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The battle amongst the rolling hills raged on with screams and clanging metal to fuel it. The once brightly burning Sun had determined it’s descent pertinent, much to Emma’s ire. Her kingdom’s troops were almost half gone the last time she had a moment to check. She had lost sight of her parents in the chaos a while ago; however, knowing her mother and father they were taking the high ground at a distance and flanking the sides, respectively. It was their battle moves of choice. Emma and her valiant troop company were drawing more and more Dark soldiers to the edges of the main battle, spreading their forces.
Her blade moved as swiftly as it could even as her arms began to tire. The shiny silver of her soldiers’ armor contrasted greatly with the black mobs that always seemed to stir. After striking another insurgent down she had a moment to wipe the loose strands of her long hair away from her face and catch her breath. The clomping of horse’s hooves approaching caught her attention. It was a battle messenger of her kingdom.
“Princess! The King and Queen are commanding a regroup. Nightfall makes them wary of the Dark Queen’s appearance.” The armored man shouts atop his stamping horse.
“We can hold them off on this side! They are thinning out now.”
“Nay, Princess, scouts have reported glimpses of a dark rider they think may be the Queen disguised.”
Emma grit her teeth in agitation. Her parents were adamant that this would be the last fight, the last battle, to finish this struggle. She had no intention of drawing it out longer than need be. Regardless of the fact that the Dark Kingdom had a sorceress on their side, Emma knew a swift motion of her blade would end this all.
A distant cry from a horse caught Emma’s attention. A distant rider cloaked in black speeding out of the battle raised her interest. If this was the hidden, cowardly Dark Queen then Emma could end this whole thing in ten minutes time. She would not let her escape. Emma sheathed her sword and barked at the messenger.
“Give me your horse!”
“Princess?”
“Now!” The man flung himself off his mount as quickly as he could and Emma swiftly took his place. From her height she could make out the dark horse galloping into the forest tree line. Her soldiers would soon handle the sparse amount of Dark soldiers in the area. She looked down at the messenger. “You have your orders, take my soldiers back to regroup!”
“But you-”
“I won’t be long. I’m going to end this war.” With a shout and a swift kick, Emma and the horse sped off in the direction of the tree line, ignoring all soldiers on the ground.
It was as if time stood still and sped up all at once. Her mind raced with what she would do when she stopped and it felt oddly empty of any detail of her plans. Her father called it feeling the battle. The moment when you move in complete harmony with what’s around you; fighting and dodging and acting without thought but pure intention. He said it was the only evidence that they were doing the right thing; that it was the kind of harmony the White kingdom fights for and why there is so much blood on the grass of their lands.
After a minute or a mile the quietness around the trees felt strange to Emma and she slowed her horse to almost a complete halt. The trees were not suffocating her sight but the areas of a possible sneak attack were too great. The canopy overhead and the waning sunlight aided poorly in her search for the dark rider. In the near distance there was a muted glow between the trees. Emma quietly dismounted and left the horse where it stood for its feet were much too heavy in the underbrush to be stealthy. The closer her steps took her the better her vision became and she realized it was a flat clearing amongst the dense woods. The flat, shimmering rocks and stones reflected just enough waning light to appear as a beacon in the dark woods.
In the midst of the clearing there was a vision she did not expect but one she readily drank in. A woman in royal dress standing aside a great, dark chestnut horse. Emma could tell from the way it sparkled that the dress was crawling with gems of some sort. Her black hair was pulled upon her head and she was speaking to the horse, Emma suspected. She eased closer to the edge of the clearing and tried to eavesdrop but found the words too low to make out. As the woman stepped to the rear of the horse she noticed a saddle with bags, sword, and tapestry of the Dark kingdom.
Her blood burned the same moment her hand reached for her sword then she was crashing into the quietness. “Halt your movements.” Emma growled as the woman startled and instinctively reached for the weapon. The woman’s tan skin was much darker compared to her own fairness. The hand lightly stroked the horse as her body turned to face Emma in a smooth motion. Emma’s first thought was that the woman was not in the slightest bit ugly and her second was a wonder why that thought occurred at all. Her next thought was to raise her sword back to the eyeline.
“You have been captured by the White Kingdom. Do you wish to surrender your life with dignity?” Emma stated with resoluteness in her voice.
An odd smile slowly crossed the woman’s lips just before a raspy voice dark as ale broke the clearing. “My, I believe you must be mistaken, child. I see no one captured here. Unless you count that weakling.” The dark woman says flippantly, pointing to the opposite end of the clearing. Emma’s eyes flicker away for a moment. It’s just long enough to return to see the woman unsheathe the sword the horse carries and drawing it high like her own. Now they are equally armed and tense. The same crooked kind of smile crosses the woman’s lips. “Oh that was too easy.”
Emma grit her teeth. “You tricked me.”
The woman laughs with dark amusement. “Oh, so will you pout like a child now? I suspect it hasn’t been the first deception you’ve been given.” Her dark eyes roam Emma’s armor and her feverish looking face. “And yet, not the last...Princess.” The woman adds with a snarl.
Emma feels a disadvantage of being identified so quickly however she has her suspicions to who this woman is. She just hopes she doesn’t sound like a fool.
“By you? I would say you could try...Your Majesty.” Emma entones as much vile bitterness in her as possible.
There’s a somewhat pleased smile upon the woman’s lips which only confuses Emma. Her chin rises prominently as if an invisible crown has been placed upon her brow. “I see you do have a brain. It must be cooking away in there by all the effort you exert to use it.”
Emma growls and takes a downward swing with all her strength at the woman. Her steel clanks quickly with another as she is brushed to the side. Her footing is sturdy and blade ready in the next instant for a retaliating strike that doesn’t come. On the contrary the Queen seems to remain between her and the horse. Not the best move in Emma’s opinion since she now has lost an escape route. No backing away to parry or create space. So Emma takes a lunging step with another powerful swing from up high.
The Queen doesn’t move her weapon. In a flash, Emma notices that it’s only a hand raising to chest height that she sees, then in the next moment, she is several feet away looking at the darkening sky. The air in her lungs is fresh out and it takes her a moment to gain her barings to remember how to get them filled again. She expects the Dark Queen to use her vulnerable state to attack again but she is left to sputter for breath like she emerged from turbulent waters. The feeling of being given slack because of her pathetic state burns under Emma’s skin.
The fire inside her urges her to roll onto her knees and keep a steady gaze on the woman in her dark garments. Emma is surprised to find the Queen is turned away from her, hands on her horse’s flank and muttering nonsense. The sight brings a furrow to her brow. She pretends to continue gasping for air while readjusting her grip on her sword and standing to her feet. For a moment she had the thought to strike down her enemy from behind but her steps faltered when it was time to physically raise her sword to do so.
The horse grumbles and stops a hoof. The Queen turns around to eye Emma in her raised state with the sword in a neutral position at her hip. It seems there’s a bit of confusion there before a small chuckle is heard. “Have I knocked the fight out of you, Princess?”
Emma grits her teeth at the assumption. “Hardly. I don’t see the honor in striking someone’s back.”
“Ah, and you thought to wait instead of demanding a rematch?” The lightness in her tone confuses and angers Emma a bit more.
“You have magic.” Emma says suddenly. The thought striking her and finding the truth in them. She thinks to say it’s not a fair fight but her pride resists from admitting that she asks for a handicap in her favor.
The Queen focuses solely on her again. The fading light takes any source of it from her eyes. Emma grips her sword tightly trying to think of a way to get a good attack in without getting harmed with magic.
“Very astute of you.” She says mockingly. “Seeing as you intended to harm me while I was tending to my horse I saw no need to hold ourselves to fairness. Or whatever you deem to qualify as such.”
“What?”
“Which word confuses you, child?” She responds with fake concern. It grates Emma’s nerves some more.
“None! What is wrong with your horse?”
“None of your business.” Emma knew for sure this conversation was going on for far too long and her irritation was the cold slap in the face she needed to bring her priorities back to mind. She extends her sword fully outwards towards the Queen who quickly responds the same. “I suggest you leave while you can but seeing as your White royalty, no sense is getting into your thick skull.”
Emma makes a move to strike but the Queen is faster. The attack isn’t very strong but it’s enough to get Emma to back up a couple steps to parry it. Their swords clash with a few shallow movements; quick flicks to test the sturdiness of the other fighter. They are at a standoff more in the center of the clearing, their swords at attention and grazing gently at the points.
“I’m surprised Her Majesty knows how to handle a weapon other than the bodies of her people and her dark magics.” Emma spits. Her glare never leaves the now dark shadows of the woman’s face.
“Just another thing you don’t know, isn’t it, Princess?” She grits back through snarling teeth. The image may cause a weaker soldier to falter but Emma only sets on edge more. A fire burns through her bones giving her energy. Although, if she had the time to stop and think about it, the Queen’s tauntings of her intelligence was starting to bother her.
“I know once you're imprisoned or dead the lands will be free of your kind of dark magic.” Emma says strongly, moving her sword to both hands in front of her while trying not to show her arm was getting tired. Her feet shuffled sideways and she found the Queen mirroring her movements perfectly.
“My dark magic. Enlighten me, child, do you think magic is something I created or are you simply referring to the bit of magic I have?”
The question falters Emma for a moment simply because she expected the Queen to know exactly what she meant. Of course no one person is responsible for creating the first magics. “The dark magic you possess.”
“Oh, and what makes my magic dark?” The Queen asks almost perfectly innocently. Emma can tell she’s playing a part, possibly to distract her from some other plan, but she’s curious enough to continue. Once the question registers in Emma’s brain though she can’t help but stop her movements completely. She tries not to show utter confusion upon her face instead remaining stoic and unperturbed.
“Well...it’s you. You are the Dark Queen after all.” Emma says plainly like the obviousness should be apparent enough to this woman. Her words actually get a full belly laugh from the Queen that pierces the night air and the space surrounding them. It surprises Emma more than anything she has ever seen...possibly in her whole life. It’s very distracting and Emma isn’t sure if the Queen laughs maliciously or with amusement. Either way she doesn’t like the sound, she has to remind herself.
“Oh you poor thing. Do you think for yourself because that sounds like something your parents fed you.” The condescending tone sparks Emma’s anger again and she moves to take another swing. “Uh uh.” The Queen’s sword is quick to point straight toward her face, closer than she thought possible. Emma sees the strain of lean muscles down the woman’s arm in a show of strength she wouldn’t assume of the woman. Emma’s movement is frozen immediately.
“My parents are honest and good people. They would never lie to me!” Emma has to exclaim at the tip of a sword.
“No, they just prefer to tell their own story as fact. I can’t say it’s your fault. You were unfortunate enough to be raised by them.”
Emma boldly smacks the tip of the sword with the back of her hand. There’s enough space to get her blade back up and put some space between them. “What would you know about my parents?” Emma growls just before making another heavy strike on her right.
In normal situations of a swordfight, Emma would have never used the same move repeatedly but in her frustrations and anger she forgoes that. The Queen sees her move coming and easily defends against it, however, this time she is able to move to Emma’s left much faster. Emma catches a glimpse of the Queen’s arm shooting out towards her and a bright light.
On instinct she shuts her eyes and waits for some sense of pain to be inflicted on her. After several tense moments with nothing happening, Emma pries her eyes open. Her arms are extended lamely in front of her still. She finds her entire body is rigid but there's no strain to her muscles as she knows there would be at this point. She's solid but almost weightless. Her eyes are the only things she can move and from the corner of her vision she sees the Queen stroll calmly back to her horse.
"I'm sure at this point you're trying to figure out my plan. What angle am I taking in keeping you alive for so long? Will I use my dark magic to control you?" The thought didn't cross Emma's mind until it was spoken. If her body could shiver with a hint of fear it would. She knows some magic can be used for good, has seen a bit of it used by fairies, but never knew the extent of dark magic. What could the Dark Queen do to her? Are there weapons of torment in the saddle bags? "Maybe I'll just let you go so you never find out." The Dark Queen muses while laying her glowing hand rest over horse flesh. The horse whinnies with a few taps of its front hoof. "Well, I am a little too evil to do that."
Emma sees the dark haired woman stare at her, slowly advancing on her, a look she can't place in her eyes. There is a little chill across her skin and a hitch in her breath as the Queen invades her space. She smells…rich. Sweet. Something that Emma can't place and for a split second it annoys her. Then her mind almost stops completely when soft fingers in a cold grip wrap around her chin. She physically can't move at all but suddenly feels at the Dark Queen's mercy now. Especially when her dark eyes lure her in with ease.
Emma's never been one to see much beyond a person's face. Taking who they are as they present. Seeing the Dark Queen's hazel eyes look her over with interest and…something, Emma suddenly feels like she's seeing her beyond the rich eyes and smooth skin. Really seeing a woman who is Queen. No, seeing a woman. A woman with a past she knows nothing about but wants to. If Emma could dig deeper into this woman's life, her soul, to look into her eyes all night, well, it wouldn't be enough.
Then the fingers, the eyes, are gone from her and she feels the chill in the night air. She tries to inhale as much as she can when she realizes she hasn't been breathing. "I have no reason to hurt you. You are but a child of history's war. A pawn in a match set before you were born. A savior to people that don't deserve saving."
The Queen mounts her horse with a grace Emma has seen most royals try for. A snap of fingers and her arms and sword drop to the ground, weighted and numb. She would be kissing the forest floor as well if her knees didn't lock from pure stubbornness. The odd sense of feeling her body once more takes most of Emma's focus but she knows the Queen is watching her. She raises her chin to meet those deep eyes again. That lopsided and odd smile is there to greet her as well.
"If you know your parents, hold their trust, then continue to fight for them. But if you've ever questioned why you're fighting a war three years long, then ask your dear parents this: who is Lily? And why did her death start this war?"
Emma's brow scrunches tightly. Thrown by the woman's words. She’s somehow even more confused by the Dark Queen’s quick departure. Her mind runs with everything that has just happened in this clearing. Hoofbeats are a distant rustle of foliage by the time Emma even moves her sword back to its sheathe. Her movements are stilted.
Why would the Dark Queen leave me here, she wonders. In the sense of battle strategy and moves it doesn’t make sense. Everything Emma has learned from war states she should be dead right now. Captured and tortured at least. She feels like a child denied something, somehow, when she trudges back towards the horse she left behind. She certainly doesn’t feel like the White Kingdom’s princess at the moment. Even the trot back towards the battlegrounds atop the beautiful battle horse doesn’t bring that passion for the fight that she had before the Sun set.
Her mind is torn and it begins to ache with such turbulent thoughts. The Queen’s condescending words float back through her mind.
'I see you do have a brain. It must be cooking away in there by all the effort you exert to use it.'
She grips the reins a bit tighter. It shouldn’t bother her. That’s the purpose of the words, logically, but that the Queen started in on her one weakness has her stomach turning. It’s not that Emma thinks herself obtuse but there has been a tone when other people talk to her. Since she could catch on to such things she’s felt like people talk down to her. All the royals, including her parents, have simplified their words, broadened their meanings, like they thought she wouldn’t understand. Emma has tried to educate herself beyond what her tutors had taught her so she would never be found lacking.
Could the Queen sense her intelligence, Emma wonders but quickly stops herself from venturing further down that line of thinking. It would only cause her grief. However, it is the Queen’s departing words that throw Emma for a loop. Who is Lily?