Leaving the tavern and mounting her horse once more devastated the former princess. If only the king had understood her plight, had cared enough to respond. But it was difficult to remember, even in ten years time, that the man on Zicon's throne was not the same boy she'd danced with on that very last night. No, this was a man who held a throne through fear alone, who proudly let the crown rest on his head while doling out more and more damage to the continent. This was not the person she'd had a crush on years ago, the person she'd wanted more than anything to be seen by. This was a monster. And perhaps it was a good thing that he didn't wish to see her. It dampened that last hope deep in her chest, the last spark that thought, just maybe, she could save him.
She sat atop her horse, stroking his mane for a few moments, lost in thought, before she finally urged him forward, into the heart of Miria. The kingdom looked nothing like it had ages ago, and although she'd heard the stories, it was something else entirely to see it in person.
Very few buildings remained completely intact. Some were missing entire sections of stone and others had large holes in their roofs. The ones that still stood whole had scorched walls and broken windows. War had come through this town ten years ago, and the people had never recovered. The village she rode through was silent aside from the sound of her horse's hooves hitting cobblestone. Windows were empty of light, and moss grew thick over the roads in patches. No carts or wagons passed through anymore.
Elena hadn't gotten out of the castle much before everything happened. She stayed mostly inside the palace walls. Most of the time when she left, it was with her entire family and their guard in tow, to visit the Salvatores. Trips to town to speak with the common folk were few and far between, but even in passing, she knew the town had never looked like this. At one point, they'd been bustling and active, with merchant stands lining the road and lantern light in the windows. Now they were only cold and empty and aching, akin to her heart.
Sentimentality, however, would not help with this journey. Thinking about all that had been lost only drove her forward. For if Damon refused to speak with her on principle, he would have to turn her down in person.
A flicker of light from atop a half-fallen tower caught her attention and an arrow wreathed in flame flew toward her before she had the chance to recognize it for what it was. At the last second, she tugged on the horse's reigns, pulling him to one side, narrowly missing the attack. The next, coming from a building on the opposite side of the street, landed deep in her shoulder just to the left of her breastplate, sending her toppling off the horse. She hit the dirt heavy and hard with a grunt and considered staying there and letting Damon's men—because they couldn't have been anyone else—finish her off.
But if she'd learned anything over the past ten years, it's that hiding got her absolutely nowhere. She was out in the streets on a mission, and that meant taking fights head on. Hiding and letting Damon and his men strike, well, it had only ever gotten her loved ones killed. It was time for a new strategy.
In one quick motion, Elena jumped to her feet with her bow drawn. She scanned the rooftops, waiting for someone to expose themselves. With eyes narrowed, she caught a flurry of movement to her right, and let the arrow fly. Grabbing another out of the sheath on her back, she released it toward the archer on the left who'd struck her. She couldn't hear the bodies fall, but no more arrows were sent in her direction. The overwhelming pain of the arrow in her shoulder nearly cowed her then, but she had no choice but to keep going.
She placed a hand at the base of the arrow, holding it firm where it split her skin. Removing it was not an option. The blood was staunched now but would flow freely once opened. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped both hands around the shaft of the arrow, keeping the hand closest to her skin as steady as possible while she snapped off the end with her other hand. The arrow shifted, but she stifled the yelp that crept up her throat.
Silence fell over the village, and Elena took the opportunity to lead her horse between two buildings, tying him to a post. She left him there to skirt around the back of the building, bow on her back once more, fingers itching for the daggers holstered on her thigh. At the base she'd hidden away at on the Northern side of the continent, there had been nothing but time. Time Elena had almost exclusively used to train. Jeremy hadn't allowed her to step foot out of hiding, but she knew there would come a time in her life much like this one, and now? She was grateful for all those moments spent sparring with the guards behind Jeremy's back.
Real combat differed from her training, as she'd quickly learned by the thumping of her heart, rattling as it tried to escape the confines of her chest. Elena put her hands on the cold stone wall behind her, attempting to steady herself. Why were Damon's people still trying to kill her, still trying to extinguish any fraction of the Gilbert name? She had no power left, no ability to lead a kingdom with no one behind her, no soldiers to form an army, no authority to command the people. She was not a threat, but perhaps that was what made her one.
But without a plan, without anyone to help her? One perfectly placed arrow would be the end of her, the end of the Gilberts finally and for good. That thought alone kept her back pressed to the stone for longer than she'd ever admit—if she ever had anyone to admit anything to ever again. Perhaps the horse. He was a good listener, after all.
Her deep breaths were cut off by the sound of rattling armor and heavy footfalls. A battalion, but how many soldiers within she could not guess. It only made her heart beat faster and she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a second more, letting out a shaky deep breath before she pushed off the wall and kept moving.
She came to a half-fallen stone wall at the back of one of the houses and snuck inside. The inside horrified her more than the outside had. Scorch marks on the interior walls and piles of ashes all around. They had taken not only to the streets but to the kitchens, the bedrooms, the nurseries. But why? Had all of this been to find her family? Or had it been in punishment, for supporting them in the first place?
Walking through the debris, she pulled back a half-shredded curtain marred with burn marks to look through the cloudy window. A battalion of at least fifty soldiers walked in rows through the street. Some atop horses but most by foot, all clad in shining golden armor, new and expensive. Did they seek her out? Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight braid and pinned to the crown of her head, the heavy cloak's hood still pulled up over it, shielding much of her face. Had the archers identified her, or had they been instructed to shoot anyone who walked through the streets? How had they known to look for her, if so, and how had they known it was her? There were many questions left unanswered, none of which made her feel comfortable standing in the grave of a family who'd fallen for hers.
Shuffling footsteps and a small voice whispering, "Psst," tore the princess away from the window. She turned but saw no one. The voice whispered again, and with a slight movement to her left, Elena finally saw a pair of eyes peering through a crack in the wall.
Elena walked over to her as slowly as possible, trying to keep her own armor from rattling and giving them both away.
"I can help you," the voice said, a small feminine voice whose eyes were deep set and golden, her cheeks coated in charcoal or dirt, Elena could not tell.
Elena nodded. Getting out of the small village now would be an issue, to say the least. Certainly, her horse had already been found, and if they really took an interest in her specifically, how long would it be before they started combing through the buildings looking for the person who'd gotten away after maiming or killing two of their archers?
The small voice continued. "You'll have to go back outside. The way you came. Knock three times at the back door so I know it's you. Like this," she said, then knocked on the stone between them twice, left a beat of silence, and then knocked once more. "Got it?"
"Got it," Elena said, nodding firmly. If Jeremy were still alive, he'd certainly have made some comment about her reckless behavior and how no one else outside their family could have been trusted in times like these. But she had no choice. Either she made a move now and got herself killed, or she waited out the soldiers and got herself killed when they started looking for the horseback rider. Or even worse, she'd bleed out from the wound that still stung. The only option was to hope, which thankfully, Elena was good at.
When she slipped out of the half-destroyed building, she waited for a moment at the edge of the alley before crossing quick and careful. Unseen. There was no sight of the girl who had spoken to her through the cracks, only an empty alleyway and the sounds of soldiers in the streets. At the door, she knocked twice, left a beat of silence, and then knocked a third time. A key turned in the lock on the other side, and the door opened inward to reveal an equally devastating home. While the interior didn't face the same destruction as the house next door, this one was overgrown with moss and mushrooms.
"Over here," the girl said, and Elena turned her head to see a small child behind the open door. She couldn't have been any older than ten, with dark hair tied back and dirtied clothes. After closing the door, the girl walked across the room and pulled back an absolutely filthy rug. Below it was a hatch, which she opened to reveal a wooden ladder that descended into darkness. Horrifying, but the only option as the soldiers encroached.
TEN YEARS AGO
For hours Elena sat in her chamber alone, dispatched from the meeting with her parents and the other nobles to await further news. Bonnie and Caroline sat at a table in the center of the room playing a card game Elena had never quite figured out, while she stood at the foot of her bed, throwing daggers into the headboard. Thunk, one sank into the wood just off-center. Her lids fluttered closed for a second, releasing a long deep breath. There was something absurdly satisfying about ruining the perfect painted wood of the headboard, so clean and white with a sparkling silver dagger embedded in it. Her fingers twitched with nerves. Waiting had never been her strong suit. She'd wished more than anything to be amongst the king's guard investigating the previous night's occurrence. What good was a princess when she was relegated to her room, anyway?
She threw another dagger, but this one clanged uselessly off the stone behind the headboard, clattering to the ground. Elena stalked across the room, picking up the fallen dagger and pulling the one out of the center of the headboard. Pacing back to the foot of the bed, she readied her form, remembering everything that Damon had taught her.
"You're going to split that thing right down the middle," Bonnie said, not bothering to look up from the cards.
Caroline shot a sharp glance at the other lady's maid, and with a hushed tone that was not all that quiet said, "Her friend just died. Let her destroy the headboard if she really wants to."
"She wants to," Elena muttered, readying her arm to throw another dagger. A split second before releasing the dagger, the castle walls shook, sending her off balance. The dagger went wide, sinking into the top of a side table.
"What was that?" Caroline asked, turning to look at Elena, who shook her head. Before anyone could take a breath, someone pounded on the door to her chambers. The three girls jumped up and exited her bedroom to file into the common room. Caroline pulled open the door.
The princess' royal guard stood firmly in front of the door, flanked by two other guards in full plate armor, ready for something, the likes of which she could hardly comprehend. "Your Highness," her guard addressed her, bowing only slightly—which truly signified the urgency of the matter. "The castle is under siege, you are to be escorted to a safe room at once."
Elena, in a dressing gown with a dagger strapped to her thigh, looked behind her at the shocked faces of her lady's maids, then back to the guard before her, who'd protected her for as long as she could remember. "What about them?" she asked, always thinking about someone else before herself.
"Their families are here. Safe rooms are available for them, as well. But we must go now, your highness."
"Okay," Elena said, nodding fervently and trying not to let the fear betray her calm exterior. She stepped out of the room and beckoned her ladies to follow. The six of them, and more guards behind, made a quick path to the lower levels of the castle where the stone smelled of must and moss, with a dampness in the air that made the young princess wish to cover her nose.
"Over this way, Your Highness," Elena's royal guard said, motioning her to follow as one of the other guards broke off to lead her maids in another direction. She looked back at them for a moment, offering a brave smile. Unable to find the words, she turned back toward her guard and nodded, ready to be led away from her friends, with hope she would see them soon enough.
The safe room was a small stone room a level underneath the castle with a heavy metal door and reinforced stone bricks. There were two stacked beds on each side of the room, and a few places to sit scattered here and there. Rations in plain wooden crates crowded the room even more. The queen crossed the small room immediately, cupping Elena's face in her hands. "You're alright?" she asked, checking her daughter over for injury.
"Yes," Elena nodded. "What happened?" She looked from her mother's worried face to her father's concerned one and Jeremy's absent one—they were all safe, at least.
Her mother looked at her with soft, kind eyes, and a look Elena was all too familiar with that said, I'm not sure how to explain this to a child. From behind, the king rose and said, "King Giuseppe's army has ambushed the castle."
Her brows furrowed. "How?" This all seemed much too fast for an invasion. Stefan had only died the previous night and the trip between their castles took at least a week. Their army must have been lying in wait, but why?
The king shook his head. He'd been turning the same dilemma over in his mind for much time, it seemed. Giuseppe was his oldest friend. For a moment, she wondered if maybe her father had betrayed them, if his men had killed Stefan—but she knew her father. She knew his kindness, and she'd seen the sadness in his eyes when speaking about Stefan's death. They all mourned him as a part of their family. So why could Giuseppe not see that they were innocent?
King Grayson, because he was more king than her father in that moment, said, "We were set up."