A princess. A chosen one. A marriage to the cruel king of the enemy kingdom. If this were a fairytale, it could be the premise of a perfect love story; it could even get a happy ending. But it's not a fairytale; I'm no princess, and I'm just pretend...
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The screams were unbearable. As the spreading fires ate at the buildings of the capital, the ash flew to the skies, waltzing with the smoke in the freezing winds of the Northshard mountains. The city rocked and wailed under the ongoing siege; even the walls of the Spider Queen's castle vibrated under my feet as I stood staring at the blazing horizon, trying to ignore the rising echo of impending death.
If I listened closely enough, I could practically hear each bellowing step the invaders took, delving deeper into my home, each wail of pain and laboring grant of my people, fighting off the attackers. I could imagine the faces of little children, crying in terror, shaking in their mother's arms as they hid in some cellar, doomed to soon be found and executed, or worse, taken prisoner. I would choose death over slavery when my time inevitably came. Or at least I preferred to believe that.
"I can't watch it," the princess hissed, clasping her hands into fists on the balcony railing. She stood shaking beside me. I hadn't seen her cry since we were little, yet today, I'd watched it happen one too many times. Her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks showed streaks of dried tears, yet her gaze burned with such deep hatred that it made me shiver. She didn't move to look away from her burning kingdom.
I swallowed and looked at the balcony doors and into the princess' bedchambers, which had been made into a makeshift infirmary. Dozens of wounded soldiers and maids lined the walls, lying on any furniture we could collect on such short notice. We should be getting back there, helping with all we could, even if it wasn't much. But I just couldn't make myself return to that room. The stench of blood sank so fast and deep into the silk wallpaper and expensive velvet curtains, into the armchairs and settees—it made me want to vomit.
As I returned my gaze to the willowing smoke that rose from the castle gardens, my stomach twisted with realization—we were going to die here today. There was no doubt in my mind. I'd escaped death for too long, and it finally caught up with me in the most menacing way.
"We should get back inside, Thalia," I finally whispered, shoving the terror into the farthest corner of my mind. "It's dangerous out here. You can't be seen by the enemy."
Princess shook her head, and a few more strands escaped her ruined hairdo, slipping from behind the spiky silver crown. "I don't care. I should be doing something. I should be saving them!" She slapped her closed fist on the stone railing and glared at her hands. "If only my power would finally manifest."
My gaze followed her fragile wrists to the tip of her slender fingers. Those weren't the hands of a warrior but rather a spoiled girl who had never stepped outside her gilded cage. Yet if the stories were true, as Queen Ellara believed, Thalia would be our savior once her magic emerged. If it ever emerged. No one dared to openly dispute the Queen's beliefs, but I couldn't help but doubt that Thalia was the chosen one. It'd been a few generations of the royal bloodline since the last Wiever, and it sounded more like a child's tale than the reality.
