A.N. Definitely mind the trigger warnings at the bottom of the notes, this is a dark chapter my dudes
The first time Anthiese remembered meeting her father was when she was eleven.
A year after the villa was attacked, Sir Mycen sent a letter to Novis declaring all of Desaix collaborators jailed or executed. Since heirs were now in a sudden short supply, her father had decided it best for her to join him at Zofia Castle.
She had only started to allow herself to view the priory as a home the prior month; nevertheless, Anthiese followed the dark-hair mercenary back to the capital without complaint. With both a decade and the fire under her belt now, she didn't feel like a child anymore. And because eleven was the oldest she had ever been, she thought that meant she must be ready to be an adult now.
For all her poise, though, it didn't make that first night in one of the castle's guest-rooms any easier. It was furnished with the same silks and mahoganies of the royal villa, and no matter how much she tried to reason with herself that such similarities were only natural, she still found herself dreaming that she was choking on ash. That morning she woke up convinced she was buried in the villa's rubble and scrubbed her cheeks near raw.
Her nurse had scolded her once the episode passed and spent the rest of the morning brushing powder on her face. If she couldn't act like an adult, then maybe she could at least try to present herself like one.
She hated the process, feeling like a porcelain doll being painted and brushed to perfection. But if someone ever took the time to ask her what she wanted, she didn't know if she would have protested in the slightest. She suspected she wouldn't have been able to explain at all what she expected from this journey. It was only the distance that memory provided that allowed her to give words to such a childish desire. That if she bore all her pain with grace and determination, somehow, someway she'd be rewarded.
And so, Earth Mother, she tried. She tried to hold her head high and approach the throne as if it was where she belonged.
The man who sat before had hair as red as hers. It shouldn't have been all surprisingly, but Anthiese found herself clinging to detail all the same. She liked to think she had never needed him before in her life, but it was thrilling to imagine he might need her in return. So she went through whole ritual of curtsying and giving her most genuine respect.
When she lifted her head again, she found her father looking at her as if he was meeting a god. Trembling, he extended a swollen red hand.
"Liprica?" It was barely a murmur, but the stink of his wine-soaked breath still overwhelmed her. When he moved to cradle a curl of hers, she couldn't help but recoil.
His eyes widened, as if coming out from a waking dream, and somehow she knew in that instant that he'd never look at her with that same reverence ever again.
It didn't take long for him to dismiss Anthiese back to her chambers. Once there, the cool mask of maturity she had been weaving since she had received the missive fell apart. She found herself bawling like a newborn, kicking and screaming at any of the maids that tried to restrain her.
Then, like a flash of lightning, her nurse struck her across the cheek. The fear and pain that followed was so overwhelming, Anthiese went silent almost immediately.
"How dare you behave in such a selfish manner! What kind of daughter refuses her own father's affections?!"
Something deep inside of her started to catalyze. She didn't quite know what she was becoming, but she had the feeling she wasn't quite Anthiese anymore.
"Who is Liprica?" It felt dangerous to ask, but the question fell from her lips before she could take it back.
The nurse furrowed her brow in pity. Surprisingly, she picked up the child and gathered her in her lap. In the last show of tenderness she could remember, the nurse recounted the story of the only woman the king had ever loved.
When she finished her tale, Celica promised herself that she would never become such a pitiable woman.
When Celica awoke in Mila's cell, she felt that same sense of transformation pull at her limbs. While her memory and vision came back to her slowly but surely, some third, indescribable part of her seemed to leak out onto the ground. Like a cocoon cracked open before it could hatch into a butterfly, if she was supposed to become someone else again, she had no clue anymore on how to get there.
She liked to think it was courage or bravery that compelled her to stand, but that felt too optimistic a conjecture to make. Picking up Falchion and climbing past the torn cell bars seemed more muscle memory than anything deliberate. She didn't know what could possibly be fueling her at this point. With each breath she swallowed, she tasted the ash that still lingered in the air.
Earth Mother...
She didn't know if it was a prayer or a curse. As much as Celica rather forget it, the memory of Mila's grasp had been burned into her memory. No matter how many times she went back to try and construct a different version of events, Mila's claws seemed to tear into her mind each time.
You didn't take imprisonment gracefully either...
Celica's mind drifted back towards the Rigelian maid she burned. She must have seemed just as monstrous and terrifying as Mila in that moment. Guilt swirled inside Celica's stomach like a storm, but she tried to channel it into something positive. If there was hope for her, then perhaps Mila might calm with time.
Are you sure you're so above reproach?
Celica bit her lip and pressed forward into the darkness of the tunnels. Perhaps this whole temple was her cocoon. She wouldn't be able to see what she'd become until she left.
It was dawn when Alm reemerged from his grief. Not because the pain had subsided or because he had somehow overcome it, but rather because he was simple too exhausted to sob any longer. All his pity and empathy had been wrung out of him like washing rag.
From the distance, he saw Berkut lead a squadron of soldiers up towards the bastion. And despite how he knew Father meant to Berkut, meant to everyone, a strange possessiveness overtook him. He found himself moving towards the top end of the ramparts, blocking any view of Father's body.
"Alm-" Berkut struggled to catch his breath, eyes wild and unfocused. "-there you are! Do you have any idea what's been-"
"I know!" Despite himself, Alm's voice came out harsher than he wanted. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I've just-"
As Alm struggled to find some words that might capture the last few hours, Berkut pushed past him. Alm couldn't stop him before he managed to catch sight of the ugly scene.
"Uncle..." Those two syllables managed to break Alm's heart all over again. There was a weakness to Berkut's voice he hadn't heard since the two of them were children. Alm leaned forward to comfort him; however before he could complete his embrace, Berkut gripped his forearms in a tight squeeze.
"Who did this!?" Berkut hissed.
Mila's shadow hung heavy over the two men. This was a conversation that they had sworn to keep behind closed doors, but what were they supposed to do once everything had been blown open?
"It was her, wasn't it? Never should have let her out of our sight!"
"What do you want me to do?!" Alm could feel what little control he had mustered start to fray. "He's gone now! Nothing can change that! Not even a brand!"
Alm wondered what this must look to the outside world: Rigel's two fine princes yelling like madman. All of Father's hard work to crafting the perfect golden hero vanquished before he even had a grave to roll around in.
From that thought, the sorrow returned, stronger than ever before. However before the tears could return, Berkut dug his nails into his skin.
"Don't you dare." There was a dangerous calmness to his voice. "You don't have the luxury of grief anymore. You have to be able to do what's necessary for the country."
He turned around to face the squadron. "Everyone kneel! You have the honor to bask in the presence of our sovereign emperor!" Berkut fell to his knees in front of Alm, and like dominoes, each following soldier did the same.
"All hail Albine Alm Rudolf II, may his reign be righteous and just!" The cry went out like a chorus, ringing across the ramparts. With each round, another further group repeated it, until the entire castle was shouting as one voice.
It took all of Alm's willpower not to vomit.
When Berkut rose again, he was quick to issue orders about funeral and burial preparations. As the squadron dispersed Alm wanted nothing more than to fade into the wind-to let the one who truly wanted this responsibility take it. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, Berkut caught him off-guard with one final question.
"Do you have any idea if your wedding gift is still secure?"
Alm was puzzled for a moment. Wedding gift had been their code for Mila since his marriage was arranged. How could he go from recognizing her involvement to asking about her imprisonment?
Suddenly everything came together with terrifying clarity.
Where in the world was Anthiese?
Celica had trouble discerning how long she had been in the underground tunnels. There was no natural lighting to indicate if it was night or day. No people going about their daily routine. For all she knew she could have been unconscious for centuries, and spend another few running around in circles. The only way to prove herself wrong, would be if she kept pressing forward regardless.
On one hand the solitude was, all things considered, welcomed-she still felt too fuzzy to attempt any stealth maneuvers. On the other hand though, the further she ventured, the further she felt unmoored from the rest of the world. When she first descended down here, she had mostly followed the pain in her brand. Without its guide, she had no idea where to go.
After what felt like ages wandering in the darkness, Celica found a green feather lying at a crossroads. Immediately she ran up to it, as if it were a talisman that might save her soul. And while even under closer scrutiny, she couldn't discern anything further about the feather, she noticed a fresh set of claw marks on the rightmost wall. Whether intentional or not, the Earth Mother had not completely abandoned her. And so despite all odds, Celica allowed herself to believe in the hope that she would not stay lost forever, that if she was meant to die, it wasn't here.
For a moment, it seemed as if her hopes weren't for nothing. In time her makeshift trail of plumage and scratches brought her to an room so warmly lit, it almost blinded her. Something about that orange glow tugged at Celica's heart strings. The relief was so great, she almost believed she might be able to truly love Rigel. That she'd never need anything ever again, and she'd be good and obedient if it meant staving off the dread that seemed poised to swallow her whole. She couldn't help but run to the light without looking back.
However as her vision adjusted, any comfort she had managed to dream up, evaporated in an instant.
From the slick marble tile and high-vaulted ceilings, she could tell that this once was a place of grand splendor. There was a strange nostalgia to the splintered benches and crumbling columns, but she found her gaze being drawn mostly to the broken slab at the far end of the hall. It was hard to say, but perhaps if she put all her attention to reconstructing what it could have been, then maybe the stench of death and decay would fade away. Things would go back to the way they were supposed to be, and she wouldn't have to live in this nightmare anymore.
Celica didn't realize she had continued wandering forward until she tripped and found herself on the cool floor. Blankly, she checked to see what had made her fall. She expected to find a loose stone or cracked board, but instead a limp, bruised arm laid sprawled across the path. When it twitched, she could help but shriek.
However rather than reach out and grab her, the arm did nothing but spasm weakly. Instead the true source of life came from the groan that echoed across the room. She followed the arm to find the source to be Jedah of all people, crushed under a pile of rubble.
"Anthiese...is that really you?" His words were slurred and difficult to make out. The only sign of life on his blood-crusted face was the slight tremor of his lip as he spoke.
Celica shivered. His choked voice made her blood run so cold, her tongue felt frozen in place. She tried her best to get away from the horrid sound, but in the process of trying to push herself up, Falchion clattered against the floor with a piercing ring.
"That sword!" He gasped. Quickly Celica picked it back up, a new possessiveness overwhelming her, but he seemed content to simply follow the light that bounced off the blade. "...that's why he forsook us. You used our own tools to conquer us."
"My intention has never been to conquer Rigel." Celica spat.
"Look around you. Duma's Faithful have been on death row for the longest time. This is just the noose finally tightening around our neck. Now your goddess can reign completely."
Again Celica remembered the sensation of Mila's claws on her chin. She wondered if she looked closely, how many other corpses she might find. She wondered if their bodies would carry the same wounds as her.
"Perhaps this is Duma's last lesson..." Jedah mused. "In my arrogance, I thought I had tamed you thoroughly enough. Let that boy influence me too much. Now you shall be our undoing."
Celica's skin crawled. As much as her hatred for him hadn't diminished in the slightest, she did not want to watch him die. Even as she tried to look away, she couldn't stop from noticing all the blood stains that lined the walls. Just how many other corpses were hiding among this room? How much blood would stain her hands before Mila's rampage ended?
"I didn't want this." Celica whispered-as if any of that mattered at this point.
When what remained of Jedah's life began to fade away-she found herself closing her eyes and raising her face towards heaven. If it was a prayer, then she only prayed her drumming heartbeat would drown out his dying gasps.
When she heard a group of soldier shout for her arrest, she didn't resist.
News of Anthiese didn't get to him until late that night. After Berkut found him, he passed Alm off to Massena for a more formal coronation. Even if Rigel Castle hadn't been in such a dismal state, succession had become a fraught topic since Father ascended to the throne. Up until now, every heir had been required to be blessed by the Duma Faithful before they could rule. In theory such a thing shouldn't be necessary now that the Emperor also doubled as head of the Church, but wars had been fought over more insignificant details in the past. As a result, Alm spent most of his day signing documents and sending letters, certain Jedah would interrupt him at any moment. When sunset came and there was still no attempt of a coup, Massena finally bestowed Alm his crown and declared him emperor.
The only witnesses were General Zeke and his wife.
Alm was escorted back to his old chambers afterwards. In theory, they'd have a more public ceremony tomorrow, so it be better if he looked like he had at least gotten an hour or two of sleep. Still even his study had not escaped the day untouched. A pile of notes the height of his forearm laid on top his desk, all addressed to Emperor Albein Alm Rudolf II.
Despite the hour, he still felt the vast emptiness from the morning, somehow too exhausted for sleep. So he tried to do what he thought a chosen hero should do. He lit a candle and went to work.
Anthiese' report was nestled in between a record of civilian deaths and an estimate charge for castle repairs. He'd be lying if he acted as if he hadn't be thinking of her all day, but he forced himself to read the paper at the same detached pace as every other piece.
It claimed that the lost princess had been found in Duma Temple, next to Father Jedah's wasting body. Considering the number of Duma Faithful found dead, she was currently being imprisoned on charges for mass murder. However most of the corpses had been found under rubble and other debris; the report argued it was unlikely she had been the only one responsible. The only piece of evidence she could have been involved was the sword she had been found with.
Alm read the last sentence over. Then he read it again and again, until the words started to blur before his eyes. He pushed the document away and took a deep breath. He tried to hope against hope.
He pulled out the charges for repairs. He read the first line of figures. Then he crumpled it into a ball and headed for the dungeons.
On his journey downwards, Alm couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he made this trip. If he had reported first to Father as expected, would he still be here today? As illogical as it sounded, he couldn't stop from trying to pinpoint everything went wrong, when Father's demise had been locked in place.
"Promise me you won't let her lead you astray."
That had been some of his last words. And yet despite everything, when Alm thought of Anthiese, he still imagined her flushed face and the sensation of her lips against his eyelids. He didn't want to open his eyes, see what she must really think of him when not performing for his pleasure.
This time there was no forcing his way in. The minute the guard saw him, she immediately stepped aside and gave a deep bow. "Is this going to be a private interrogation?" She asked while handing him the keys. And maybe this was another mistake, another point of no return he was damning himself to, but he wanted the two of them to be honest for once, about Mila and everything in between.
"Yes," He answered. And by the time the door slammed shut, she had all but disappeared down the hall.
A long time ago, Father had told him that the worst thing an Emperor could do, was appear anxious. Any physical tics or irregular breathing could turn into a terrible tell for enemies to exploit. Therefore, Alm took his time facing Anthiese, slowly inhaling and exhaling until the rise in his chest was barely noticeable.
When he finally looked up he found her curled up on the floor wearing a torn set of his shirt and trousers. Shackles chained her to the wall, only allowing a short range of movement, yet even that amount of freedom made him uneasy. He struggled to predict what might occur if she got her hands on him.
"Wake up," Alm ordered.
He struggled to trust what might occur if he got his hands on her.
The only sign of life she showed was the singular cold eye that peeked out behind her curtain of hair. She looked less like the alluring temptress from the night before and more like a stray hound.
"Most of the time, the high judge is the one to lay out the case, but just this once, I'm going to give you the chance to explain yourself." He tried to speak with Father's commanding presence.
Anthiese tilted her head to the side. For a moment she just stared. Then a sickening giggle began to scratch its way out of her throat.
"How nice. Do I get to choose the method of execution as well?"
Alm's eyes narrowed. "I'd stop the jokes if I were you. The high judge lost his wife this morning. He's not likely to have much sympathy for you."
Anthiese stopped giggling. "Do you have sympathy for me?"
His brand ached at her words, as if it was just now being etched into his skin. He wondered if perhaps it was something like an infected wound, slowly spreading to the rest of him.
"Don't mock my mercy," He took a step forward, ignoring the pain. "Do you even realize what you've done? What wielding that blade means?"
"I'm not an idiot." She blew a strand of hair out of her face. "I know you already know about the temple and how much blood they say is on my hands. What's the use in asking for my story?"
"A man is supposed to think the best of his wife." His words caught on something sharp inside of himself. "An orphaned king must be the loneliest creature in the world. If possible, I don't want to lose you too."
"That's your problem," Anthiese snapped. "You've forgotten Jedah's warnings. How could a Zofian woman be anything but duplicitous and selfish? It doesn't matter if you pamper her with flowers, you can't change nature." She leaned forward and bared her teeth. "You should have locked me up our wedding night."
Alm could feel his blood hum through his body. It felt like an entire colony wasps was needling at his skin, wanting to burst clean from his body and swarm. Images of a manor in the woods he did not want to think about flooded his mind.
"Tell me you didn't know you were doing." He begged. For a moment he believed that was all they needed to return to the magic of their night together.
Anthiese pushed herself up so that they were eye level. "I rather watch the continent burn than become anything resembling my mother."
He wished he could say he was blinded with rage. He wished his body had acted as a separate creature from him. but if anything, he felt more like himself than he had all day when he slammed his fist into her cheek.
Anthiese hit the floor hard, her chin catching on a loose stone. A slow stream of blood started to dribble down her neck as Alm gasped for breath. Carefully, she picked herself up, cradling her cheek.
"Thank you, Emperor Albein-" Her voice was cold and distant. "-for finally showing me your gentle, tender care." The giggle returned louder than ever.
But despite all her best efforts, she could stop the tears that were streaming down her face.
A.N. TW for grief, death, violence against children and intimate partner violence
Well, man was last chapter a bad cliffhanger to end on. I'm real sorry for the whole two year hiatus, definitely had a lot of personal projects to focus on. Good news though, this is now the WIP at the top of my "to finish" list. At the very least, I finally feel as confident as I'll ever be with this chapter, while there are still plenty of questions to answer, I thought it important to really get this personal reactions from the two of them, I wanted to show how grief and trauma can really consume ppl in the worst ways, how it can be defined by painful absences as much as vivid hauntings.