Chapter Text
PROLOGUE: 1192 A.D
She sits patiently, waiting for the two men to cross the door to the fortress as she has already allowed. Viktor is the first to reach her, having gone through the winding halls already, and greets her with a hug. She points to one of the six empty seats around the throne, which would normally be occupied by her council. Honouring an allegiance that goes back for many generations, he takes a seat to her right as she goes to sit on her throne.
The other man is not offered a seat. He has less presence, even though his appearance is far more intriguing. Red hair is an unusual trait this far south from the Great Islands, but only slightly more peculiar than the name he offers as means of introduction. Corvinus, after all, no longer inspires the same feeling of reverence as it did centuries before, when the head of the house was Astos and not Alexander Corvinus. Amelia stoically endures the formalities, letting out a tiny, quiet sigh of relief when the matter at hand is finally addressed. She, having inherited the kingdom only a year ago, doesn't yet understand the value of such beaurocratic behaviour. She listens patiently as both men, in a new-formed allegiance, retell Markus Corvinus' saving of Lord Viktor from the cold clutches of death. She scoffs and assumes they are being presumptuous when bragging about enhanced strength, and interrupts to inform them of her disbelief, but accepts defeat when Viktor's hitherto weak fist collides with, and shatters, a thick wooden beam.
After a long discussion that revolves around the present situation, and after only a moment's hesitation and a brief reminder of the cause of her father's death, she finally nods her consent, and Markus approaches her, baring pointed fangs.
She regrets the decision once the burning begins. It's like liquid fire rushing through her veins. Her vision sways, and she falls unceremoniously to the floor. For moments, she sees her surroundings in colors she never knew existed. However, her eyelids cover her toxic green irises too quickly, and she continues to writhe on the hard stone floor. She rolls over and curls in on her stomach, which feels as though it's being ripped from her body. The heels of her hands are pressed against her closed eyes, in an attempt to diminish the throbbing in them.
From numb lips, the princess gasps, her chest heaving, and finally manages to glance up at the two men, with eyes that are now hazel, now pure green. She seeks guidance in the one who has stood by her side this whole time, and clenches her teeth to ward off the pain.
"You'll live, princess," Viktor says, and those words bring him huge relief, but the only thing she sees right now are his pale blue eyes instead of the brown ones she knows him to have. Her gaze does not waver from his, even as the edges of her vision turn dark and she finally slips into blessed unconsciousness.