The crowd rose to their feet in tremendous applause, and in the showering of confetti and joyful singing, Luc scooped his wife up in his arms heavy dress and train and all, and spun her, leaving her breathless and laughing out loud, all formalities forgotten at the moment.

Lora had never liked the clamor of too many voices talking at once, and the way it echoed in the glamorous banquet hall. It was late, the wedding festivities dragging long. The handmaidens and ladies of court she sat with were all endless gossip, laughing and loud talk. She glanced around, searching for salvation. And there it was, Luc, in his reception outfit, waving her to the servant’s door. She glanced around hesitantly, but then slinked away, silent as a shadow, and followed him through the servant’s exit.
“Where are we going?” She whispered. She knew the freshly prepared royal bedchamber waited for them in the former king’s room, in the west wing. But he was leading her to the back of the castle, to the servant’s quarters.
“I dislike my father’s room.” He answered. “It’s like a tomb to me. Now, I want to feel life.” He smiled back at her. She flushed, continued after him through the long and endless stone passageways through the castle, stumbling on her long skirts. He stopped in an empty wing of the servant’s resident quarters, and she glanced at him questioningly. He smiled and reached above his head, catching a rope that was hanging overhead, and pulled. A trapdoor opened and a ladder unfolded.
“Ladies first.” She climbed the rickety ladder, him boosting her all the way to the top. She helped him through the opening once he had climbed, and closed up the trap door. It was only after then she looked around at her surroundings.
It was an attic, but tall enough she could stand up in. Moonlight shone in through a single window across from her.
“Used to be a storage room for antiques and records and things, but it was cleared out.” He explained. “I discovered it during my childhood, and it’s been an excellent hiding place.” She laughed with pleasure, and marveled at the treasured secrets this dignified, solemn palace could hold. She also noted, with interest, the straw pallet at the end of the small room.
“What will happen when people find us missing?” She mused.
“They will think we turned in early. The guards will be guarding an empty bedchamber tonight.” He replied. She heard a scritch behind her, and found Luc had lit a match. He lit several candles surrounding the bed, and then sat, removing his formal vest. He reached his arms out to her. “Come.”
She responded by pulling out the heavy ornamental clips holding her hair and shaking the entire flowing mass loose. He realized- it was the first time he had seen her with her hair down. In an instant, this innocent, pretty young girl was transformed into a beautiful lady of the court- he smirked- or a queen. She kicked off the enormous petticoat underneath her dress, leaving only the outer layer. She slid into his arms. He pushed some hair back from her face, and then noted the thick smearing of white powder still on her face.
“You still have face-paint on,” He whispered.
“They made me wear it.” She complained. He took the kerchief from his vest pocket and helped her rub off the unnatural cosmetic, leaving her real skin glowing, blushing.
“Much better.” They kissed, soundly, his strong arms pulling her close against him and her hands searching out areas on his back she had not felt before. Their clothes fell away, forming an unceremonial heap on the floor.
And he had the chance to look at her. Trim muscles showing underneath smooth and taut skin, a girlish slenderness in her waist, but gentle curves of her hips and chest. He buried his face in her shoulder and neck, and found her faint scent of lily-of-the-valley underneath the perfumed soaps and bath oils they had insisted to bathe her in.
As they held each other, he began blowing candles, one by one. When the last flickering flame remained, they sank to the bed. She placed her head on his flat chest, listening to his breathing and his gradually quickening heartbeat. She didn’t want to let him go. Somehow, he always possessed constant heat and warmth when she had none. She molded herself to him, to try to let the radiant heat permeate her soul.
He laid his hand at the base of her thighs. She was still tense. He kissed her, trying to calm her tight muscles. He finally leaned to blow out the last candle, and whispered in her ear, with that low, smooth baritone voice. Passionately, but with a hint of playful mischief.
“Trust in me, wife. For tonight... I shall take you to the heights of pleasure...”

IV.

He had not intended to impregnate her on their first night together. But after a few weeks, when her symptoms began to show, the physician announced that she was indeed with child. There was great excitement in the castle, which had not seen a child in 15 years. The nursery was brought back to life, and nurses were hired yet again. But Lora refused more than one matron. She wanted to raise this child herself.
Thus, she was limited to the castle, and on rare days, the courtyard. She pined for the woods and the garden, but satisfied herself that in months, she would bring her own child to that waterfall, have his first sights be the flowers, the trees and the earth.
Meanwhile, she made herself familiar with the enormous castle, with the help of Luc, and memorized each room by the stories he told and the significance it held in his own life. Soon, each dusty corner became precious.
She welcomed each morning’s bout with nausea, never let herself be overcome, or trouble others with her own personal agonies. As her pregnancy progressed, Luc felt he could actually saw her growing stronger each day.

Luc Atlar’s reign as king was placidly uneventful. More emphasis had been put on Gabril’s agriculture and trading, so that there would be no need for territorial battles or political conflict.
Elise grimaced in disgust whenever the royal messenger brought news of Gabril or anything involved with it. A fine tremor of hate or jealousy- she didn’t know which- rose in her whenever she thought of Luc Atlar. She spat when she heard of that wench, the queen. And for some reason, she would always feel a deep sadness afterwards.
It was the eve of the New Year. The eve of drinking, dancing, forgiving and forgetting all wrong doings of the past year. The palace was in an uproar. Elise, princess of Hathor, missed her father as the festivities wore on. He did not see her dancing in her new dress, dazzling the men of court who gazed upon her with smitten expressions, charming them with her sparkling wit and dignified air! As the bells sounded at mid-night and still there was no sign of the king of Hathor, Elise marched to his private chamber and flung open the door in a sour temper. “Father!”
And then she saw his still form lying on the bed. She drew closer and trembled upon seeing his eyes fallen open, glazed with death. Beside him was an empty goblet, and a package of hemlock poison.
She spied a long note, neatly written, lying by his deathbed. She took it and read, slowly, then over and over again. She absorbed the words carefully, crumpled it, and flung it in the fire.
Tears flowing down her face, she hid the poison and knelt before her father.
“Your revenge may be absolved, my father, but mine still isn’t.” She took a deep breath, rose, then sprinted out of the room, screaming and crying anew.
“Help! Somebody help! The King of Hathor has been assassinated!”

“But the Lord is mindful of his own.
He remembreth his children”
It was a Sunday morning, in the springtime. The people of Gabril rejoiced to see the last remnants of winter disappearing, and the first birds begin to sing.
“Bow down before him ye mighty.
For the Lord is near us.”
Luc glanced from his hymn book to look at his wife, singing diligently with a sweet voice that resembled a bird’s. It was her first time at mass in a long time, as headaches had tortured her for a few weeks. But she was fresh and energetic once more, and antagonizing her nursemaids for wandering away on long walks in the garden. Her belly never grew huge, it was simply a soft swell in her maternity dress- a purple velvet one today, edged with satin. She kept her hair tied in one long plait down her back. One could barely detect her pregnancy, even after 7 months. He grew anxious for her delivery time, and blinked in amazement to realize that he would be a father.
“Yea, the Lord is mindful of his own.
He remembreth his children.”

“Your Highness, today is the Vernal Equinox, as you instructed me to remind you of.” The lieutenant commander of the Hathor army knelt before Queen Elise, ruler of Hathor. Beside her sat her husband, the king, a tall, handsome man, stunningly attractive as a strutting peacock- and as dim as one too. His wife owned him like a pet.
“I know it is.” She snapped. She rose up on her throne.
“Today is the day we attack Gabril.”
“But your Highness!” The lieutenant stammered. “It is the Sabbath day- surely we can wait a little longer...”
“No. Instruct the armies stationed near Gabril to storm and attack immediately!” She yelled. “Do not defy me! Today is when they will least expect an attack! It’s called strategy, you fool!” The man hurried away, and Elise di Hathor still sat alert, slowly clenching and unclenching one fist. She had waited so long for this day. She would take revenge on the Gabrilean line that caused her father’s agony whether he had regretted it at his death or not. Gabril was a weak country now, the pacifist fools. She incorporated her own revenge into some lies she told her country- how conquering the wealthy kingdom of Gabril and stealing their agriculture would earn them fortune and glory. She dismissed the thoughts. The anger would be calmed once and for all, that was all that mattered.
She counted the months to herself and slowly began laughing. The queen of Gabril would be 7 months expecting by now. She would be helpless. Elise laughed out loud, hysterically, like she would never be able to stop.

Luc turned to the sound of footsteps coming up behind him from his royal pew, in the middle of the sermon. Lora had heard it as well, and soon the page came rushing to them, red-faced, gasping and sweating in panic.
“My lord,” he gasped, wide-eyed, “Gabril... is under siege.”
Luc blinked incredulously, his face turned stony. “Are you sure?” He demanded.
“Three legions of the Hathor army has entered the city and is storming the streets. Please, come with me, your Highnesses.” Luc rose abruptly and hurried after the page, to the royal throne room. Lora followed, and she whispered,
“What is going to happen?”
His only response was a somber glance, full of fear and desperation.

“The army has struck here, here, and here. Taking prisoners and burning houses.” The Gabrilean commander’s whip smacked down on the map of Gabril. Luc watched, peering over his hands folded under his face. His eyes were steely and serious. “It appears that they’re going to sweep over the fields and surround the castle, starting with the main entrances, then storm, and capture everyone.” The commander finished. Luc shifted on his seat, his lips tight.
“Their actions are easy enough to understand- but what are their motives?”
“It makes no sense. We have not engaged in any interaction with Hathor since Your Highness was born.”
“What is happening to the civilians?” Lora found herself asking.
“They’re fleeing, naturally, but innocent lives are being taken.” The commander slammed his fist on the table. “Damn them! What are they accomplishing!”
Luc rose and ordered them, “Send our army out to counter-attack in the city. Protect my people!” The commander bowed and hurried away. Luc still wore a face of shock and rage, shoulders squared and stiff. Lora came up to him.
“We must evacuate all citizens and residents of the castle.” Luc gritted his teeth, but finally nodded. “Yes... all women and children first...”

Lora stared helplessly as another soldier was dragged into the castle, coughing up blood and bile. Luc stared as well, face creased in anger, when a group of knights suddenly burst into courtyard, yelling, “The Hathor army is advancing! The castle will be seized!”
Luc pulled at his wife’s arm and rushed her into the castle as the main doors of the courtyard were slammed shut. A series of climbing anchors shot up the side and clamped on the side of the wall. The wall guards began cutting the ropes, but some were chains of iron! Soldiers swarmed over the wall and entered the castle.
The king and queen climbed as fast as they could to the throne room, and watched as the main doors were rammed closed and locked. Lora gazed in horror at the scene of carnage happening outside the very castle. Gasping, she saw one castle entrance get forced open. Soldiers poured inside.
“They’re inside!” She cried. After several agonizing minutes, the doors of the throne room were being pounded upon.
“We have to fight now.” Luc said grimly, glaring at the shuddering doors. He drew his sword. Lora drew her knife as well, trembling with fear.
Someone grabbed her shoulder and Lora screamed. But it was her father, Ariman, the knight. He ordered rapidly,
“Take the west stairway to the stables and escape from there. Flee to the woods. We will try to protect the palace here.”
Luc pushed forward. “No! I will not leave my kingdom!”
Ariman shoved the two young royals to the stairs. “Go, while escape is possible, your Highnesses!”
Luc resisted. “But...”
“A kingdom is useless without its king!” Ariman yelled. Luc was taken aback. The knight stepped away and bowed. “Good luck.”
Lora shot a pleading look at her husband, and he nodded. As they dashed down the stairs, Lora blew a kiss to her father. He clutched it to his heart.
Luc fought their through the castle. The guards were swarming and numbers increasing every minute. They escaped the castle by their skin, and fled for the woods.
Luc glanced desperately back at Lora. Such strain was terrible for a lady in her state... with one motion, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the edge of the western woods.
“Stop it!” She resisted. “Don’t put yourself to the trouble!” “All that matters to me is your safety.” He responded sternly, and plunged into the brush.

“They’ve escaped into the woods.” The lieutenant commander told the queen of Hathor.
She rose up and turned red with fury.
“Send my Five Star Knights after them!” She bellowed. “Do not let them get away! And keep the main troops here to exterminate the Gabrileans! Burn the kingdom to the ground!”
The soldiers stared incredulously. “But... the land... the crops...”
“Never mind it now.” She snarled. Her motives were empty now, all that remained was blinding rage, and unquenchable thirst for revenge on the kingdom of Gabril.

Luc set Lora down in a small clearing, and panted for breath. Lora felt terribly dizzy, and unmistakably sick. She put a hand on her stomach.
“Please God, protect my child.”
She looked helplessly at her husband, who looked about ready to pass out. Between gasps, he wheezed, “We have to keep going.”
Just then, there was a rustling. Five black-armored knights emerged from the trees in five directions, like points of a star. How they had gotten there, they couldn’t imagine. Their polished silver metal helmets glinted in the filtered sun, and all five drew out their long swords.
“Cowards.” Luc hissed. He brandished his sword. “Come and kill me all at once, then.”
Only the knight facing him stepped forward. At least they were noble enough to have a fair fight. With a war cry, the knight charged forward.
Three quick ducks, a stab, and the knight was down. The second charged almost immediately.
But Luc’s vision began to blur, and his lungs were sore and heaving. As knight drove his sword with powerful force, Luc barely blocked the end with his blade, and his strength gave way. The sword plunged into his side.
He cried out, and dropped to his knees, praying not to black out. He struggled to stand, but blood spurted fast from his side, and he slumped down with a moan.
The knight approached slowly, menacing and triumphant. Luc stared helplessly with bleary eyes, and waited for the death blow. But as the sword came down, a knife blocked it. Lora threw herself in front of him, and knocked the sword away with her short knife.
She quickly grabbed the sword of the fallen knight and brandished it. She stood her ground, resolute.
“Anyone who wants him will have to get through me.”
A knight spoke. “Step aside, girl. We have our orders not to fail to kill the King.”
“YOU WILL HAVE TO GET THROUGH ME!!” She shrieked.
The knights made no reaction. She darted her eyes, trying to read them. Surely they wouldn’t attack an evidently pregnant woman, she thought. They couldn’t.
But the knight felt no mercy. He charged.
She was the daughter of a master knight of Gabril. She had matched well against her husband, and won against many others. But this man was out for blood. But... she gritted her teeth, feeling her insides churning... she could beat them!
She surprised the knight with a burst of energy, and matched his strokes, blow for blow.
Luc could only watch in distress, his wife, weakened with child, taking on 3 Star Knights of Hathor. All he could think of was, that with his dying breath, he would kill the bastard who killed his wife.
He could barely keep his eyes open. The world swam before him, and he began to sink into blackness...
Lora glimpsed him over her shoulder. No... he was dying.
He was bleeding profusely and if he closed his eyes, he would die. Consumed with blind rage, she shoved the knight away and pierced him through the throat. She cried,
“LUC ATLAR!!!”
He stirred at her voice. Surely she had saved him from death. It was her voice that roused him, that same tone that brought him to life.
Full of love. And full of hope. The same tone... the same way she had called his name... on their wedding night.
Nevertheless, he could not stay awake. With his wife fighting for her life before his eyes, he blacked out.

He gained consciousness, aching all over and feeling intensely sick. He suddenly glimpsed his wife kneeling a little ways away from him. He bolted upright and dragged himself to her.
“Lora! You’re alive- I thought...” He stopped, noticing two things at once.
One, her long hair was gone. The braid was gone, and her hair was a ragged chin length.
Second, the entire lower half of her dress was soaked with blood. “You’ve been hurt...” He choked. She turned to him, half-dazed, and whispered,
“I’ve lost... our child.”
He reached out slowly and embraced her, trembling, and she began to convulse with sobs.
“I fought... to protect you... but it was... too much...” she wept.
“Worry none.” He answered, stroking her hair. “You’ve sacrificed so much for me.”
She had slain all the knights. There they lay. This gentle lady, who had never killed a single thing, had killed for the sake of life. The king was safe, but at what a price. He cradled her for a moment longer, under her tears subsided, and laid her down gently. He ripped the sleeve off his Sunday shift and used it to bind his bloody side. He stood, wavering, and headed off to find water to bathe her with.
A small stream was nearby, and without a second thought, he removed the remnants of his shirt and filled it with water. It dripped profusely, but it would be enough to refresh her. His mind was blank- feeling nor sorrow nor anger, just quiet emptiness.
But a voice broke in. “It’s the King!”
He wheeled sharply and glimpsed a boy, amazingly, wearing Gabrilean attire. Before his eyes, a whole crowd of people rose from the top of the hill, and with a joyful cry, rushed towards him. He blinked in astonishment, unbelieving, half-stunned, but gave way to joy. Of course, his people had done what it was natural to do. They fled and hid in the safety of the thick woods that protected the land, and emerged when the carnage was over. There was nearly three fourths of his kingdom still alive! “Where is the queen?” One girl wailed, and he turned automatically, led them to where he had placed his wife, heart pounding. When he neared her, he exclaimed,
“Lora, look! The people of Gabril are here, alive and well!” But after stress, exhaustion, and extreme blood loss, in front of her entire kingdom, Lora fainted.

The next few minutes were a daze to Luc, as they were rushed to the place where the Gabrileans had fled, deep in the woods, near a waterfall, and a deep cave. He cursed himself for forgetting about the intense pain his wife must have felt during the battle, fighting with complete abandon of her own state, continuing even as her body burst to the limit. He washed and dressed slowly, and watched them tend to the queen.

She roused slowly in the light of the evening fire, lying on soft wool on a cave floor. The fire was stoked a couple metres away from her, and some individuals, the old and the very young, warmed themselves there. She saw the tents the rest of the people settled in outside of the cave. She still felt terribly weak, and somehow- light-headed. Then she remembered. Her braids were gone. The knight that had attacked her from behind, barely missing her throat, but slashing off all her hair. Her body throbbed violently. She felt emptier than she had all her life.
Luc sat silently beside her. A soon as she opened her eyes to him, he bent down with a kiss and held her, in silent mourning of their loss.
In a moment, she lifted her eyes bravely, and asked,
“What of Gabril?”
“Burned.” A village nobleman replied solemnly. “Our scouts saw it. All the houses, the crops, the palace. There is naught left but us.”
Luc stared blankly.
“How many... numbers are left?” He murmured.
“62 families. 189 persons, my lord.” The man choked. Luc stared at him.
“And how many since last census?”
“312 souls, my lord. All... soldiers left fighting at the palace and those who didn’t escape fast enough... are...” He couldn’t finish. Lora trembled. She knew she would never see her father again.
Luc did not move. The true extent of his kingdom’s loss began to rise in his mind, and it took all his strength not to scream in agony, run back to the palace, dive into the flames. Lora watched him, almost frightened at his pale face, void of life.
He turned to look at her. “You are no longer a queen.” He said softly, indicating her cut hair. Not sarcastically, not sadly, but simply stating the apparent fact.
She shook her head. “I’m still your wife.”
“But I am no longer a king.” He said bitterly. “Gabril is burnt to the ground.”
Lora stiffened slightly, and glared with hurt eyes. The small crowd around the campfire stared in shock. Slowly, faces began to fall and shoulders slumped.
“There is naught left but a scattering of survivors and a broken kingdom.” He continued. “Gabril is no more.” Someone broke down crying.
Just then, a child, of 12 or 13, stepped from the shadows and approached the young king. Her hair was grown long- she was a candidate for the Queening ceremony in a nearby kingdom. She sank to her knees.
“Forgive me, my lord.”
He was just about to contradict her when she reared back and slapped him with all the strength she had. It left an angry red mark on his cheek. He glanced at her in surprise.
“The kingdom is never dead if the people are still alive!” She yelled at him, her voice cracking. “I cannot accept that you call our kingdom dead when I see so many people here alive!” She shrank back, seemingly shocked by her outburst. A long, terrible silence followed until she finally whispered,
“If you wish to order my execution for my transgressions my lord, please do so now.”
Luc smiled, dropped to his knees in front of her, and bowed briefly.
“I would think nothing of the sort.” He told her, and hugged the young girl. “You possess all the wisdom of the world.” She stood there stiffly, and glanced curiously toward the queen. Lora smiled.
“Indeed, Gabril still lives.” She stood, and raised her voice. “This kingdom was raised from the ground, and we shall reclaim it exactly the same way!”
The people of Gabril cheered wildly. Luc took Lora in his arms and kissed her soundly. She tilted his head upwards and they gazed into the vast expanse of stars above their heads and knew- this was exactly what their fathers wanted.

And the kingdom of Gabril, the oldest in the world of Flaura, would rise again.
And another king would be born. In the 100th Royal year.