Chapter Text
~ Prologue ~
Where there is war, there is blood. Anastasia just didn't expect it to be her father's. Fifteen hundred of each kingdom's most prestigious nobles occupied the stands that evening. The two warring kingdoms had come together to witness one thing, the death of a king. The goddess, dressed in silver silk, paced the length of their loge. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, like a prisoner gripping the bars of their cell. Ten years of war, all leading up to this final moment, a duel of emperors.
It all started when the Yuburg Kingdom attacked. Anastasia was a mere six at the time, but she couldn't keep the memory of hiding in the grimy dungeon out of her head. Theo, her little brother, tucked under her arm with his face buried in her side. Bleeding, Calloused hands stretched between the bars, hoping to catch a lock of hair or thread of clothing from the royal's ambiance. Looking back, the dungeon would have been the safest place for the siblings to hide if the castle was overrun, but at that moment the only thing going through Anastasia's head was terror.
"Relax," Theo said, settling into the smaller throne left of their father's "Father is a great warrior, and King Silas is nothing but a pig. We should be celebrating, this is the end of the war after all."
Anastasia slid into her own cushioned seat, neatly tucking a strand of spiraled black hair behind her ear.
"I know Father can fight well, but I'd be lying if I said this is a good idea. We already had the upper hand in the war, why must we wager it all on a duel? It's absurd."
"Come on Ana, you know why, he didn't want to sacrifice anyone else to the war."
The princess's jaw tightened, her dark, upturned eyes narrowing in on the loge across from their own. "They are soldiers, they knew what they were signing up for when they were in training! It is their duty to fight as it's Father's to rule!"
Heavy footsteps creaked up the stairs, a man in armor approached the children. Tensity seemed to fill the air as the King stood before his offspring. The royals' found themselves at a crossroads. One way or another the world was destined to tilt, whether it be in the favor of good or evil would be between the fates.
Years ago the land was divided between the rich and powerful. Blood was spilled, lives were lost, and the six kingdoms emerged from the ashes of war. Soon after, the peace treaty was signed, binding the empires in harmony. At first, it was small things, mysterious raids, trades falling through, then, rows of soldiers stampeding over the hill and into the homes of unsuspecting commoners. Her father suiting up in armor, six-year-old Anastasia left to watch her younger brother, their mother too sick to protect them. Now as the siblings see their father standing before them, in the very same suit of armor, they knew he must again charge into battle, this time, alone.
King Rory gave his children a warm smile, pulling them into a tight embrace. There were too many lives lost to continue the war, too many boys sent out to battle, their last helpless breaths used to cry out for their mothers. Looking down at his own son, Rory would rather give his life than any more young men’s.
"It'll all work out, I raised two strong children. A fierce warrior," the king scruffed up Theo's hair, "and a brilliant future queen." He planted a kiss on Anastasia's forehead, his scruff of a beard poking against her skin. The princess backed out of her father's steely embrace.
She let out a heavy breath, tightly crossing her arms over her chest, and let her eyes wander to the dark wooden floor. What she needed was a release. A knot was tangled up in her chest, but no matter what she did it just got more jumbled. The more intertwined it got, the more it pulled her in, filling her mouth with yarn, but she couldn't cry out for help. There was an audience watching, she knew it was a mess, but if she showed it they would panic. No, I can't show it yet, not with everyone watching. All eyes were dialed in on her. Constantly. The public, other kingdoms, her little brother. A princess doesn't allow herself to crumble, a princess is calm and feminine, a princess is a gentle flower among thorns and vines.
Anastasia lifted her eyes to meet her father's, the faintest of smiles forced onto her expression. "Good luck," she managed.
"There's my girl."
As the trumpets sounded, the two families met in the middle of the coliseum. The harsh sun beat down on them, a light breeze scattering the thin layer of sand around the arena.
Face to face, the Parmar royal family didn't look like any threat. The queen was tall and thin, her long fawn-colored hair contrasting beautifully against her milky skin. Calm and elegant, as a queen should be. To the queen's left, her eldest daughter, Blair, shooting daggers at the Barlows'. Slightly shorter than her mother, the eldest has her mother's piercing black eyes and slightly darker hair pulled into a low ponytail. With her complexion the shade of Earth paired with cloaks of emerald, Anastasia couldn't help but imagine her as the mother earth herself. To the far left stood the younger daughter, Calico. The most relaxed of the bunch. She wore a simple burgundy dress, flashing her broad shoulders and sepia arms decorated with scars. But what stood out to Anastasia the most was her messy short-cropped hair. It was unlike a royal to wear a style so martial-like, especially a woman.
When it comes to royalty, grown-out hair is a sign of peace. You would never need to worry about it getting caught between blades or blocking your vision because you never had to fight. Though King Rory had decided to cut his mane when the war started, there stood King Silas with pride, his long dark hair in a single thick braid down his back.
"It's been a while," Blair purred, glancing between the Barlow siblings, "Princess Anastasia, and little Theo. Why, last time I saw you, you were, what? Ten and eight? My, how you've grown."
Blair had always been stuck-up. Being eighteen, she is the oldest noble child of the six kingdoms. When they were younger that meant she would always boss them around, always have seniority. Now as the children of the six grow, they realize she isn't always going to be a playground bully, someday she will take the throne, and that makes her a dangerous enemy.
Theo bowed respectfully, "Princess Blair, Princess Calico. It's unfortunate we have to meet again under these circumstances."
Calico started to speak but was quickly cut off by her sister. "Quite, I wish your family my condolences."
Now that made Anastasia's blood boil. Blair always expected luck to be in her favor. The worst part was that she was usually right. Anastasia snapped herself out of it. She wasn't right today. Anastasia didn't care if Blair was right about everything else for the rest of her life, but this one thing, she was wrong about.
Calico made brief eye contact with Princess Barlow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Anastasia clenched her jaw shut; she didn't like that look. The younger princess always seemed to have a plan. When Blair spoke, Anastasia knew they were empty words, but even at the slightest smirk upon Calico's lips, her heart dropped.
"King Rory," his voice was like a knife ripping through wind, smooth and dangerous. Silas stood tall and heavyset, his ruby crown resting upon his raven black hair. "Let's finish this, shall we?" He offered.
Rory gave a steely nod, "we shall."
Parting ways, the children and queen made their way back to their respective loges. Meanwhile, the two kings unsheathed their weapons.
Silas's longsword gleamed dangerously in the light. The shark-skin hilt clashed with the dark metallic of the steel. Across the way, Rory's rapier was engraved with a quote, the neat cursive writing of his late wife across the blade. Fight for the life you deserve. The crowd was deadly silent, this wasn't exactly the kind of event you'd cheer for. Anastasia tried to imagine it for a moment, Silas's head on the ground five feet from his body, her father standing over him, the flooding relief she would feel as her heart grew ten sizes. Looking across the Coliseum and meeting Calico's amber eyes, though, what would she find? Cushing sorrow? She doubted it. Snapping out of her daydreams, Anastasia watched anxiously.
The men walked in circles around each other, lions stalking their prey. Rory struck first, a clean slash aiming for the chest. The other king blocked, a fighting style Rory was unfamiliar with. Stabbing, slashing, dodging the fight seemed like it lasted for hours.
Silas would smash through with powerful attacks, Rory would dodge with the nimbleness of a cat. Steel screeching on steel, Rory pushed against him, flinging the tyrant back. His head made a satisfying slam sound as it rammed against the ground. Silas quickly rolled away before the king could stab through his opponent, kicking up as much soot as possible. Dust lining his throat, Rory went into a coughing fit allowing the other enough time to get back into position. Silas slashed at the king's stomach, Rory barely having enough time to evade.
A timely three moves later Silas did the one thing Rory had been waiting for. As their swords crossed Silas attempted a half-sword, one hand gripping the hilt and the other brought up to grip the sharp blade. Placing the steel on Rory's wrist the tyrant was sure he was about to cut his hand off. In two swift motions, Rory slid the hilt of his rapier under Silas's hilt. With a single twist disarming the king and throwing his weapon behind him.
It was done. The sharp tip of the rapier gleamed against his chest, the engravement like a trophy. Time stopped. Silas reached into his cloak, pulling something out. Deep breath. He side-stepped and reared his elbow back. Exhale. He plunged the small knife into Rory's side through a small gap in his armor. Time started again. The crowd gasped. The King of Senyth fell to his hands and knees. The King of Yuburg slammed a heavy boot onto his back, collapsing him to the floor, grabbing a fist of Rory’s hair, pulling his head up, and placing the knife to his throat.
Silas held him against the floor, the hidden knife from his cloak now against Rory's throat. Anastasia felt herself rise out of her seat, her heart pounding in her ears, she felt her stomach compress as the railing dug in below her ribs. The princess's body screamed in protest, but anguish plagued her senses leaving the tips of her fingers numb and tingly. Red flooded her vision, thick, sticky blood, the last glimpse of hopeless eyes locked on hers before going out as quickly as blowing out a candle. Someone was screaming, was she screaming? Damnit, she was screaming. Arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her away from the railing. It was Theo, he was trembling.
Chaos erupted from the stands yelling, cursing, all blurs of movement in Anastasia's eyes. The guards from each kingdom tried to keep the civilians at bay, blocking their path to the other side, but there were too many of them. A guard slipped, the floodgates opened, and a massacre unfolded before the children's eyes. Men pummeled fellow men with their fists, sticky blood leaked from every pore. Women and children ran for the exits, stampeding over one another leaving cracked bones and concussions.
Anastasia couldn't speak, she could barely think. The King was dead. Her dad was dead. People were rioting. That bastard, somewhere deep in her mind echoed, that bastard cheated. He used a hidden weapon. By then the arena had been completely overrun by furious civilians and guards trying to keep the peace. There was no trace of Silas or her father's body. Anastasia lifted her head, across the arena, among the havoc, was Princess Blair and Calico. The same small smirk rested effortlessly on Calico's lips, their eyes locked in a mutual understanding.
The next generation of heirs grew up together in hopes of peace and friendship, but their parents were wrong. All it did was make the wars bloodier, the backstabbing more painful, and their children more ruthless.
One of the royal guards scooped Anastasia up, another throwing the prince over his shoulder. The next few moments felt like a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the guard's muscles tense and relax, his sword slicing through enemy civilians attempting to assassinate the royal children. Her once silver gown became stained red with blood.
Anastasia felt like she could crumble to dust, all of her bones could break leaving her a sad, floppy puddle of flesh. She couldn't show anyone that though, not even the guard carrying her to safety. For she was Anastasia, Queen of Senyth, daughter of Rory and Celeste. All hail the Queen.