Seven Kings to curse them all

Prolouge

A dozen crossbows clicked into place as they loaded. A dozen silver arrows, sharpened to kill. The small barren room was riddled with damp and mould, its bitter smell the last memory of a dynasty. The King pleaded; his wife, their four children and six of their grandchildren filled the space around him. He pleaded that they be let free. That someone be spared so that the ancient house of Valdor could live on. His dense realisation sat uncomfortably in his chest, nobody would survive. Not even the youngest, only three years old, who was sitting on his grandfathers lap shaking a gold rattle. Naive to his imminent death. 

"King Frederick Evanoff the third, sentences you, House of Valdor, to death." the general announced. He was a round man with thin raven hair that stuck to his sweat laden forehead. The bunker was insulated with Blacktop steel which trapped the heat and horror inside the small room. "to die here in the house of judgement on this day. At this hour." 

"For what? I am your Queen, has my husband's family not laboured three centuries to bring this cursed country out of slavery and dark times... has he not given you the very wealth that lines your pockets?" she spoke fiercely and with spite for the men who now pointed their weapons at her families heads.  

"Shut up bitch!" one of the assassins spat at the Queens feet, his crooked teeth scowled. The Queen held her tongue and reached for her son's hand. She clasped on tight, knuckled white and bated breathe. 

"Does his royal highness Atar Valdor have any final words he wishes to speak?" the general rolled up the death decree and wiped his brow. 

"By the seven righteous gods and the seven deathly demons i curse you General Dudley and your usurper king Frederick to a fate worse than that of my own. I curse you to live with the guilt and the shame that you killed your rightful king and his family, innocent children and women. I curse you and the House of Evanoff to reap what you have sewn here tonight."  

The general didn't dare look at his dethroned kings face as it burned with deep and searing hate. He didn't watch as the rest of the family now begging for life, held each other close and cried. The sound of their sobs, deep and guttural, echoed in a room stone and steel. "Fire" the general spoke the words softly as if he was afraid the soldier's might hear them as they should. They did. A dozen arrows launched at each Valdor. Some striking only an arm or lower torso. The soldiers re loaded their weapons as the survivors moaned in pain and fought for life. The crossbows clicked and then they fired again. And again. And again. The Queen and her two daughters had sewn their jewels into their corsets, as they had been lead down into the cursed room on the guise that the family was being re-located. They had been carrying around their jewels, the last tangible aspects of a one decadently wealthy family, from place to place since surrendering to the Evanoff's. The jewels had made their corsets a sort of protective vest, through which the arrows struggled to pierce. They lay alive long after their husbands and sons were dead. Until, they too were dead, beaten and bodies burnt. Buried in a shallow grave outside the house. There they lay still. Stripped of their jewels and lives. Nobody but the general, the king and his few soldiers knew where they were now. The house of Valdor, their dynasty, was dead. At least, all but one that is. The seventh grandchild of King Atar, daughter of his heir and son the prince of the blacktops. Her name was Cecily and she had been born only one month before her whole family were killed. 

Her mother had been transferred from the house of judgement where she and her husband were held prisoner to give birth to their third child. Originally she was forced to stay and give birth in the house with a nurse, but the baby was at breach and she needed an operation. She died giving birth to their only daughter, a baby she named Cecily Luna Valdor upon her deathbed. Cecily was however, a sickly baby who stood little chance of survival. She had been sent back to the hospital at the princes instance two days before his death. The general had all but dismissed her existence. She was after all, already dying and a girl. She posed no threat to the new King. So they thought. But she lived. She lived and the people knew of her existence. For they had loved their king and adored his heir. The people had known of the future Queen's pregnancy before the house's surrender and Valdor loyalists had spread the news of Cecily's birth in that first month of her life. 

King Frederick was now forced to accept the child, he used her a sign that he was indeed merciful as word spread of the families murder. She became his ward. Under his power Cecily was not allowed to meet with anyone the King did not approve of, not to be seen by the people or talk to them, not allowed to leave the castle walls if he did not permit so. She lived hidden and locked away, raised by the kings advisor Lord Parker. She knew little affection, nothing of family and scarcely any society. She was all but an enigma to the people of a country her family once ruled.