Scarred Initials

by Stealing names

Serena is out for vengeance. Ruined and bearing the marks of her attacker, she is determined to kill the man responsible as well as the King who turned a blind eye. When the attempt fails she is sentenced to rot in the dungeons. However, she escapes and attempts another assassination. When that fails, she finds herself chained in the King's very own chambers.

1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Apologies. I am a brainless and penniless person. Would you beat down a person who is already down? So no potential legal suits please. :)

A/N: Hello! This story is about romance and well romance. There's nothing else I can say besides, enjoy. Thanks for reading.

Prologue:

In a land centuries old, the capital of Terrania was in full celebration.

Honouring the King's twenty-eighth name day, the city was adorned in vivid colours. As women in bright dresses paraded down crowded streets, rose petals of varying colors were thrown up into the air, the mix stark against the blue sky. From all over the land, people crammed into the capital to see their monarch in the flesh, his reign of three years supported by the rich, the poor and the middle-class.

An annual event, the King's birthday parade was highly anticipated. As muscians kicked up a lively jig, the beat of the drums, bells and flutes had people dancing in time to the rhythm, as pickpockets and thugs lingered around the fringes of the crowd.

Despite the noise and the risk of being robbed, the King's birthday was a day to be merry; every man and every woman a friend, a brother, a sister. As song and cheer rang out, food and drink passed freely through the mass of people, stall sellers grinning from ear to ear. Standing in the middle of the milling throng, a woman stood detached, observing the joyous atmosphere with dark eyes. She hated celebrations.

An oddity among a sea of color, she was dressed in black from head to toe. With her tiny frame engulfed by a heavy cloak, she covered the lower half of her face wih a scarf, her golden hair concealed beneath the hood. With the afternoon sun beating down and the air uncomfortably hot, she was sweltering beneath the folds of material. Wiping her brow with a free hand, she ignored the curious stares, shoving hard at those who strayed too close and those who blocked her view.

Staring out at the path littered with red roses she clutched at the dagger in her hand. Feeling the etched initials on her cheek burn in vengeance, she waited for the trumpets to sound, for the people to cheer. She was out for blood.

A/N: Muahahah stayed tuned, lovies.