TEN YEARS AGO
Arrangements were made to speak with King Giuseppe, despite Jeremy's frequent arguments against the idea. The King of Miria could not be dissuaded from speaking with his prior acquaintance. Grayson only saw wrongs that could be righted, treaties that could be resigned, relationships that could be mended. Elena wanted nothing less, however than to go anywhere near the Zicon castle and those who were responsible for the death of her mother. For the Gilberts had not been involved in the death of Stefan Salvatore, but there was no question that the Salvatores had killed Queen Miranda Gilbert.
Unlike Jeremy, Elena had no desire to speak up against her father's wishes and instead chose to suffer in silence as their caravan circled the outskirts of the Mirian region, passed through neighboring territory, and entered Zicon. It felt like no such trip they'd taken before. Zicon, only weeks ago, had been a lovely place to spend time. She quite enjoyed the lush training grounds and the opulent gardens that circled the palace. But now, all that joy was coated in a layer of her mother's blood. Her skin began to itch as they crossed into the Salvatore's territory, and for a moment her hands were covered in blood once more. She saw the moment replay in stark clarity, the arrow embedding itself in her mother's neck and the waterfall of blood that coated her in the seconds afterward.
She jumped back at the sight of the blood on her hands, only to blink it away—a trick of the mind. If she hadn't slipped out of holding and ran into her mother's arms, would the queen still be alive? Had the waterfall of blood been her fault? Did she share the blame just as equally with the one who'd fired the arrow? And where had her fight gone in that moment? For looking back she could only criticize herself. Longbow on her back, just within reach. Why hadn't she fought back? Sent an arrow through the neck of her mother's attacker? It did not matter her young age, she had failed.
Reminders of that failure followed her all the way to the castle. It looked exactly the same as the last time they'd visited. Elena and Stefan had read books together in the library, and she'd dueled Damon many a time—of course, losing each. As they approached, those memories fell away, only replaced by blood and carnage, the feeling of the ground shaking in the safe room. Her last conversation with Damon and the pleading and pain behind his eyes. Would she get to speak with him once more? Would he have anything more to say? Most of all, she couldn't help but worry that they were all marching to their deaths. But Grayson reminded his children many times over before they left the caravan that both he and Giuseppe had agreed to a temporary ceasefire to discuss the path forward.
They were guided from the gate to temporary quarters that had been provided for each of them, the same temporary rooms they'd always stayed in, which had an air of permanence to them before but not quite so much anymore. Now, for the first time, they actually felt temporary. Perhaps this would be their last stay.
Encouraged to keep to their rooms before dinner later in the evening, Elena began to flip through the small library of books next to the bed. Most of which Stefan had brought her over the years, always recommending something new for each of her stays. Of course, on this one, there was no new book to read at his guidance. The shelf felt wrong without. Empty.
If she slipped out, would anyone notice? Were her rooms being guarded? Only one way to find out for certain. Unlike her own castle, now in rubble, there were no passageways to sneak through, so the bright, open halls would have to do.
By the looks of the palace, one would never guess that a war had just been waged by its occupants, or that the youngest son who once resided within had recently passed. But despite this, Elena could still feel his presence everywhere. As she walked toward the library, with no guard or maid commenting on her decision, she saw nooks in which they'd hid together and windows they'd looked out, watching Zicon's soldiers training. Every inch of the castle was swathed in painful memory.
The library stood untouched, vast, with floor to ceiling bookshelves as far as the eye could see, made from mahogany with delicate and detailed carvings on the edges of the shelves. She took in the collection for a moment, running her fingers along the spines of familiar books and letting dust collect under her fingernails.
She took an older book into her hands, one she'd seen Stefan with before, but not one she'd added to her guest room's collection quite yet. Less dust collected on that one, as if Stefan had only slotted it back into its home in the library recently. Her eyes stung, but she attributed it to the dust and nothing else, refusing to allow herself more tears over matters long cried out.
Taking the book, she settled onto a settee in the loft overlooking the library, pulling a blanket up over her feet. She could almost convince herself that nothing bad had occurred within the last few weeks, that she hadn't lost her friend or her mother. That they were just visiting on vacation, and any moment Stefan would arrive to bother her about the book she'd found.
It wasn't his voice that interrupted her reading, however.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Elena snapped the book closed, lying it on the side table next to her as she forced herself upright. "Your Highness," she said, flicking her eyes upward to meet his. She even feigned a curtsy in her seat, but not without ceasing to glare at him.
They existed in silence. Elena eying him distrustfully and Damon trying to figure her out. He was always trying to figure her out. But where her gaze had once been full of feeling, full of shame for her feelings, she only felt hatred now. No shame in that.
"Have you come to kill me?" Elena asked, breaking the silence but not the eye contact. It seemed the likeliest answer. "First my mother, and then me. Is that it?" The familiar stinging pricked the bridge of her nose, but she did not let it turn to tears.
Damon's eyes softened, brows drawing together as he looked at her. "Your mother?" he asked, taking a step forward. Elena shrunk backward into the settee and he moved no further, recognizing the fear in her eyes and hating himself for it.
Just as he saw the fear in her eyes, she saw the confusion in his. Something changed in her then, the fear melting into anger. She stood up. "Your army killed her." Another step toward him. "She died in my arms." Another step and she stood right before him, fists clenched at her side, head tilted up to look him in the eye. He'd finished growing and she hadn't, but despite the height difference, she thought for a moment she might be able to take him down. Maybe the anger alone would finally grant her a win. If only she had a sword.
"Elena…" he said, tilting his head to the side, words full of sympathy she wanted nothing to do with.
Her fists only clenched tighter, nails leaving half-moons in her palm. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind her of this moment hours later. She almost wanted to draw blood, to leave scars behind. So when she sat alone in her guestroom later that night she could remember this hatred clearly. A reminder not to long for anything else.
He reached out to place a hand on her upper arm and she stepped away. "Don't," she said with a snarl.
"I didn't know," he started, searching her eyes for any sliver of recognition.
She cut him off. "You warned me that we were all in danger," she said, her voice devoid of feeling, exhaustion setting in. "You must have known something."
"Elena, you have to listen to me," Damon said, trying one more time to get through to her.
She shook her head. "No," she said, finally turning away from him. She picked the book up off the side table and brushed past him, her shoulder making contact with his upper arm as she said, "I don't," and left the room without looking back.
Hours later, a few of the Queen's maids appeared in Elena's sitting room to ready her for dinner. They coated her face in paste and powder, doing their best to cover up the dark circles under her eyes, puffy from crying. They dressed her in finery she hadn't seen the likes of since leaving her own quarters back home. A pink dress with golden accents and lace. It made her feel like a princess again instead of a girl fleeing her home. They set her hair in curlers while they worked, letting them down at the last second. She hardly looked fourteen, but more mature. Almost like her mother. She held back tears.
The lady's maids left and Elena used the opportunity to slip a few daggers beneath her skirt, never wishing to be without a weapon. A guard, unarmed and without armor collected her from the door and led her to a place atop the stairs where her father and brother waited.
Her father kissed her on the cheek, remarked upon her lovely appearance, told them both to keep their chins up and led them down the stairs into the grand dining room.
The room was sparsely decorated but remarkable nonetheless. The two families had taken meals there together quite often, but the marble columns and gold trim never ceased to amaze the young princess. Although, her amazement didn't last long when her eyes met Damon's again. She wiped the smile from her face. It didn't belong. Her father and brother bowed to the King and his son, and Elena offered a small, half-hearted curtsy. Damon and his father did not return the kindness, and the two families took their seats. The two seats belonging to the two Queens sat empty next to one another. A third empty to Damon's left.
"I am sorry my wife could not join us tonight, she has fallen quite ill after the loss of our boy. It has been difficult to rouse her. I'm sure you can understand," Giuseppe said, looking across the table at Grayson.
Grayson only nodded. "I am sorry to hear that."
They ate in silence for some time. Elena moved the food around on her plate, never taking a single bite. How easy it would have been for them to poison her in this way. That, and her appetite was small if not non-existent.
Once the plates were cleared, Elena's still full, the conversation truly began. She kept her eyes averted for most of it, knowing that looking at either of the Salvatores would only bring about that same rage she felt in the library, an anger she wished to contain for now.
Grayson started. "I know that there is much to discuss, and that we have—of course—said this before, but I do want to extend my family's greatest condolences to yours. Whether you believe us responsible for your son's death or not, we are truly sorry for his loss."
"I hoped to marry him one day," Elena said, without thinking. All eyes fell on her. "I mean, was that not the plan? Everyone talked about it as if the two of us didn't know. But we did. We joked about it often, but I think we would have been happy together."
Grayson placed a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. It did nothing to help with the pain in her chest. Nothing could.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking down at her empty place setting. "I suppose I just mean that… we all loved him very much. There has to be some mistake—"
Jeremy shot daggers sideways at her. "Elena."
"What?" she asked, that same anger bubbling up once more. "Is this not what we're meant to talk about? They think us guilty of killing our friend. My friend. What of our mother, Jeremy? Is that not enough bloodshed?" Jeremy tried to stop her, but the words kept pouring out. Grayson made no attempt, only watched with a bit of pride. "If we did have a hand in Stefan's death, wouldn't our mother's set us equal? We need not lose anyone else. Either of us." Elena huffed, out of breath.
Silence settled around their shoulders. Eyes shifted. Giuseppe and Grayson exchanging glances. Jeremy and Damon. Elena, looking only at the empty seats. Families on both sides who experienced loss. To think that Damon might have felt the same feelings she did. That perhaps his eyes stung with tears he could not cry.
"My daughter is right, Giuseppe. And we have no interest in fighting you," Grayson said, folding his hands on the table before him. "We have no home to return to. It's been destroyed. We just wish to live without continued threat to our lives."
Giuseppe put a hand on his chest. "You think we have threatened your lives? You killed my son, Grayson. Poisoned him. In front of your entire kingdom. Retaliation was required. Necessary. Lest we look weak in front of our people."
Grayson shook his head. Did her father hold the same anger in his chest that she did? Did he struggle to contain it just as much? "We both know how long it takes to travel between kingdoms. We know because we've been friends for decades. Your army could not have arrived so quickly after the news of your boy's death."
"You accuse us of what, then?" Giuseppe asked, leaning forward over his own pair of folded hands.
"I accuse you of nothing. Because we are friends, Giuseppe. I won't so quickly cast you aside no matter what has transpired. I only wish for answers. For peace," Grayson said.
Silence again crept in. Elena tensed.
Giuseppe took the napkin from his lap and dropped it on the table, pushing back his chair to stand up. "We've repaired your caravan. It will be ready for your departure in the morning." The king turned, walking away from his son and his oldest friend. Damon made to stand up as well, dismissing himself with a nod.
Grayson shot up from the table, walking after him. Too far away to hear, Elena could only watch as her father spoke calmly. Then, with widened eyes, she watched as Giuseppe turned to leave once more and as Grayson withdrew something from his coat pocket. She shot upward too late, realizing the glinting metal in his hand was a blade in the same moment that Damon did. Grayson grabbed Giuseppe from behind and slashed across his neck. Damon was just as fast and always armed with a sword.
Elena ran toward him, picking up her skirt and reaching for a dagger as Damon's longsword went through her father's back and came out just below his chest. The knife Grayson held clattered to the floor, Giuseppe dropping with it. Grayson stood for longer, turning to catch Elena's eyes before dropping to his knees. Damon withdrew the sword and her father fell forward into a puddle of his own blood.
Dagger forgotten under her skirt, she dropped to her knees next to her father, more blood soaking another dress. She flipped him over and he sputtered as she pressed her hands to his wound, knowing even then that it was too late but unable to stop herself from trying anyway. Blood pooled around both bodies, the blood of old friends mingling. Together in death even if they could not be during the last dregs of life.
"Please, no," Elena begged. "Don't close your eyes. Don't go."
Jeremy was behind her, looping an arm around her stomach and hauling her upward saying, "We need to go."
On her feet, her eyes found Damon again, standing stock still with the blade in his hand. The sword coated in her father's blood. His eyes didn't meet hers, only stared into space, shocked by the carnage that unfolded before him—because of him.
Elena thrashed in Jeremy's arms, screaming. "You did this!" She managed to locate one of the daggers underneath her skirt. "Look at me!" she screamed at him, begging for his attention. Jeremy only hauled her further and further away as she continued to kick and scream. She threw her dagger and Damon watched as it soared toward him, sinking into his thigh. He did not react. "I'll kill you for this!" she screamed again. Jeremy finally dragged her out of the room, her screams turning to sobs as she went limp in his arms.
A/N: NGL this one made ME so emotional so I hope you guys enjoy it. Really loved having a full chapter in the present before this and then this full chapter in the past. Really really excited for the next one! Aim for the Heart will update soon.