The news of Zion's death spread like wildfire. The successful assassination of the new emperor became the continent's headline, throwing Bluistain into chaos. Knights now patrolled the palace and every corner of the capital, limiting who could enter or leave as the investigation unfolded.
"We're next. Liese, run. Run away from here. We're next," the empress muttered, her once regal demeanor crumbling as she curled up in the darkest corner of the room, rocking back and forth. Liese felt the weight of the world on her shoulders-her brother dead, her mother losing her sanity. Staring out the window, she saw no hope in sight. Confined to a room with guarded doors, she hadn't spoken to anyone since Zion's death.
"They'll kill us, Liese. Run. Run as fast as you can," the Empress repeated. Liese watched her mother's once esteemed figure crumble, feeling powerless. Her thoughts were interrupted by a panicked Saoirse bursting through the door.
"L-Liese? Where's Zion?" Saoirse's voice cracked, tears streaming down her face. Unable to contain her own grief any longer, Liese ran to her brother's fiancée.
"He's g-gone," Liese sobbed, collapsing into Saoirse's arms. The two women wept, clinging to each other for support as the weight of their loss crushed them. The knights, watching with heavy hearts, quietly closed the door, granting them a moment of solitude in their shared sorrow.
Their sobs filled the room like a haunting melody, their bodies intertwined on the cold, hard floor. The pain of losing Zion was a heavy burden they both struggled to bear. They cried and cried, their tears flowing unchecked for hours until their eyes ran dry. Exhausted, they lay there in each other's arms, staring into the abyss of grief with hollow, vacant eyes, lost in a world where time seemed to stand still, unsure of how to navigate the bleak path ahead.
"I told him not to do it," Saoirse began, her voice heavy with regret, as she recounted their argument before Zion's return to Bluistain from Wellington. "I warned him not to get caught up in Cyn's mess," she added bitterly, her words laced with frustration. Liese listened intently, her heart aching for Saoirse's pain.
Saoirse's sorrowful expression suddenly transformed into one of fiery anger. "And if it isn't because of that damn witch Serena," she exclaimed, her voice rising with fury. "She's dead, but why can't she just leave Zion alone?!" The room seemed to crackle with Saoirse's rage, leaving Liese feeling bewildered and unsure of how to respond to the torrent of emotions pouring out from Saoirse.
"Serena? Caspian's sister?" Liese questioned, her voice tinged with confusion. Saoirse let out a deep sigh, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the revelation.
"Your brother claimed the throne for that witch," Saoirse explained bitterly, her words heavy with resentment. "He wanted to give justice for her death." The bitterness in her tone hung in the air, leaving Liese stunned as she struggled to come to terms with the true motivations behind her brother's actions.
"After all this time... He never stopped loving her, Liese, not for one moment," Saoirse choked out, tears streaming down her face, her breaths uneven and ragged. Liese was stunned, her mind reeling at this revelation. She had never imagined that Zion's actions were driven by a love that had endured even beyond death. All she could do was watch, her heart breaking for her brother and for Saoirse.
A gentle knock on the door broke the heavy silence, the sound echoing like a solemn drumbeat in the room. "You can now visit the wake," the knight's voice was barely a whisper, heavy with the weight of the sorrow permeating the air. Slowly, they rose from the floor, offering their support to the once-proud Empress who now seemed so frail and broken. With trembling steps, they made their way through the dimly lit hall, each step feeling like a journey through the depths of despair.
As they reached the grand door, it swung open to reveal a scene that pierced their hearts like a dagger. There, in a golden casket, lay Zion's lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the tragedy that had befallen them.
The Empress rushed forward, her anguished cry tearing through the silence. "No! My son! My son!" Her voice cracked with grief as tears streamed down her face, her hands reaching out desperately to the cold, unyielding casket. Liese followed, her own tears falling freely as she tried to offer what little comfort she could to her grieving mother.
Saoirse approached the casket with a quiet reverence, her usually composed demeanor shattered by the sight of her beloved Zion lying motionless before her. Silent tears traced a path down her cheeks as she gazed upon his peaceful face, her heart breaking anew with each passing moment.
The door creaked open, Cynfael and Celine entered the room. In Bluistain tradition, the immediate imperial family had the first visit to the wake before opening it to the public. The Empress, consumed by grief and fear, instinctively moved to shield Zion's lifeless body and Liese with her own, as if trying to protect them from further harm. Her actions spoke volumes about the depth of her pain and her desperate need to hold onto what little remained of her shattered world.
"S-Stop, don't come near us!" The Empress's voice quivered with fear, her eyes wide with terror as she struggled to avoid meeting Cynfael's lifeless gaze.
"Oh my. We came here in peace and in pure condolences," Celine sneered, her tone dripping with mockery as she advanced toward the trembling Empress. With each step, the Empress retreated, her horror growing with every inch Celine closed the distance between them.
Bending down, Celine whispered in the Empress's ear, her words a chilling promise of impending doom. "You're next," she hissed, her laughter ringing out cold and heartless in the somber room, uncaring of who might hear or see her.
"I told you not to interfere. That's what you get on claiming what's mine." Cyn said. Liese's eyes widen at the statement. She cannot believe what she's hearing. She looked up to her oldest brother eversince she was young, he cared for her and Zion but now she doesn't even know who's infront of her.
"You did this?" Liese voice cracked. Her eyes stare directly to Cyn's. "You killed Zion?" She asked, hoping that her oldest brother will deny it. Cyn's response was as cold and final as the grave. "Yes," he declared, his voice cutting through Liese like a knife. "And you will meet the same fate if you dare to intervene." Saoirse, sensing Liese's anguish, wrapped her arms around her, offering what little solace she could in the face of such malevolence.
With a wave of Celine's hand, a black mist came out of thin air forming a chain-like structure that wrapped around the former Empress' neck. "Speak about it and her head explodes." She let out a sinister laugh.
As Celine and Cynfael departed, a heavy silence descended, the lingering presence of the unseen chain a chilling reminder of the peril that surrounded them. The Empress, though physically unbound, felt the invisible shackles constricting with every attempt to voice the truth, a stark symbol of the danger that loomed over her.
Seeking solace in her mother's embrace, Liese's heart ached with the weight of their shared burden. "Are you okay?" Her words were a gentle caress, a testament to the deep bond between mother and daughter, now more precious than ever in the face of adversity.
Saoirse's voice was laced with genuine concern as she urged Liese to flee. "You need to get out of here," she implored, her eyes filled with pity and love for her late fiancee's family. "Come with me to Wellington. Zion will understand. We will protect you." In her homeland, Saoirse saw a sanctuary, a place where Liese and the Empress could find safety.
With heavy hearts and tear-stained cheeks, they took one last lingering glance at Zion's lifeless form, their souls weighed down by grief and the unbearable pain of parting. "I am sorry, my love," Saoirse whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "We couldn't bear to witness your final hours, but our duty to protect our family compelled us to leave. You'll understand, won't you?" With trembling hands, she tenderly traced the contours of the casket, her lips pressing against the glass in a final, bittersweet kiss.
Liese and the Empress, their sorrow palpable in the air, bid their farewells to their beloved son and brother, each silent prayer a plea for peace in his eternal rest. With heavy hearts and determined resolve, they turned away from the palace, leaving behind the remnants of their shattered lives. In the quiet embrace of the carriage, bearing the solemn seals of both the Empire and Wellington, they embarked on a journey toward sanctuary, seeking refuge in Saoirse's homeland.
♣ ♣ ♣
"Seems empty here," Emyr remarked, his voice echoing through the solemn hall where Zion's body lay in state. They entered to find only the solemn vigil of the knights standing guard outside, the absence of the Imperial family a stark testament to the weight of their grief. With heavy hearts, the Duke, Luca, Caspian, and Emyr settled onto seats near the casket, their silent presence a solemn tribute to the fallen prince.
"I wonder where Liese is," Caspian's voice trembled with worry for his dear friend, the absence of her comforting presence adding to the palpable sense of loss that hung in the air.
As if in response to his question, the door creaked open, admitting the Duke Clox and Duchess Draux, accompanied by their retinue, all clad in mourning attire. With a solemn nod, they took their places among the mourners, their grief mirrored in the depths of their eyes. "Caspian," the Duke of Gleis' voice broke the silence, commanding his son to fulfill the social obligations of the occasion. Without hesitation, Caspian rose to comply, his steps faltering as he moved to engage with others, his mind weighed down by the burden of sorrow and uncertainty.
"It's fascinating," Luca mused, his gaze fixed upon Zion's motionless form, a solemn reminder of the fragility of life. Augustus, ever the cynic, offered a smirk of amusement in response.
Seated beside Augustus, the Duchess of Draux and Duke Clox shared a heavy sigh, their hearts burdened with the weight of uncertainty. "I hate to ask you this, but what are we supposed to do?" Esmeralda's voice trembled with apprehension, her eyes pleading for guidance amidst the chaos that threatened to engulf them.
"Just like old times, huh?" Augustus' smirk widened, a wry acknowledgment of the recurring cycle of power struggles that plagued their realm. Out of respect for the gravity of the situation, Luca and Emyr rose from their seats, retreating to give the leaders of the duchies a moment of privacy.
"We don't have a choice, do we?" Augustus' words hung heavy in the air, a grim acceptance of the inevitable. Esmeralda nodded in silent agreement, her thoughts consumed by the knowledge of the puppet master orchestrating the tragedy unfolding before them, yet powerless to intervene without concrete evidence.
"Cyn will take the throne," Augustus declared, his tone resigned yet laced with a hint of grim determination. "This chaos will only embolden Yeoris to exploit our vulnerability once more. Bluistain will seize any opportunity to ignite a civil war if we oppose Cyn's ascension." His words, though bleak, carried the weight of strategic foresight, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of political intrigue.
Esmeralda, the highest-ranking knight in the Empire, found herself once again captivated by Augustus' astute analysis, his counsel a beacon of clarity in the murky depths of uncertainty.
"Is there any other option?" Duke Clox's voice carried a note of urgency, his instincts as a vessel of Astarte stirring uneasily within him, sensing the dark taint that cloaked Cyn's ambitions.
"We don't," Augustus conceded, his sigh heavy with resignation. "Let us pray for the best," he added, his words a somber invocation amidst the gathering storm of political turmoil and impending strife.
♣ ♣ ♣
"We'll get there soon, hold on," the masked man's voice rumbled through the dense, snow-laden forest, his every step muffled by the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots. With each passing moment, the anticipation grew palpable, a tension that hung thick in the frigid air.
But as he neared their destination, a sudden halt befell him, his progress impeded by an invisible barrier that crackled with arcane energy, its resonance tinged with a haunting sense of familiarity.
"D-Duchess Guinevere?" His voice wavered with uncertainty, the realization dawning upon him like a shadow creeping through the winter gloom.