Oh my gosh. i can't believe i went that entire time without realizing i uploaded the wrong chapter!!!! i apologize over and over. that must have thrown you all off and made you think i was crazy. thank domsdirtysecret for the realization and the correction. it's all her!!!

anyway, i dont remember if there was anything important i wanted to say here so....yea

song is kings and queens by 30 seconds to mars.

Roald watched as an eagle soared over head. It shrieked, proclaiming its freedom before rising into the sky before disappearing. There was nothing Roald wanted more then to be like that bird.

Into the night
Desperate and broken
The sound of a fight
Father has spoken.

"Please, Father, please!"

"No, I will not let my oldest daughter go into such a life."

"But Father, I-"

"No, this is done. We're not talking about it anymore." With that, King Jonathan swept out of the room. Princess Kalasin fell onto her bed as the door shut, sobbing. She only wanted to be a knight. But she knew that now she never would be. Her father had spoken.

We were the kings and queens of promise
We were the victims of ourselves
Maybe the children of a lesser god
Between heaven and hell, Heaven and hell.

Roald walked down the Hall of Kings, silently padding down its length in soft doeskin boots. It was a secret spot only known to the royals, kept safe against enemies. Portraits lined the walls and the faces of his age old ancestors stared down at him. Finally he came to an empty spot, after his father's face. He stood before it for a long time. One day his face would go there. An inscription was craved between the empty space and his father's face.

Why do the Contés rule? Is it because they are the children of a lesser god? Do they go to heaven or hell too?

We are victims, Roald thought to himself. Victims of being able to make choices.

Into your eyes
Hopeless and taken
We stole our new lives
Through blood and pain
In defense of our dreams
In defense of our dreams

"Be fierce! Attack! Disengage! Attack again! Block! React faster!" Liam murmured as he practiced his sword skills.

"Come on, Liam," he growled to himself when he stumbled and cut his hand on his sword. "I'm so clumsy."

He sat down on the floor and examined the wound. It was quite deep and blood dripped onto the dirt. Pain lanced through his arm when he tried to move it. Liam moaned and leaned against the wall behind him.

"I'm hopeless," he whispered, defeated. But he didn't want to give up. His dreams rested solely on the sword and he was going to defend those dreams or by Mithros, he wasn't Conté.

With a groan, he clenched his teeth against the pain and began to rip his tunic to make a bandage. I'll make a new life for myself, he thought fiercely. No longer the third child of Conté, hiding behind Kally and Roald, I'll be General Liam, right hand man of his brother.

We were the kings and queens of promise
We were the victims of ourselves
Maybe the children of a lesser god
Between heaven and hell, Heaven and hell.

A small sapphire blue sphere formed in the hand of the small child. Jasson stared in awe at the flame of magic. Some god must've really loved us, he thought as he played with his magic. Who else would give us the gift?

"Jasson, come on, come out with me." The eight year old looked up at his younger sister. She was hanging on his window sill, muddy hands leaving prints on the white stone.

"Look, Lia," he said excitedly, forgetting her request. "Look what I can do." He showed her the blue sphere.

"Be careful," she said with a childish wisdom. "You don't want to become like Emperor Ozorne. What with him being the Emperor Mage that we killed and all." With that she vanished. Jasson stared at the place she had stood in. She was right, he realized. With a determined expression on his young face, he jumped out the window after her. As he ran, he thought to himself. I will not be victim to my Gift. But I will use it to help people. It's my duty as a Conté.

The age of man is over
The darkness comes and all
These lessons that we've learned here
Have only just begun

Tears were running freely at the funeral of Gareth the Younger of Naxen who had been killed in a spidren attack. Lianne watched Roald step forward with the funeral torch, an emotionless mask over his normally placid features. He touched the flame to the pyre and it caught, licking at the oil. As the fire rose ever higher, Lianne walked forward to her oldest brother and slipped her hand into his. He gave her a wanning, but grateful, smile and squeezed it. She leaned against him, providing comfort without words. The immortals in Tortall were growing fiercer and fiercer with every passing day. This was not the first funeral they had attended caused by immortals.

As they watched, Lianne saw a flash of silver in the forest beyond. For a moment, a unicorn was there then it vanished. All the lessons the Tortallans had learned on how to fight immortals were only the beginning. The Age of Men is over, she thought sadly. The Age of Immortals has begun.

We were the kings and queens of promise
We were the victims of ourselves
Maybe the children of a lesser god
Between heaven and hell.

Of all the children of Conté, Vania was the most different. She didn't have the Conté gift or the gift of gilded lies for politics. She didn't have the gift of obedience or the gift of fierceness to fight. But she was the one the others depended on. For without her Gift, the Conté children would have fallen.

Vania had the gift of promise. She wasn't a victim of a puppet master like the king was to his council, like Roald. She wasn't a victim of politics like an empress is to her court, like Kalasin. She wasn't a victim of war tactics and planning like a general is to his army, like Liam. She wasn't a victim of magic like a mage is to his Gift, like Jasson. She wasn't a victim of suppression and obedience like a queen is to the fashion, like Lianne.

Vania was a victim of freedom and promise like a horse is to the open fields. Actually, exactly like a horse is to the open fields. Whenever anyone ever came to visit the Conté estate where Vania lived with Jasson, the first thing they would see was a brown horse the color of chocolate streaking though the open fields of greenery. It would always be unbridled and unsaddled and a woman would be riding on its back, hands twined in its mane. Her inky black hair would be flying back and she would be laughing. It was that laughter that always kept the Conté children together.

We are the kings
We are the queens
We are the kings
We are the queens

Well, i still have no idea what i wanted to say here so just let me know what you think, yea??? again, so sorry about the confusion. i feel so terrible, :(