"The High King has ridden out to join the battle! Remain calm! His eminence's presence will strike fear into the hearts of the rebels!" The High Crier Abner Fawn had been nigh-on screaming this message for an hour and then some. The words were supposedly motivational yet more so a warning to those who would flee in the night, it seemed that the High Crier truly believed in the king. The king who would not ride out into battle until the rebels had supposedly split; the king who had allowed the Maran rebels to isolate Regalia out of cowardice despite their man advantage.
The queen, Terra Brineheart, sat beside her three children. Arol, The Mother bless his heart, was so tense that he might truly believe his mother would let him attack anyone who breached the Great Hall. Little Svana didn't really grasp the severity of the situation outside of their walls. How could she? She had seen four brief winters and no more. The child was likely more aware of her dolls than the lives of their men being wasted outside of the walls. The baby Andrius, named out of both spite and of love, was bundled up and cooing in her arms. There were others in the hall where the Mithrocki throne resided: servants, cooks, handmaidens, the three Servicemen that Regis had left behind, and more. None of them mattered as much to her as they had the day before. Regis likely hadn't cared a lick for them either. Nevertheless, they seemed to be relieved each and every time the High Crier yelled out his words of motivation. They believed in the High King's chances of success. The High Queen did not.
Regis will only strike fear into the hearts of any maidens or wenches who find themselves on the battlefield. Regis was no soldier; he was hardly a king. He had been something, once, before his heirs had been born. A king. A king above kings. She had seen him off, the duty of the High Queen, and watched him struggle to climb atop his horse. The High King Regis could hardly be regarded above his own mount. Nonetheless, the time to think pettily was at an end. Regis would likely die on the front lines. She was the High Queen of Mithrock and she was a mother. Strength was required of her; strength and patience. What happened with the Marans? There was one man in the entirety of the Maran faction she could depend on to show her a modicum of sympathy rather than the way to the butcher's block. If Alastor has fallen...
Shaking her head of such downcast thoughts, Terra looked to her children. She stretched her hand out to Arol. Her firstborn was still a boy, no matter what he thought, yet he was wound so tightly she thought he might pop. A quick survey of the room showed that the servants, even the High Crier, were watching her every move. Some had even flinched when her hand left her side. Tighter than a flies arse stretched over a barrel, indeed. "My Prince, come here," she lovingly beckoned. Calm, she had to sound so even if she could not be. The servants and guards knew what might happen if the rebels managed to break through either gate, North or West. Every one of them had likely experienced a nightmare or two in their lifetime about this exact ordeal. Pillage, rape, fire, a dozen different ways to die. She would not let her children feel that kind of fright. Not right now.
That fear had reached her eldest, false bravery manifesting in response to an emotion the headstrong child had likely not understood. "No," he said far too coldly for a boy of seven, "I have to be ready."
"Ready for what, my child?" A thump to the head? Alyn Mara had promised no harm was to come to her children. Alastor Alden had promised the same, and she trusted him much more than she did the usurper. Her wand floated from the small latch on the hip of her dress and into her hand. "I have my magic. Lord Maxon has his blade and spell-forged armor. Children will not die whilst we live." Sighs of relief filled the throne room as she took the hand of her Arol and looked to the young Haydon Maxon. At fourteen years of age, Haydon was more skilled with the blade than any guard she had ever known save Andrew. Even across the room, he seemed a statue of good spell-forged steel up to his neck; he was smart enough to know that wearing the full suit of armor would do even more to fill the throne room's occupants with worry. He was a handsome lad with a hard face and silver-blonde hair that he kept tied back in a neat braid. The guard's sad green eyes met hers as he nodded and placed his gauntleted hand on the grip of his sheathed blade. Haydon's eyes had not always been so morose. He knew far too much for a lad of his age; the fault lying with herself and his old Lord Captain. Nonetheless, he was wed to loyalty and she trusted him to help keep her children safe more than anyone else in the capital.
With her children in her arms and the mood lifted a bit, Terra turned her thoughts to the battle raging outside the city gates. The battle that should have been raging. She listened closely for the destruction of siege machines; the battle cries of soldiers, mages, the Reagans' colossi, the wyverns of House Declan. Anything. Never in her life had she wanted to hear the sounds of war more than she did now. Nothing. There was nothing. She would find more in the time-lost Void than her ears did now.
The Empress nearly jumped off of her husband's throne when the doors to the great hall were pushed open with incredible haste. One standing guard had been thrown onto his rear as the strong alder wood slammed into him. His head whiplashed off of the floor, but the man entering gave not one care. Not at the moment, at least. Jerad Kingsor, the Lord Captain of the High King's Service, was the second-to-last person she had wanted to see. The only man she wanted to see less was her husband; how would the men take it if he had gone to the front lines and promptly left?
The presence of the Southlander could only mean that her husband was dead. Terra could mourn for the man he was later. There had been plenty of that over the past few years. She had to continue to be the High Queen now, and the High Queen had two contingency plans in the scenario where Regis died. There were a multitude of factors she needed clarity on before deciding which plan was the way to go. She needed to know how many men they had lost, how many Marans had fallen, what lords and ladies still stood, if any had defected to her husband, if any had gone over to the usurper, if anyone around them could be used as a hostage-
"We have won!" roared the Lord Captain.
Oh. Wondrous, Terra thought to herself as thundering screams of joy filled the throne room. Servants latched onto one another, tears of relief streaming down their cheeks. The castle guards helped their fallen brother-in-arms up from the floor. Little Arol also had water welling up in his eyes, the first Terra had seen since he was a babe. Her eldest wrapped both siblings up in his arms. He held Andrius gently and Svana tightly. A good ruler. He will be a good ruler.
Wait.
Her thoughts turned to her husband. Giving her children each one kiss on the forehead, she stood calmly. It would not do to seem panicked. A queen could never be seen so.
With a restrained effort, the queen glided over to Jerad as the doors he had come through were blown off its hinges; its great wooden parts exploding into so many little splinters. In an instant Terra had her wand in hand. She drew from her inner source of Ether and a bright, nearly transparent Green Warding stopped the splinters from carving her and her children up. The servants were not so lucky.
Cupbearers, handmaidens, cooks and servers were cut up as the wood entered or passed through them. Some met quick deaths as larger shanks passed through their heads and necks. Others did not die immediately, though they surely would. The cries of men, women, and children filled the room as blood pooled onto the floor. Abner Fawn was no longer yelling. His whimpers were quiet, as though he didn't want his last cries to be heard. Guilt panged in Terra's heart for a moment. She could have created a ward large enough to protect most of them, but that would have taken up more of her Ether. Ether she might need to protect her children. She was a queen and a mother. She needed to be harder than steel.
She tuned out the screams of pain and cries for help as she scanned the room. Her Wardens were flocking to her. Their spell-forged steel had stood strong in the face of the wooden explosion. Jerad had survived and was limping toward her. Haydon had donned his helm, blood streaming down his cheek. Smaller splinters had found his left eye. It would be useless now. Terra was not capable enough to remove those small bits with magic and the only physician in the room might have been dead.
Without the same regard for himself, Haydon allowed Jerad to pull the largest splinter out. Not even a complaint escaped his lips. Only a grunt. This poor boy had lost his childhood, mentor, and now his eye because of her. Terra would spend her life making it up to him when this was all over, but she needed to have a life at the end of this in order to honor that thought.
Her children huddled behind her, she dissipated the ward and allowed her two guards to stand at her front. The dust from the explosion began to clear, the makings of a hunched over body beginning to appear. Only a man in spell-forged steel could have survived such force, and even then he'd be closer to dead than not. The dust finally let up and she saw Regis. The High King was gasping for air, his golden spell-forged plate blood soaked, and a fervent look having taken a hold of his brown eyes.
A blood curdling scream escaped his lips "LAERNA! SHE IS HERE-" was all he could say before a knife gently past into his scalp, out from his chin, and into the floor.
Shock took hold of Terra. Just a few moments prior she had almost dared thinking of coronation preparations for Arol. There would be no coronation if Laerna Brakos was here. The Pryde dynasty and its four-hundred year stint would die on a dark note, as most did. Dynasties ended when the sins of their leaders caught up to them. Regis's misdeeds and their culminations were right here in this throne room. My son might not ever rule a house, let alone an empire.
"You could've stopped him, Terra. Had you been enough, you could have stopped him." It was a melodious voice that spoke. One which sounded simply pleasant to the ear. Laerna Brakos had been a pleasant woman once. Radiant, to be honest. Genius as well. Regis had ruined her, though it was not hard to be impressed by the woman garbed in black. She even hid her face, though her eyes were visible through a horizontal slit. Mirth. Mirth and satisfaction filled those void-black eyes to the brim. "I do not feel much better having killed him. He took two from me. It's not fair that I could only kill him once. Meaningfully, anyway." The black eyed woman moved not an inch whilst she surveyed the room. Surveyed her dirty work. She grimaced. "It was foul of you to put the servants in here. They didn't have anything to do with this. That's Regis for you. Pulling each and every person around into his awful fucking messes." She let out a short hark of a laugh. "I can already feel how much better the world is without him."
Lost in thought, Terra didn't realize until it was too late that Arol had slid the knife out from her belt. He was rushing toward the monster who had killed his father. It mattered not that she had been a monster of Regis's making. The child knew not of his father's transgressions.
The crown prince of Mithrock screamed. Shrill notes of vengeance consumed the room, stomping out what had become a cacophony of dying whispers and promises from dying parents to their dying children that things would be okay.
I have to stop him. Even if I have to hurt him, I have to. Terra had no time. The Queen of the Night had pulled out another blade, her pitch black eyes locked onto the boy before her. She would add Arol to the butcher's bill. She'd tack on anyone named Pryde if she could.
Terra drew on her Ether, motioned her wand and began to think of as many spells and incantations as she could. Her efforts wouldn't touch Laerna. She knew that. Alastor Alden once said that he himself was incapable of standing against the Dark Eyed Queen. Terra's spell had to stop Arol. She knew no constriction spells, or could not remember. She couldn't use Potentia. It would send Arol right into the woman. She didn't have time to bring the ceiling down safely. The gap had been closed too quickly. Rapidly, more spells. She needed more. She needed one. She needed something. She could use Incisian, of the Yellow Hues, to cut into his foot. Better a maimed foot than a taken life. He could live with a ruined leg.
She needed to be steel. She needed to save her son and heir.
As the light at the tip of her wand began to burn with Yellow, Jerad's body flickered. It was a quick thing. Almost instantaneous. He dropped his knife on the ground and flickered again. He was gone. In his place was Arol, who was still screaming though he had stopped running. Terra had never seen Jerad do this but it mattered not. She needed to act quickly. She grabbed her eldest child and once again there was a flicker. It was the knife Jerad had left on the ground. Again, that which had flickered was now gone. The High Commander now stood where the knife had been.
"Your Grace!" the knight screamed out. "Haydon! Huddle together right now! With the children!" There wasn't a moment to waste. Both Terra and Haydon reacted without question. Empress and guard both wrapped their arms around the children.
There was no sense or indication of what had occurred. One moment they had been in the throne room, the next they had been on a ship. Terra took it all in. They were in the cove underneath the castle. The moonlight did not show much. It looked as though they were in a pitch black cavern save a couple stalactites which poked down from the unseen ceiling of the cove. She swayed a bit though not of her own volition. They were on the deck of a ship. The ship meant to take them to Venroth should the need to flee arise. Whatever Jared had done in order to save Arol, he had done to bring them here in the span of a second.
Terra looked to her knights. They were hers now, in truth. They had been the moment Regis was murdered. Their Oath would transfer to whomever the laws of Mithrock deemed its ruler. With Arol not being of his majority, she was the Queen Regent and the rightful ruler of Mithrock.
"Captain! It's time for you to be off! Straight to Venroth, just as we agreed!" Jerad shouted toward a man up some stairs and near the ship's wheel. His captain's coat was brown, woolen, and quite dirty. It had been recently cleaned yet still showed stains of drink and blood. His black beard was untrimmed and bald head shining even in the night. Despite his uncouth appearance, his dark green eyes seemed genuine. Jerad had been put in charge of this particular arrangement. If he felt a smuggler was their best chance of making it to Venroth alive, then so be it.
The captain responded in a high mood, "Aye, Lord Captain. Straight North to King Jarlam." His jovial tones deemed him clearly ignorant of the dire situations above them, though he must have been aware. Why else would the Queen and her crying children be here? She looked around and saw that the crew was simply getting to work. No one wasted a hair of a movement. They had been told that their arrival might have been abrupt. How else could they not have been in awe when they appeared from thin air?
"My Queen." Terra snapped out of her train of thought and looked to Jerad, a solemn look planted upon his face. His eyes were resigned, lips thin. The Lord Captain was even trembling a bit.
"You surely do not mean to go back, Jerad?" She needed him to guide Arol. Haydon was of great quality, but he was fourteen. He deserved to experience a bit of his fleeting adolescence once they were in exile. She couldn't take more from the boy.
"I am the only one who can hold her off. She really is one of those Disciples." His pause sat for a moment. Terra understood. Any pause he took was a moment longer that he lived. She intended to keep him alive either way.
"Come with us, Lord Captain. My children will need you. You have taught Arol since he could hold a small blade. Haydon needs his teacher. We cannot... we cannot lose you too." Tears welled up in her cheeks, but they did not fall. Steel. I am steel.
Jerad looked to Arol. His screaming had subsided, though tears and sobs took its place. The boy would end up like Haydon; harder than a lad his age should ever be. He placed his large, gauntleted hands on the boys shoulder and gave him a quick shake.
"You need to be ready. Our armies won the battle. We forced the Marans to retreat. They will come back when they learn that Brakos has forced you to flee. They will rule your kingdom." Never in Terra's life had she seen tears fall from a single Warden, let alone Jerad Kingsor. Some fell though his voice stood strong. "It will take many years. It will be hard. But that throne is yours! Mithrock is yours! You will need to be ready to take it back!"
Arol's sobs subsided. He wiped his snot and tears onto his sleeve. "I will be," the Crown Prince replied. Anger, strength, and a chill could be found in his demeanor. Terra was equal parts proud and furious. Pride for her son's strength; fury toward Laerna for murdering the child within him.
Jerad flickered and was gone. Goodbyes would be redundant here. Arol looked upwards, likely thinking of the death that awaited his mentor. The Crown Prince turned around and grabbed at his mother's sleeve.
"Mother," he said, "let us have them show us our cabin." No hint of his understandable distress could be heard now. Her son was steeled more so than she ever had been.
The captain, a smuggler who's name turned out to be Maron, showed them to their rooms and kindly tried to comfort the children. Arol ignored him. Svana, with Terra's permission, sat on the man's shoulders. Andrius had fallen asleep.
As the former royal family went down the stairs and toward the cabins, Terra turned and looked once more at the kingdom they were leaving behind.