Of Blood and Roses

Chapter 41

I'm not sure how long it took us to get to Verenice. We moved at a clipped pace. The horses and my soldiers were pushed to their limits.

The smell of smoke became so strong it clouded the air around me, seeping in through the thin seams of the carriage door. I did not imagine the screams and cries around us this time, the low embers of still-burning flames crackling as we entered the city.

I sat straighter. My skin burned as if I were the one burning, not my city. Not my home. The Angels swarmed me, their feathering touches and cold fingers trailing across my skin. They told me what it was, what had happened. They whispered the only solution in my ear.

Release. Release. Release.

I pulled the curtain aside. I could see Darren atop his tall warhorse staring out over the remains of Verenice. I recognized the emotions I saw in him. Shock. Pain. Loss. I tilted my head, searching inside myself for the same things. All I found was a yawning hole that seemed to be growing larger and larger with each passing moment.

All except one.

It was different than what I was used to, colder—like Pierre's touch had been back int eh throne room. It lacked any true sensation. My heart didn't race, beating a slow steady rhythm against my ears. Like I was sinking deeper and deeper into icy water and this time I didn't want to come back to the surface.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt. I stepped out. We were in an abandoned part of the city. All that remained were the skeletons of homes and the charred bodies of those that lived there. I coughed on the thick air, holding my sleeve over my mouth to try and find some relief.

My soldiers all settled in around me. Their faces were tired, their eyes empty, hollowed holes. I took it all in.

My city.

When we had left it had been bright, full of life. The people had filled the streets, cheering and celebrating what we thought would be the start of a new time, a new union between Garnette and Rosailles.

Now I stood in the ashes of that agreement. My people had been full of hope and new beginnings, but all it had led to was a war that struck when their backs were turned, bringing nothing but a new end upon them.

All eyes were on me. Despite years of training and discipline, most of these men were not battle-hardened. Those that were old enough to remember the smaller battles that had led up to the times of peace were unpracticed, tired. Their gazes were stony as they looked back at me like they were reliving old nightmares they had long ago locked away.

I rose my chin. Before I could say anything, one of my men spoke up.

"What do we do Princess? Are we to keep on going like there is nothing here too?"

It was an older man. Closer to the age my father would have been today. Judging by how he was gazing at me, hard mistrust in his gaze, I sensed he likely had fought alongside him. I didn't miss how he seized me up, and saw me lacking. I could see how he had been burying his honor and pride for days as we had traveled through atrocity after atrocity to get here.

His words roused some of the other soldiers, a murmur passing through them. Darren glared, hand falling to his sword as he started forward.

"You don't talk to the Princess like—"

"Darren," I said quietly. Voice steady. It was like my nerves had left me along with my heart. The soldier wasn't wrong. He had a right to be angry. "There's no need."

I walked forward. I was still dressed in little more than a thin under dress and Sabine's cloak. Blood had settled into the white material in dark brown patches. I looked nothing like a princess. Why should they listen to me? I had no power over them, or this world. Still, they quieted, eyes reluctantly following me.