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Chapter Thirty-One
The Queen of Roses
The going was hard, but Cornelius kept his head high and pushed onwards regardless. The land route from Arendelle to Corona was treacherous at the best of times, but in the throes of winter, it could only be described as hellish. The snow crunched beneath his boots, and his fingers were stiff within his gloves. His cousin had offered them mounts, but the people of Arendelle rode reindeer, which were rather unlike horses, despite the obvious similarities.
He knew, at the very least, because he'd learned to ride alongside Nick when they'd both been children, but he didn't think it right that he ride whilst his men slog through the snow on foot. Instead, he walked alongside them, between the hoarfrost-covered bushes and bare trees, and when night came, he slept in a tent that was as simple as theirs as well.
This was war, and there was no time for luxury. Everything that hadn't been essential had been left with their ships to lighten the load, and the reindeer that they had brought were simply there to pull the carts of provisions that an army of this size needed to keep afoot. It would just be a week or two at most now, anyway, and they'd reach Corona soon enough.
That, he knew, was when the real hardship would begin. War was hell, and though he'd never fought in one, he knew the horrors well enough. He'd been raised to rule, and the possibility of wars, famines, and all the other terrors of the real world had been part of his training. Many of the soldiers he ate with each night may not survive the coming battles, and, he couldn't be sure that he would either.
Alyssa walked at his side, and despite her smaller stature, she carried twice as much upon her back as he did. He had protested, but it had been in vain. His wife was strong as sin and could endure the strain of such a journey better than any man in his army, and she had simply rolled her eyes at him when hé d tried to lighten her load.
"Prince Cornelius," said one of the Arendellian scouts Nick had sent to guide them, falling into step beside him. "We are nearing the Giant's Pass."
"So soon?" he asked, pursing his lips, and his heart thudded in his chest. "We should be a few days off, if my calculations are correct."
"We saved time by cutting across the frozen lakes rather than going around," said the scout, frowning, and it was clear he disapproved of their actions. "And, as the mountain passes had not yet been closed by now, we saved three days when crossing the Frostfingers."
"Then, there is nothing more to say." Cornelius forced a smile to his face. "We'll cross the Giant's Pass at once. Ale—"
"It is best we make camp for the night," interjected Alyssa, and when he made to argue, she grasped his wrist, tightly enough that he took the hint. "Yarne, could you inform the captains that we wish to break, and that we will make the crossing come morning."
"Yes, Queen Alyssa," said the scout, inclining his head before slipping off into the crowd.
As soon as he'd gone, Cornelius rounded on his wife. Did she not understand their haste? They needed to leave, and they needed to leave now. There was no time.
"We need to press on," he said through gritted teeth. "The more time we lose, the harder it is for my father to hold his position, and the longer my mother spends as a prisoner. We have to make the crossing now."
"Fools rush in," she replied, shaking her head. "Once we cross the Giant's Pass, we'll find ourselves on Coronan soil, and your kingdom is not friendly territory. The men are exhausted, and a good night's rest will do them good if they're going to see battle tomorrow. And, you need to prepare yourself as well."
"I'm fine—"
"String your bow with the speed I know you can, and I'll agree to marching at once," she countered. "We've been on the road for two weeks, Cor, and if I'm ready to drop, then I can only imagine how much worse it is for the rest of you. Rest. We'll do Corona no good if we rush in unprepared and weary."
He looked at her, and his fingers trembled, because he knew she was right. His hands were stiff from the cold, and the task of stringing a bow took a deftness and dexterity, especially if he worked at his usual speed. His stomach growled, and his eyelids were heavy. Sighing, and knowing he didn't have to like it, he nodded.
"I never thought I'd see the day when I was the one advising caution," she said, a wan smile on her lips as she helped him undo the straps of his backpack. Around them, the soldiers were forming a perimeter, and tents were being set up, and there were relieved glances on the faces of many.
"I suppose it's good I have you to talk some sense into me," he said, returning her smile despite his irritation at having to waste another day.
"Oh, you've done it for me enough over the years," she replied.
Their tent was pitched within minutes, and by the time an hour had passed, half-a-hundred fires dotted their camp, and the air was thick with the smells of the thick stick that the scouts were so adept at making. Torches glowed along the perimeter, and for once, it wasn't snowing. Still, the wind was cold, and he kept close to his fire as he waited for dinner, the scent of which was bringing back a thousand memories. Whenever Uncle Kristoff had taken Nick and him to visit the troll village, his uncle had always cooked the same stew. Elk, potatoes, onions, and whatever other vegetables were in season.
He'd sit with his cousin and they'd listen to their uncle's stories, and he'd had a lot of them, though most were made up. Still, they hadn't known it then, and even when the white winds had howled around them and it grew so cold that his teeth would chatter uncontrollably, they'd always felt safe and warm. Cornelius sighed. He wanted to go back to those days, when everything had been as it should be, but the world had spun and left him reeling.
"Tell me a story, Cor," said Alyssa, taking a seat beside him and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Just like you used to when we were kids."
"You already know them all," he said, not sure what she was trying to do, because this was new. She'd always hated his stories, and they'd gotten into numerous arguments about the validity of his tales over the years, all of which had usually ended with Nick tossing a pair of snowballs at the both of them.
"That's never stopped you before," she said. "Come on now, just one story."
"Okay." He sighed. "I heard this one in a tavern known as The Snuggly Duckling a few years ago, and I promise, it's all true."
She snorted but remained silent, and he began to tell the tale. As he spoke, he felt the tension life of his shoulders, and soon enough, he was so caught up in his story that he had all but forgotten the troubles that weighed upon his mind.
Crossing the Giant's Pass was something Alyssa could have gone her entire life without having to do.
In Amoré, they called this pass the Devil's Staircase, and they did so for good reason. It was a thin strip of land running across the bay, so narrow that a group had to walk in single-file. On either side of the land bridge was a sheer drop into the sea, which roiled and crashed against the sheer cliffs. There were skeletons in the water, she knew, the bodies of thousands who had failed in making the crossing, and she was determined to not be one of them.
Not now. Not that she had so much to protect.
She kept one hand on her husband's belt to steady him. Cornelius was jittery, and who could blame him? This may not be the deck of a ship, and he'd been fine until they'd heard the roaring. Beneath them, in the caverns carved into the strip of land, the waves tossed and turned, creating an eternal din. The scouts from Arendelle had gone on ahead, surefooted on the pass as they were on ice, and they'd paid the sound no mind. Her husband, on the other hand, had paled until he was whiter than milk, and his breath came in short pants.
"Breathe, Cornelius," she whispered, keeping her voice low. It would do neither of them any good for the soldiers behind her to hear how unnerved their future king was by the sea. "Breathe. One foot in front of the other, and just keep going. We're halfway there already."
He nodded, and he maintained his pace. The wind was picking up, and Alyssa was thankful she had forgone wearing her cloak despite the biting cold. It was difficult to keep her balance as it was, and she didn't a veritable mountain of fabric billowing around her. Too much depended on her, and she was not being vain in saying so. Cornelius needed her, because his panic attacks had been getting worse the closer they'd gotten to the sea, and she was likely the only thing keeping him composed as they made the crossing.
And, there was something else, something she was trying not to think off right now, yet it clouded her mind all the same. Her monthly blood was late, and whilst she wanted to believe it was merely the stress and strain of the past few months coupled with the long weeks she'd spent in the form of the beast, she knew, deep down, that it wasn't. Cornelius was her calm in the chaotic world, and they made love often to simply enjoy the other and forget everything else around them, and whilst they had been careful… they hadn't been as careful as they should have. She sighed. There was no reason to worry, not yet. Hopefully, she could take a potion in the first Coronan village they reached to be sure, but until then, worrying would get her nowhere.
It would have to wait. What mattered now was crossing the Devil's Staircase.
A small pile of pebbles skittered off the edge, caught by the wind, and Cornelius flinched, his entire body going rigid. Not now. No, not now. Alyssa grasped his shoulder with her free hand, squeezing gently to let him know that she was there.
"Breathe, Cornelius," she whispered. "We're fine. Just breathe. Just a little bit further."
Slowly, he nodded, and he put one foot in front of the other and kept walking. Taking a furtive look behind her to make sure nobody had noticed, Alyssa followed him, keeping one hand firmly on his belt. If he stumbled, she was more than strong enough to pull him back up, and she just had to trust in her own strength to safeguard them both on this journey. The same strength that scarred him. She shook her head. No, that was behind her. She couldn't lose herself now.
If she looked back, if she let herself remember Amoré, even for a moment, then she'd be lost.
Suddenly, there was a scream, and Cornelius froze again. Desperately, Alyssa held onto him as she turned her head just in time to see a trio of soldiers go plummeting over the edge and disappear into the sea. The rock beneath them had given way, and she gasped at the sight of the yellow mist clinging to the pass. Where in Tsar Luna's name did that come from? A loud crack echoed through the air, and an entire sheet of the cliff slid into the sea, and the spray rose up into the air, high enough to splash her cheeks.
"Your Majesty," urged the soldier behind her, his voice high and panicked. "Run!"
Without hesitation, she started to run, slipping past Cornelius and dragging her behind her. He was stiff as a board, but he was keeping up with her, praise the Godmother. When she turned back, his eyes were wild and panicked, and she simply tightened her hold on his wrist and dragged him on. Breathe. Just breathe and follow me.
More screams, and the soldiers were running behind her. The entire land bridge shuddered as more of it caved into the sea, and Cornelius shrieked in alarm. The air stank of staleness, and as the stone collapsed beneath her feet, she realized it had grown porous and cracked, crumbling to dust beneath her feet.
"It's Gothel," her husband yelled. "She's aging the rocks."
"We're almost there. Just keep running," she yelled back, and she picked up her face so that, had she not been holding onto him, he'd be unable to keep up. In the distance, she could see the end of the bridge, and the Arendellian scouts standing on solid land, watching them with terrified eyes.
The stone gave way beneath her. One minute, she was running, and the next she was falling. With a thunderous roar, the Devil's Staircase gave way, and she lashed out a hand, grasping onto the rope for support. Her shoulder nearly jerked out of its socket at the sudden strain, and Cornelius was screaming beneath her, thrashing about, his breathing harsh and panicked, and she clenched her fingers around his wrist, holding him up. Soldiers were falling, and the waves were swallowing them whole. Their army.
Then, her husband, through the throes of panic, reached into his jacket and drew out an orb. It was frosted and burned with green flames, and without hesitation, he flung it into the sea beneath him. What in Tsar Luna's name. As it fell, the orb seemed to come to life, and it burst into a thousand sparkling fragments.
The world around her grew cold as a blizzard sprang from nowhere, and the sea grew cold and frozen as the snow thickened upon it, almost like a giant pillow. The soliders still fell, but gusts of wind were catching them, swirling around them and laying them down upon the snow, and her breath misted in front of her mouth. Cold. It was so cold. Nick. Oh, thank Tsar Luna for Nick.
"Cornelius," she said, finally finding her voice. "If you don't keep still, I'm going to lose my grip."
"Sorry," he called back, looking up at her, and his eyes were still wide and terrified. "I'm sorry. I panicked. The sea."
"Just, breathe," she said. "Can you climb up my arm? Get onto my back and I can get us both to the end of the bridge."
Her arm ached, but she was strong. The beast was inside her, begging to be set free, and she pushed it down. No, never again. She could get them out of this as a human. Never again would she wear the skin of a beast. Gritting her teeth as her husband climbed up her arm, she bit her lip as he finally managed to wrap his arms around her from behind, clinging onto her like a limpet. Finally, he wrapped his legs around her waist, hooking his ankles, and she nodded in relief as she raised her now free arm and grasped the rope.
"Hold on," she said. "And please, just breathe."
"I'm breathing," he whispered. "I'm scared. I'm terrified. But I can't hear the sea anymore, and I know you won't let me fall."
Damn right. She would never let him fall. Never.
Slowly, she let go with one hand and grasped a spot just in front of her other, and she closed her eyes. It was no secret that she was stronger than most people. She was faster. Her senses were stronger. She was Alyssa, the daughter of the Beast King, and she had inherited his powers, as much as she had grown to hate them. Still, bearing both of their weights was difficult, even for her, but she would make it.
She had to.
Below them, the soldiers were climbing to their feet, looking at the snow in amazement. Quickly, the captains were barking orders, pulling them into formations, and they were making for the shore. It would be a long climb up a series of goat paths, she knew, if they wished to reach the top, but it was better than drowning or being bashed against the rocks.
Alyssa bit her lip as she finally reached the end, feeling the hands of the scouts pulling her up. Cornelius sighed in relief as they touched solid ground, and she collapsed to the ground as he released her. Tsar Luna, she was tired, and she'd be feeling the strain in the days to come. He lay beside her and the scouts were whispering amongst themselves as he stroked her cheek, and to her horror, she felt his fingers run through fur.
It was fading back into her skin, but in that moment, she knew. She had let the beast free to get them across that span. Quickly, Alyssa ducked her hands beneath her, realizing that her claws were bared, and she felt a shudder run down her back. The beast. No. Never. Never again.
"Thank you," her husband gasped, and there were tears in his eyes as he held her. "Alyssa, you saved us."
But, she could barely hear him. Instead, she heard the whispers from the scouts, louder than thunder.
"The Beast Queen."
"We've lost the northern supply line," said Lord Walter of Sommersea, one of the few realms of Corona that could still be counted upon. "Tremaine's forces have us surrounded on all sides."
Eugene slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. There were a dozen letters strewn across the desk, all of which bore the same news. The lords who'd once knelt before his wife and vowed eternal fealty had turned their cloaks the minute the danger had struck, and he was all but alone in this fight. Lord Walter stood with him, and withered old Lady Wilhemia as well. In the east, Lord Reinhart still flew the sun of Corona from the walls of his keep, and in the south, Lady Mila had deployed the knights of her own household in the hopes they would reach his position in Sommersea before the Eléadoréan army reached them.
Yet, the others had turned.
With his wife's fate uncertain and with his son across the sea in Arendelle, the lords who had once dined at his table, who had once complimented his wife on her poise and grace, who had once played with his son, had abandoned Corona. The flag of Eléadoré flew from their castles, and it was open rebellion as far as the eye could see. With Gothel in the capital, with the fleet across the sea, Eugene had been forced to fall back to Sommersea, and watch as the kingdom his wife have ruled for decades crumbled in a matter of days.
"You must forgive me, Lord Walter," he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I fear I have brought the war to your doorstep by making this my base of operations."
Lord Walter chuckled, stroking his moustache as he walked over to the window. He was an old man, but still a strong one, with a bald head and a pair of spectacles balanced upon his crooked nose. The man had seen kings and queens come and go, and he was still here. If Eugene's memory served, the Lord of Sommersea had been one of the first to welcome his wife to the throne.
"I am an old man, King Eugene, and my memory may not be as good as it once was, but I remember the vows I swore to your wife, and to her father before her, and his father before him. My granddaughter's betrothed thinks me quite mad. He has already left the castle, and his father had since taken up arms against us as well. It is good that he showed his true colours before the wedding."
"We do not have the numbers to fight them," said Eugene, frowning at the man and wondering what point he was trying to make. If it was that the lords of Corona would rather save their own necks than stand for the queen who had safeguarded them for nearly three decades, then that was something he already knew. "I have some ten thousand men. The rest of my army has sided with the enemy or returned to their homes to wait out the conflict. You have a thousand soldiers in Sommersea. My son has another few thousand in Arendelle, too far away to be of any help to us here."
"The lords turn from you because they fear you will lose," said Lord Walter. "Empty-headed young ones, the lot of them, and they are not of the same caliber as their parents before them. In my way, we would have laid down our lives for the throne without batting an eye. No matter. It will all be over soon."
All too quickly, Eugene realized what the old man was implying, and his heart sank. He knows we can't stand against Eléadoré and Gothel at once. He knows that the lords who have remained loyal will fall, one by one, but he expects that we will lose. Clenching his fist, Eugene all but upended the table as rage overtook him. No. He would not give up. Not whilst his wife could still be alive, not when she needed him, and not when his son's birthright was in danger.
"Their fear is unfounded," he snapped. "We will win this war, no matter the cost. I will not see Rapunzel's legacy torn apart by two bitches that we should have put down years ago."
Lord Walter raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Stroking his moustache, the old lord turned back to the window, and his lips curled into a frown. Slowly, too slowly, the lord of Sommersea turned around, his expression grim yet certain, and he inclined his head, gesturing for Eugene to join him.
Eugene walked to the window, and his heart sank lower in his chest. It was as though Tremaine had unleashed all of Eléadoré upon them, for the approaching army was so large that it seemed to never end. Tens of thousands of soldiers approached: knights on horseback, soldiers on foot, dragging siege engines behind them. Pikes, swords, bows, axes, morning stars, and spears, they glimmered in the dim sunlight, and the flags of Eléadoré flew above them. We cannot fight that many. They outnumber us ten to one. He paled, swallowing.
If all of Corona stood united, then it would be an even fight. Yet, their kingdom was fractured and coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing he could do about it but stand his ground and hope for the best.
"I have lived a very long life in service to the Solistarens," said Lord Walter, "Now the Fitzherberts, which doesn't quite have the same ring to it, but is regal sounding all the same. It would be an honour to die in service to them as well."
Eugene could only nod as the watchmen began to blow their horns, and the bells begin to ring. Rapunzel… Forgive me. He held onto hope, of course, because it was all he had, but as he turned away from the window and called for a squire to assist him with his armor, he already knew that, for the first time, there would be no dawn.
The town of Oase was a peaceful one… or at least, it had been until Cornelius had arrived. Within hours, his troops had reinforced the stone walls and set to work digging a trench around the village. His captains informed him that they intended to fill it with sharpened stakes to break an enemy charge. He had accepted their words without question. After all, as much as he was in command, he was also very inexperienced when it came to war, and it was best to defer to them in such matters.
Still, it was as good a base as any. The ground was flat, giving them a good view of the surrounding countryside, and the walls had been raised during the reign of his great-grandfather, and they were as solid then as they were now. It was well provisioned, and they wouldn't starve if they maintained proper rations. Further, the sea was to their back, and with the maelstrom tearing through it, no navy could sneak up on them.
Of the ten thousand men who'd set sail with him all those weeks ago, only seven thousand or so remained. Several had been lost at sea during the initial voyage, and a thousand or more had perished when the Giant's Pass had collapsed. He shuddered at the memory of what had happened just a day ago, and he clenched his fists under the table. That had been too close for comfort, and had it not been for Alyssa's strength and Nick's gift, he'd have lost everything.
He sighed. For so long, he'd wanted to return to Corona to aid his homeland, but now that he was here, reality was beginning to set in. The forces weighed against his kingdom were vast. Gothel held the capital, and there were whispers of monsters in the streets, being sewn together from different corpses. Hollow Ones, he'd realized in seconds, and his mother's fate was uncertain. Worse, his father was under siege in Sommersea, and try as he might, Cornelius didn't know which way to turn. He couldn't help them both. He didn't have the manpower or the supplies to fight a war on two fronts, and he had to choose.
And, he couldn't. Dammit, he couldn't choose between his mother and father.
"You've been in here all morning," said a soft voice from the door, and he looked up.
Alyssa walked into the room, and to his surprise she wore both her armor and her crown. We're not under attack, and we're not on the march. It made no sense. His breath caught in his throat, and he clenched his fist. What now?
"Your father's forces have been put to rout upon the field. They are holding the walls of Sommersea, but the situation does not look good. All of Eléadoré has marched on his position."
Without thinking, he upended the table as her words sank in. All of Eléadoré. He couldn't fight that many, not with the numbers he had. Papers rustled to the floor, and his inkpot spilled across the hardwood floors. A snowglobe rolled across the floor, and he kicked it as hard as he could. It shattered against the wall, and he felt arms wrap around him. He was not in a ship, and he wasn't on the pass, but he could feel the sea come rushing in all the same, and he could feel the waves lap at his head as it rose above him.
Cornelius couldn't breathe. He gasped, clawing at his throat as Alyssa held him, and she whispered in his ear, reminding him to be calm. It didn't help. He was drowning in air, and the room had become his cabin, and the windows had become portholes. No. No. I survived. But, he hadn't. Not really. He'd died in that cabin, and he'd been brought back, and it hadn't bothered him for years.
Now though… he didn't know what it was, but he just couldn't handle it.
"Cornelius, just breathe," she whispered. "You're with me. We're fine. I know what we have to do. We will win this war. It's going to be okay."
He closed his eyes, clenching his fists as he did so, and he took a deep breath. The water faded away, rippling at his skin as it disappeared, and he wanted to sob. Broken, that was the right word. He was broken on the inside, where it didn't show, and it would never be okay, not really.
"What plan?" he asked, his voice hollow.
"Just trust me," she said. "Trust me, as I trusted you all these years. There is a mercenary army blocking the route to Sommersea. Thousands of men. They're not from Eléadoré. They're not from Corona. The scouts gave me a report this morning. I know who they are."
The mercenaries. He'd knew they were there. His scouts had told him as much. Mounted knights, the lot of them, and it was said they fought like men who had nothing left to lose. They were led by a Romani, if the rumors and reports were to be believed, and he hadn't given the matter much thought… it hadn't mattered who they were. All that mattered was defeating them and pushing onwards into the heart of his kingdom.
He froze. A Romani general, and an army that had nothing left to lose. It couldn't be.
"They're Amoréan?" he said, and a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.
"I believe so," she replied. "I intend to ride for their camp at once… alone, mind you. No, don't look at me like that, Cornelius. This is my fight. I have to win their fealty, and I can't do that if I have my foreign husband's army at my back."
"Alyssa, the danger…"
"War is dangerous, and risks must be taken," she replied. "Listen to me, Cornelius. They have as many men as you do. If I can win them, we'll have doubled our forces. We can ride on Sommersea at once, and we can break the siege and reunite with your father and what forces remain to him."
"And if you fail?" he asked, tensing. "Alyssa, they're Amoréan, but they're taking Tremaine's gold… and I'm sorry, but Amoré is…" He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
"Just trust me, Cor," she said. "In Amoré, the roses wilt, but the thorns remain. Our memories are long. And, if General Silvanus is the man I remember, then I will win his loyalty simply by revealing myself. What my grandfather did for his people… We gave them a home in Amoré. Believe in me, Cor, as I've believed in you to save me when I needed saving. Let me help Corona, just as Corona helped me."
He looked at her, and he nodded. Reaching out to cup her cheek, he pressed his lips to her brow, and for the longest moment, he just held her. Alyssa was his wife, but at the end of the day, she was a queen as well, and he knew, deep down, that if there was even a hope of regaining some fraction of her kingdom, he would never be able to live with himself if he stopped her from claiming it.
I trust you.
Alyssa kept her head held high as she rode towards the mercenary camp, and as she approached, she felt the last of her misgivings fade away. It made no sense, yet, her eyes could not deceive her, or her sense of smell. These people, these mercenaries… their scents were familiar. Not individually, no, because even she couldn't remember the smell of every person she'd come across in her sixteen years.
Together, though… they were Amoréan. It was the only answer. Mercenaries. Three-thousand in all, and how they'd come to this path, she could not say, but she recognized their leader all the same. In all the world, there was only one man who bound with hair with a scarf of purple silk, decorated with a dozen suns and crescent moons. From the moment the scouts had described him, she had known, and as she caught sight of him walking around the outskirts of the camp, she took a deep breath before urging her horse on.
General Silvanus, great-grandson of the greatest Amoréan general to ever live, Phoebus de Châteaupers, and one of the most talented dancers in .all Amoré, Esmeralda. There were statues of them in the old cathedral of Notre Dame, and she had grown up hearing about their lives. Heroes to the people of Amoré, the both of them, and she had almost squealed upon first meeting Silvanus all those years ago.
Her father had dispatched him to lead a force of Amoréan forces to the Imperium, but it would seem they had never reached. They escaped the curse. It's the only thing that makes sense. Still, these were her people. They may be hardened by the loss of their homeland, and contracted by her husband's enemies, but they were still Amoréan.
Without hesitation, she rode into the camp. Eyes turned in her direction, and men raised their swords before dropping them in confusion. She crown gleamed in the dim sunlight, and the rapier at her side glimmered as she rode past a dozen firepits. Impossible, she heard someone say. A ghost. It cannot be. The whispers grew into a din as she approached the central tent, but none raised a hand to stop her.
"Princess Alyssa," said General Silvanus, coming up to her as she reined in her horse. "We were told you were dead. All of Amoré was said to have fallen."
As usual, he did not mince words, and she flinched at his tone. He was a hard man, and it seemed he had been made harder still by the events that had transpired in recent months. Still, she remembered the way his smile could light a room, and the stories he would tell—gypsy stories which her father hated but she had adored.
No. Alyssa dismissed the memories. She could no longer be the girl she'd once been. The Princess of Roses had died in the fires of Amoré, and the Beast Queen had risen from the ashes. She could not be soft, and she could not let fond recollections hinder her judgement. The situation was dire, and she knew that coming here alone had been a risk… but it had been a risk that she'd needed to take when she'd heard.
Amoré was dead, but it's people still remained in the form of this ramshackle army, and she would not allow her citizens to bar her husband's path.
"Queen Alyssa," she corrected, noting how the whispers grew louder. "My survival was publicized far and wide in Corona, as was my marriage to Prince Cornelius. My kingdom may be gone, but I am still a queen, and his fight is my fight. Now, would you stand against your queen, General Silvanus, and continue to take the gold of a woman in league with the witch who brought ruin to our homeland?"
"Amoré is dead," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "The men I command lost their homes, their families… everything. For days, we waited in Eléadoré for some word from the royal family, from anyone, and then we realized it was all gone. Tremaine gave us the gold we needed to survive. We are mercenaries, sworn to her, because she extended us solace in our hour of need. Yet, here you stand, and you claim to have been in Corona all this time. Tell me, Princess Alyssa, did you forget us? Did you not remember the men your father sent to war until it benefited you?"
She growled low in her throat. So, we play the game, she thought, letting her hand fall to the hilt of her rapier. He was an honourable man, she knew, and a loyal one… there was much his family in particular owed to the royal family, her ancestors, and he was testing her. Very well. He would find that she did not bow nor break under such sharp words.
"I did not think of you," she admitted. "Because I believed you dead. I believed all of you dead. You are not fools. You know what became of our homeland. You know of the curse. I spent weeks trapped in the form of a beast, and it was through the actions of my husband and friends that I am here today. When I came too, when the transformation faded, all I could discern was that everything was gone. My parents. My citizens. Everything. I was a queen without a kingdom."
"You—" General Silvanus opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a glare.
"You held your tongue when my father spoke, and you will extend me the same courtesy," she interrupted, her voice as sharp as a whip. "I am your queen by birthright, for you are a citizen of Amoré, a general of its armies, and you swore vows to the crown."
"All of you," she continued. "Swore vows to the crown. Now, Amoré may be gone, and we may have lost much. My own parents were lost to the curse. The land is still overrun by thorns. The Hollow Ones still prowl the countryside. Yet, what does serving Tremaine get you save for gold in your pockets? You are men of Amoré, and what are our words? The petals wilt but the thorns remain. Let our enemies fear their bite."
Taking a deep breath, she raised her rapier into the air, and she took a deep breath.
"I cannot bring back the dead," she said. "And I cannot reverse what has been done. But I can promise you one thing. I am Queen Alyssa Rose Fitzherbert, daughter of King Adam de Amoré and Queen Belle de la Rosa, crowned in my sixteenth year in the ashes of my kingdom, and I can give you what you want most in the world."
"Words," interrupted General Silvanus. "Empty words from a stripling girl. Do you know what we have lost, Alyssa of Amoré? Our families. Our homes. Our legacies. After all that we have lost, what will empty words serve in contrast to the cold hard coin offered by Tremaine?"
He snorted. "We will require more than words from the likes of you."
"Silvanus, she is a queen," hissed the general's subordinate.
"She is the queen of nothing," he said with a snort. "She led her own kingdom to ruin and her husband has followed in her footsteps. If she wishes for our service, then let her prove her worth as her father once did."
Alyssa stared at the man. This was not the way she had intended the meeting to go, and nor had she anticipated the growing murmur of agreement from amongst the crowd. Her mother had always told her that the pen was mightier than the sword when winning allies, but she was clearly wrong. She closed her eyes as the men parted around her, forming a large circle.
If it is proof they want, then it is proof she will provide.
"Well," she said, drawing her rapier and pointing it at the general. "Come then."
General Silvanus looked at her, a strange expression on his face. It was almost as though he was surprised that she had accepted his mercenaries were staring at her, captivated. The captains had pushed to the front, and she knew their faces if not their names. How many times had she passed them by in the castle? How many times had she exchanged pleasant words with them, or else spoken to their wives and children along with her mother? These men… they had known her since she was a girl, and they were Amoréan, and they were all that was left of Amoré. Yet, they still saw her as that girl, did they not? Vain and empty-headed, a spoilt brat who played at being a perfect princess. Now, it was time to change their minds. She would show them who she had become beneath the stains of time and tragedy.
"Very well," said General Silvanus, drawing his longsword.
Without further ado, he lunged with such speed and ferocity that Alyssa was caught off guard. She leapt back, her twin-tails streaming through the air as his sword gouged the ground where she'd been standing. Gritting her teeth, she regained her bearings and dashed towards her foe, unleashing a barrage of thrusts as she did so. Her rapier was not heavy or strong enough to turn his longsword, and she feared it would snap should their blades cross. No, their styles of fighting were far too different for her to engage him in brute strength, her beastly nature notwithstanding.
Her only hope was to show greater skill, though he had many years of experience on her in that regard as well.
She ducked beneath his swing, gasping as his blade caught her hair. Several strands fell around her, and she lashed out, kicking him in the leg before rolling away. With a grunt, he went down, but before she could press her advantage he had swept himself away and regained his balance. Narrowing her eyes, she lunged again, her rapier a blur. Droplets of blood splattered through the air as she cut open his cheek, and a slight smirk of victory crossed her face.
His fist took her in the jaw, and she yelped in surprise as she went flying. Her rapier fell from her grasp as she hit the ground. Dragging herself to her feet, she grasped for it, her eyes widening in dismay as she watched him kick it aside.
"Few have been skilled enough to mark me," said Silvanus, a wry smirk on his face. "Yet, for all your talk of strength, Queen Alyssa, you are surprisingly weak." He said her title mockingly, and if possible, it hit her even harder than his fist had.
Rage coursed through her veins as she rose to her feet. Weak. Very well. She would show them weakness. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, she reached for the dagger sheathed within her sleeve and lunged. Silvanus' eyes widened in surprise. Good. He hadn't expected this. Her blade was inches from his eye when the flames burst around him, surprising her with their heat. He spun away, his eyes glinting, and then his boot caught her in the gut.
She went flying, hitting the ground so hard that her head rang. Treachery, her mind hissed. How dare he use his powers in a duel of physical strength? Yet, nobody moved to protest his actions.
"This was a match of strength," she snarled, dragging herself to her feet.
"Surely you wouldn't ask me to set aside my heritage, oh great queen. My grandmother, Esmeralda, was quite known for her Dance of Flames, after all."
Alyssa closed her eyes. Very well. If this was what she must do, then so be it. Heritage. She couldn't help the smirk that curled across her lips as she met his eye, nor could she fight the glint in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she held up a hand.
She was the Queen of Amoré. More than that, she was the daughter of Queen Consort Belle and King Adam. They called her the Queen of Roses. They called her the Queen of Thorns. Yet, she was so much more. There was a part of her that she resented. It was something she tried to mask away, to hide, yet it was a part of her all the same.
Heritage.
"You have made me angry," she said in a cool, calm voice, wiping a trickle of blood from her lips with the back of her hand. Overhead, the faint sun beat down upon her from behind the clouds, and for the first time in her life, Alyssa let go.
She doubled over, blood bursting from her lips as her bones grew long. Russet fur sprouted from her skin as her teeth lengthened into fangs and, with a loud series of rips, her armor and clothing tore apart beneath her change. Her nails turned to claws as she rose up on her hind legs, her back arched forward as muscles rippled beneath her skin. Her eyes burned a vicious yellow and slaver dripped from her muzzle.
This… this was the Beast of Amoré in her true form. She was not the vicious wolf cursed by Odette, nor was she the tame beast who slept the night away at each full moon by the Godmother's intervention. This was her curse, the curse that could never be broken, the curse that was within her blood.
She howled and he balked, and she wasted no time in lunging. General Silvanus, she thought, you will find that I am my father's daughter.
He swung his sword and she bit into the steel. She glared as she shattered the steel between her teeth. Spitting out the shrapnel without care, she brought him to the ground with a single blow. He yelped in pain, but her paw was firm against his throat, pinning him in place. Then, she kicked and he went flying, flipping through the air before hitting the ground and lying still.
Rip his throat out! A voice within her yelled, but she shook it off. No, the beast did not rule her. She ruled the beast. Ignoring the voice, she padded towards her prey, and she dug her claws into his chest. Blood welled around the tips, and she cocked her head. Meeting his gaze, she waited, slowly increasing the pressure until she could feel his ribcage buckling, ready to snap.
"I yield," he half-gasped, half-sobbed. "I yield."
As quickly as that, she released the pressure. Blood flowed from the wounds, and they would no doubt scar, but there would be no lasting injury once the healers arrived. Satisfied, Alyssa turned away, letting her human form return as she walked. She was naked, she realised, but she did not care. A captain came rushing towards her, holding out his cloak, and she accepted it with a nod.
Using it to cover herself, she wiped the blood from her chin and stared at the men and women around her, the last citizens of Amoré.
"You ask what I can offer you?" she said, her voice carrying across the silence. "You ask what I can give that no other can?"
"Home," she said simply. "I can offer you a home. Take me as your queen, accept me as your ruler, and I will do all in my power to restore Amoré to its former glory. Swear your swords to me, and stand with me in my battles, and I will stand with you, forever and always. For I am Amoré, as are you, and our kingdom will not fade into the darkness like so many others before it, not whilst there is breath in my body."
General Silvanus was the first to approach her, dropping to one knee and raising his sword above him. His expression was one of both admiration and fear. So, she had won him over with her display after all. Alyssa snorted. She should have transformed as soon as the fight began and saved herself a beating.
"Queen of Roses, I pledge you my sword as I pledged it to your father before you."
With his words, the dam broke, and they approached in unison, kneeling and proclaiming and raising their weapons in deference.
"Long may she reign."
Men knelt, extending their weapons, and bowing their heads. Horses whinnied, and the sun gleamed beneath the grey clouds. Fires crackled, and she dismounted from her horse, raising her rapier as she did so. Deftly, she tapped it on Silvanus' shoulder accepting his oath, and she took a deep breath.
"The Queen of Roses," they proclaimed.
"The Queen of Amoré and Corona,' they hailed. "The Queen of Thorns."
As she took them as her men, another voice whispered in her mind.
The Beast Queen