By Any Other Name

One

"All of Isalovia will know by now that your uncle is ill," he declared. She braced herself for the words that she knew would follow, the mandate that she had groomed her whole life to pursue and that she still felt unprepared for. "You are the first and only heir to the Isalovian throne, to the crown. But you are a young woman with outspoken revolutionary ideas. You know well the challenges that face you. Your uncle and I have fought to prepare you for this day. You have enemies; enemies that will stop at nothing to keep you from the throne and are running out of time to get rid of you. The political tactics these rebels have employed have been ineffectual. The King's will stands as written. He will not amend it. You are the named and true successor to his throne. You know this."

"They will come for me."

It wasn't a question. She had known that it would come to this. She had known since she was a small child and was first exposed to the hatred these rebels held for her. She had been only five years old when she had gone for a walk with Alfred. Someone had recognized her on the street. They had started shouting phrases at her, slogans that she would not truly understand for years to come. They had never wanted a woman on the throne, especially one without the aid of a husband. But her uncle was unmarried and childless, a fact that made him very unpopular in the traditional sects, and her parents were dead. She was the only remaining Aldrich heir, her country's only option. They had tried over the years to take even that away from her. She had heard rumors of her mother's infidelity, that she was a product of adultery and therefore no true Aldrich. She had seen a man try to convince the king to claim him as his natural born son so that he may inherit the throne and spare the kingdom from turmoil.

At every moment in her life, she had been reminded of how they despised her or, at least, the change that she threatened to represent. It was why she had received training that most princesses were never offered; training in archery, sword fighting, self defense, and hand to hand combat. She had learned many languages and a vast array of skills. She had memorized her nation's history and its relations with others nearby, familiarizing herself with foreign cultures and idiosyncrasies. She had created battle plans with their military's top officers and discussed politics with the King's own council. She had been raised, in every way, to prove the rebels wrong. Conflict had always been a part of her future. They had always known that the matter of succession, her ascension to the throne, would mean rebellion, perhaps even war. It would be another horrifying chapter in their nation's bloody history. She had only hoped that she would have had more time.

"How long do I have?" she asked now, peering past Alfred to the oak doors beyond.

"No time at all, I imagine," he answered. "The word is out now. They will be at the doors by dawn, calling for your abdication. But, as long as the King remains alive, they will not fight us. They will, however, try to get to you. I have received word that assassins have already been hired and a generous price placed on your head."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Fear clawed through her and she wanted to scream in frustration.

"You must leave the palace tonight," Alfred endured, his tone a bit more cursory than before. The sorrow was gone, replaced only by purpose. "I've arranged for a carriage. It isn't the luxurious ride you are used to but it will not draw attention. You should be able to escape in it undetected."

"To where?"

Alfred faltered here.

"To Baliene."

She scoffed. Her mask of clout threatened to waver. Her heart thrummed as that feeling of dread began to return. But she pushed it down into the pit of her stomach where it could not show itself in her expression.

"Prince Lucien has generously offered to house you and protect you until your uncle passes."

"I'm sure he has."