Chapter Text
The fanfare was deafening as Nicholas watched himself in the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of the royal purple tunic he had on. Why did they have to announce every damn royal? Prince Iah of the Unending Desert, Princess Ysra of The Night Maid’s Castle and the newly wedded King Symon and Queen Briar of The Witch Queen’s Castle all made appearances. Nicholas was sure that on an ordinary evening he would have greeted them all warmly, asked them about their kingdoms and their travels, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself that night. He instead remained glued to the mirror. He drowned out the familiar names that droned through the halls. Nobles he knew, and some he didn’t, poured into the main hall where the wedding was to be held. Most weddings were held in the houses of worship before The Nine Good Gods, but, for reasons he didn’t agree to or approve of, royal weddings were considered beyond even the scrutiny of the Gods.
Nicholas didn’t think his crown quite fit him when he looked at it like this. It sat too high on his head. It exhibited confidence and composure, which he knew he lacked that day. He should have been happy. It was his wedding day. He had always dreamed of it, in that silly childish way that most people did. He modelled most of his expectations of love on his parents, on their bond that clearly transcended all illnesses of the mind and body, even death itself. The young prince had always wanted a love like that, and he thought he had it with his mystery woman – until she was found.
Now he didn’t know what it was about her, what it was that felt so wrong, but somewhere deep down he wasn’t sure if he believed that this was the woman he danced with. Tadius had seemed enraged when he returned to the palace that night, announcing that he brought with him the lady who fit the shoe. His tone portrayed a familiarity with the woman he now led inside. Nicholas’ heart jumped for the briefest moment. Ella, from the river, could she have been the missing part of him that had gotten away? He still blamed Tadius for what happened, but he didn’t know in what capacity yet. Nicholas had begun to envision Ella walking through those doors. He still wondered why he hadn’t remembered her in the moment but the starlight that clouded his mind began to make sense. He had felt something like that under her skin when he held her hand for that brief moment. When he held her face… He wished he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. The ladies of House Ashmore had followed Tadius inside that night, claiming the eldest twin daughter, Putrice, as the woman he had danced with. The shoe fit her; it had to be her. But nothing felt right. There was no starlight under her skin. It was cold.
Nicholas could admit that she was very beautiful. She was genuine too, not seeming to hold strictly to royal standards of politeness. He liked that enough about her. But something pulled at the back of his mind, something told him that this was wrong. Putrice always had a faraway look on her face, like she was fending off unpleasant thoughts. He also had noticed the way her mother hung around her, never letting her out of her sight. That woman put him on edge. Putrice intrigued him but he didn’t find it in him to care. He knew that this was wrong, this wasn’t his mystery, and he didn’t want to marry her.
But he didn’t get a chance to express that as Tadius arrived at his side, giving him a quick look over with eyes that exhibited the disdain he tried to mask in the rest of his expression. The attendant wore his simple formalwear. He still refused to wear the colours of his king and country, opting for red rather than purple. Nicholas would never force him to sever allegiances with his home, but he still found it strange on his wedding day.
‘Your highness, we’re all waiting for you.’ Tadius hummed in his typical way, disinterested but with a hint of judgement. ‘Your father won’t be attending the ceremony, but he has requested to see yourself and your bride after.’ He said it like it was an inconvenience to him. Inconvenient that Nicholas had wanted to see his father on his wedding day.
‘I see.’ Nicholas sighed softly as he looked at his advisor, at his grim expression. ‘Thank you, Tadius, I appreciate it.’ He meant that genuinely. He knew that, for all Tadius’ flaws and consistent misgivings about him, he would be nowhere without him. Or at least he felt that way. He felt like he always needed someone to be holding his hand, to be telling him what was right. They had made him feel that way.
‘Of course, sir.’ Tadius smiled thinly, it looked completely wrong on his face. ‘Now, your betrothed is waiting, we must go.’ He swept his arm toward the hall, to the source of the gentle music and talking. The fanfare had ended as all the royals got settled in the pews. It was truly the wedding to end all others, everything decorated as lavishly as possible. It was a most joyous day, wasn’t it?
Tadius didn’t think so, much like his sovereign. He saw all of this as a waste, another act of self-worship from the Chaumbrelaynes, a family too weak for the position they inherited. He saw them all as arrogant, especially Nicholas. Tadius saw little value in the prince as more than a figurehead. He was reckless and ruled by his desires. Tadius compared the two of them often in his own head. He fancied himself a measured man. He was cunning and not lacking in wit. He prided himself on both of those facts. The advisor saw himself as the only reason anything got done within those four walls. He didn’t think any of the royals would survive without him. Well, the king wasn’t going to live much longer anyway.
Yet, as Tadius led Nicholas to the altar; to await his bride, his thoughts were taken by something much less cynical. He found himself with similar doubts to his prince. The woman set to inherit the title of princess and, one day, queen. Tadius had been certain of very few things about the woman from the ball. They had shared the briefest of interactions, yet he was sure his loyalty lay with her. She was intelligent, brighter than he had expected. The terseness in her voice when she spoke to him, it called to him. She was finally someone he saw as worthy of his time. She had seemed small at times, lost in thought. He found it maddening in a delightful way. But this wasn’t the mystery woman, he was sure. Putrice Ashmore was like every other woman he had encountered on his search. She was desperate for the title, and she disgusted him. Her mother and sister were worse. Their gaudy clothing and forced smiles unnerved him. They were like the worst traits he could find in the women of Bogs Hollow all rolled into one.
Putrice was not the woman from the ball, he was sure of that. But the shoe fit, and he couldn’t find it in himself to particularly care who the prince married. It was better this way. Tadius may have strangled Nicholas if he married the woman instead of him. Luckily, all he had left to do was watch as the peculiar pair now at the altar exchanged their vows. He had little idea what awaited him once they were pronounced husband and wife.
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Putrice should have been happy, her mother was. She could tell from the awful, rasping laughter that filled the great halls of the Old King’s Castle. Her mother ascended to her feet from her place in the pews, followed by Rancilda. Putrice noticed her sister’s hand shaking, they knew what they had to do. Putrice took a careful step away from the prince, the man she had just married. It didn’t mean anything to her really, not with him, but the pageantry was something she had always wanted. Maybe love was too. She pretended to not notice Prince Nicholas wiping his mouth after she kissed him. She knew she wasn’t the woman he was expecting, even with the magical deception, that was Ella. It was always her. Putrice wished that didn’t hurt her.
Her hands carded beneath her own hair, the excessive curls that fell about her shoulders. She reached for the seam, the one that would reveal her true form. She much preferred this, living like the humans did, Rancilda didn’t feel the same way so maybe it was Putrice who was wrong. She was always wrong, wasn’t she? This was right, the terror in the prince’s eyes was right. The reign of men was over. Putrice let the skin suit fall away, drinking in the sounds of terror from the assembled nobles. None of them were prepared for what happened next.
Putrice watched as her mother lunged for a couple of royals from foreign lands who tried to run for their lives. Her claws cut into their skin like it was nothing, of course they were no match for a troll as their eviscerated forms flew across the room in a wide arc, spraying all those unfortunate enough to be in attendance with blood. The troll way had always been a simple one; in many ways the human way was too. Putrice understood her mother’s wants to be apart of the human world, she wanted that to, but her mother’s way was violent and indulgent. Why could they not live separately? Or peacefully if they must live alongside each other? Putrice didn’t quite know as she followed her orders, rounding on Nicholas, who backed away with wide eyes.
‘No, no!’ Nicholas screamed in fright as Putrice backed him toward a wall, the troll looming over him. The prince fumbled for the ceremonial sword attached to his hip, but he couldn’t get a solid grip upon it. Putrice wanted to make his death quick, painless. It wouldn’t help much; his last moments were already filled with horror. Putrice let her jaws fall open, ready to tear his head from his body. They were technically married, it was tradition. The prince muttered prayers to himself as he closed his eyes tight.
The Gods must’ve truly been good. Right before Putrice shut her own eyes and decapitated the prince, she heard a cry from across the room, Rancilda. She turned quickly. Her sister was in trouble; her mother’s orders didn’t matter. Putrice had always been the protector. Rancilda wasn’t as completely beholden to their mother’s will, she still had her own spirit. Putrice envied that, but she would hate it even more if her sister was like her. A few guards had managed to get themselves together enough to draw their swords and lunge at Rancilda. She may have been a troll, but she was the smallest of the three.
Putrice rushed across the hall, losing sight of the prince as he ran. She didn’t quite care. If she had to hurt others, then let it be to save the people she cared about. Her mother would never feel the same way. The hulking troll looked over at her mother, at the way she was tearing apart one noble after the next.
The reign of Elric Chaumbrelayne had come to an end. It was now the age of Mawd Ashmore.
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‘Hurry up, you idiot!’ Tadius hissed as he ran from the palace, down the stairs and toward the forest. He had noticed the prince following him from the hall. He hadn’t cared what became of his prince in all honesty. His survival mattered more than Nicholas’. He let his mask fully slip as distress overwhelmed him. Blood was streaked across his clothing and face.
‘What on earth was that?!’ Nicholas shouted as he followed his attendant, eyes still wide in anguish. He knew his wedding wouldn’t be ideal, but he hadn’t expected it to go up in flames in the way that it did. ‘Tadius, we have to go back!’ He insisted although his feet carried him forward, guilt consumed him.
‘No.’ The advisor whirled around, grabbing the royal’s arm with bruising force. ‘If you go back, you’ll die, which, if that’s your desire, then go ahead!’ His voice was cruel and forceful. The trolls’ façades weren’t the only ones that had fallen.
‘How dare you talk to me like that!’ Nicholas raised his voice as well, spurred on by the other man’s anger as they trudged into the woods. They walked together though they fought viciously. Their long-hidden hatred being brought to the surface. ‘I’m your prince, you’ll address me with respect!’ He was cut off with a sharp laugh.
‘Considering you just lost your crown and throne; I wouldn’t call you a prince at all.’ Tadius’ voice was exacting and condescending as they struggled through the underbrush. ‘You don’t deserve the title you hold, Nicholas.’ He spat those words. It pained Nicholas more than anything else. For the first time Tadius had said his name, it was much less pleasant than he imagined.
Nicholas couldn’t find a response as they reached a clearing, the one by the creek. It felt like they were being watched. He could hear a soft croaking and squeaking from nearby. It reminded him of what the guards had been saying, the frog knight. Given what he had just seen, anything was possible. It was late, the forest hummed with life. Nicholas tried to ignore the hot, painful tears in his eyes. His father was still in the palace.
‘What do we do?’ Nicholas’ voice was hollow as he looked at Tadius. The other man was pacing, catching his breath and glaring at the dirt. ‘Tadius. Please, what do we do?!’ He stepped closer to his advisor who snapped his head to look at him.
‘I don’t know!’ He shouted before being cut off by the castle bells. They still tolled, though now it was much less of a signal of the day ending, it was a signal of the age itself ending. But, as midnight tolled, something else happened.
Nicholas and Tadius looked at the grand oak tree as the bark fractured and snapped with a deafening sound. Animals around them cried and screamed. The croaking and squeaking got even louder. It petrified them both, calling a temporary end to their argument. The tree seemed to split in two as a figure emerged, covered in silver, white and starlight itself. The figure stood in a brilliant white cloak, drowning its form in excessive fabric. A veil lay upon the figures head, pearls and jewels fell in front of its face. Then its eyes snapped up.
There, before Nicholas and Tadius, stood Ella Ashmore, the mystery woman and the reawakened saviour of the lands. Well, saviour may have been pushing it. She was bathed in a beautiful light, coming from the tree itself. The jewelled veil melted away into her natural hair, still in the updo she had at the ball – the same as when her life had been taken too soon. The white cloak became a simple cape about her shoulders, the dress beneath becoming a knee-length silvery-blue. In her hand was a simple broadsword, pointed at the ground where the two men could now see something else.
Her legs were not that of a human anymore. They danced with starlight though they were simple glass, the tree behind her visible through them. She was flanked by the creatures that had haunted the guards. The frog stood to her shoulder, own sword drawn and a child-size mouse scuttled to stand on Ella’s other side. She was a vision of power and unsung rage.
‘How?’ Nicholas’ voice was weak, enchanted… It was scared most of all. But when her eyes met his, he felt his fear eclipsed by how striking he found her. He trusted her.
‘I vowed I wouldn’t die before my revenge was done.’ Ella’s voice was as gentle as he remembered, his memories flooding back to him. There was an edge to her tone. ‘And I’m not done yet.’