Chapter Text
Morana was born royalty. Daughter to the king and queen of Effrin, sister to the next heir. Morana had never experienced anything other than the Earien Castle she grew up in. She spent years learning every speck of etiquette she could, keeping the words "straight spine, chin high" in the back of her mind since she was six. Countless hours comprehending how to command a crowd with her eloquent words—though as a princess, she need not do much to speak herself when her father and brother did most of the talking. What felt like lifetimes in the library reading through and analyzing the hundreds of tomes about the Effrin kingdom history and wars, lords and ladies and their houses, her own family tree, and the many constellations and meanings of the stars she both wished and cursed upon. She could even name the fabrics she adorned and which colors made her snow-like skin glow with warmth or look sickly.
That life was now dead.
Four days and three nights ago, the king and queen of Effrin—the people she formally deemed her parents—had revealed that Princess Morana was a traitor. Her loyalty had defected from the Effrin Kingdom long ago. She began to conspire with the enemy Kanderan Kingdom as she grew older in hopes to overtake her parents throne and finally end the thirty-year-long war between the two kingdoms. Some theorized that her blood was Kanderan as well, but no amount of atrocious rumors could chase away the ice freezing every part of Morana's body. She didn't care what blood ran through her veins—it was crimson all the same. The only thought that plagued Morana's mind as she rotted in a cold, barren cell underground was how the people she loved like family threw her away like nothing.
The concrete walls around her emitted nothing but a sharp, frozen air that pierced her skin like icicles despite the early autumn. As every second passed, Morana fell deeper into her own spinning thoughts, attempting to piece together this mess of a lie her former parents created. It ended in nothing but fury toward them and their decision. She wondered briefly if her brother—former brother—knew about this. The man who would share his bed when she had constant nightmares at eight. Who played in the snow with her during wintertime and picked flowers for her in the summertime. Would that boy only three years older than her have observed as this all happened? Perhaps he even had a part to play in it, but when the image of his black curls and kind eyes flashed beneath her eyelids, she couldn't help but feel ashamed at the thought. Of course he didn't. He couldn't have.
Could he?
The sound of footsteps awoke Morana from her sickening ideas. They were heavy and doubled with the sound of metal against metal repeating on the concrete walls as they walked. As the two approached her cell, one of them wiggled a key into the cell door and unlocked it. This gave Morana little warmth as she knew what awaited her outside.
Standing, she gave a nod to each of the guards. They were masked—not that she would know their names anyways—but she felt it prudent to give her respect. The only people she rightfully hated were her former family. She didn't see why others should be treated poorly by her anger toward others. These two were simply doing what they were commanded to do.
She let them lead her away from the cold cell in silence. Despite the increasing speed of her mind, she was quite glad for the lack of speech as she felt her voice would carry nothing short of a freezing fury. It was already exhausting using most of her self-control to restrain herself from trembling with anger. Even when they reached the sun just starting to rise from dawn, the skin beneath her dirty rags refused to warm in the slightest. She could've sworn she had been dipped in a frozen lake before they locked her down there, with the way the prickling needles of ice in her blood refused to thaw. Her body even dared to shiver as her guards turned her toward a familiar sight.
A chopping block was placed in front of a raised, wooden platform. A crowd of common-folk, lords and ladies, and servants of the castle surrounded it. Deep in her bones was an impossible want to run far away. Her feet halted for the slightest of moments in the grass but her guards pulled her through the crowd anyway. Murmurs spiked as she fought her way through the thick wall of people. A small voice in the back of her head whispered harsh thoughts about her disheveled look, claiming it was unladylike. She shook away the habit to adjust her appearance. If the king and queen wanted her to look like anything but royalty, there would be no point to make herself look the way she was taught. She wasn't a princess anymore, and as her guards placed her in front of the executioners chopping block, she wouldn't even be a breathing body anymore.
Today was her execution, but Morana felt like she had died days ago.
She used to be loved by the people now surrounding her. The beloved princess of Effrin; always kind to those lesser than her; always with a smile upon her face; always with those soft, ice-blue eyes that crinkled with warmth nonetheless. She would send flowers to the sick and war-hardened. Most servants of the castle favored her constant cleanliness over the rest of the royals. The common-folk liked to brag about meeting her when she came to visit the dirtier towns as none of her family—former family—sought out the time to. It wasn't far-fetched to say she was adored by the kingdom.
Now however, they looked down upon her kneeling in the dirt like she were the rat and they were the cat. It only hardened her frozen heart more at the sight, seeing them already forgetting all that she had done for them when the true king and queen did nothing. They sneered at her and some spat at the dirt when she met their gaze. Kids that used to yell about meeting the "pretty princess" now pointed and laughed at her dirty rags. She refrained from telling them they were laughing at themselves. This—she—was little more than a poorly disguised insult toward the common-folk of Effrin. To remind them of their rightful place and to discourage any drive to take the crown for themselves, less they meet their demise if they failed.
As the executioner walked up to the chopping block Morana was kneeling in front of, she couldn't help as her eyes traveled toward the thrones sitting upon the wooden platform in front of her.
King Wilfred—who she once thought to be her Father—both trembled and thrived under her glare. How he did both, Morana didn't know. But the longer she looked at him, the colder her heart became, as if someone had locked it underneath an ice lake. Queen Pollien—once her Mother—sat in her own throne beside him, looking exactly how Morana was taught to be. Scheming on the inside, yet likable and sweet on the outside, sitting just behind whatever king she would've been sold off too in a marriage she had no say in. They was never close, and with the way the queen smiled down upon Morana gave her the implication they never would've been. She knew this fate would befall Morana. Somehow, that didn't surprise her. If anything, she wondered why wait until now?
To snuff out any fear about the ongoing war, Morana thought immediately after. Effrin has been at war with Kanderan for thirty years now—eight years before Morana was born. The war started because of her former parents, though they'd never admit it. They betrayed the Kanderan Kingdom for just a sliver of more power. In response, Kanderan declared war upon Effrin and too many innocent people have now died in the crossfire between two people who would never set foot in a battlefield themselves. Morana had always been verbal about her idea of war. It was immature, unnecessary, and truly just done to stroke a man's already fragile ego. Many kingdoms never started a war unless provoked. And if you purposely provoked a kingdom who never involved themselves in war, then you're just looking to be buried beneath the stars.
Despite the cold rage numbing every bone in her body, she had to silently applaud her former parents. If this was her entire purpose since the moment she was born—to be used as a sacrifice so the common-folk could place their ever-wavering trust in the king and queen again—than they had more patience than she had given them credit for. It would paint the monarchs as willing to do whatever it takes to keep their kingdom safe from the Kanderans. Even if it meant killing the woman who held their own blood in her veins.
Prince Calven was sitting upon his own throne on the platform as well. When she met his gaze, she could see tears forming at the corners of his sapphire-blue eyes. She couldn't bring herself to cry. At least, not until she knew for certain he had no part in this. For years, she called him a brother. Their memories went farther than most and ran deeper than the Starlite Lake. She relied on him when she thought she could no one else. He would complain to her when his duties were all too much to handle alone. Both of them cried when their grandmother died. They promised each other they would make this kingdom—this world—a better place when they took their spots on the throne. Better than their power-hungry parents ever could. To even consider for the slightest of moments he knew about this plan; that he would sit upon that silver throne of his just to observe as her head split from her neck, it was a betrayal of the deepest kind. If the stars let her make it out of this alive, she would claw the answers out of his throat herself if it meant she received closure.
A movement from the grandest throne brought Morana's attention away from the prince as his father, the king, rose from his seat. With a swooping motion, he addressed the crowd that gathered around them. He barely spared a glance for Morana as he did. "My wonderful citizens of Effrin. Truly, today is a sad day; one filled with betrayal and broken trust and anger." Morana almost scoffed at his words, feeling as though they're more in check with her own feelings than the kingdom's. Nevertheless, the king continued. "The woman you see before you was somebody I thought to be my own daughter. I raised her as my child. Kept her fed during blizzards when food was scarce. Kept her warm and well-cared for as I would myself. My fondest memories of her was when I'd read her bedtime stories to chase her nightmares away…" the king trailed off, his eyes looking neither at her nor the kingdom. He appeared to be wandering in a far-off memory. For a moment, his brow furrowed with true sadness, but Morana had none of her own to spare. It was his fault she was to be beheaded today—the fact that he felt upset was not her fault nor her concern.
Shaking himself out of it, he began to spit his lies again. "I cannot express my disappointment, my disgust, or my sorrow for the situation laid before me. Morana, I thought of you highly. You had my respect. You had my praise. And you had my love." He let the air linger on that word for a moment. Again, it took the upmost self-control to refrain from screaming at him. He never spared her a drop of attention when Calven was beside her. "I'm unsure if you're even truly to blame. Was I that terrible of a father to have led you astray? To make you go out of your way and conspire with the enemy kingdom just for a spot on my throne? I suppose I may drive myself mad with every question I wish to ask you, but alas, I know better than anybody it does no good to dwell on the past."
Murmurs grew and echoed throughout the diverse crowd. From the highest lords and ladies to the dirtiest factory worker. Morana felt as though every eye were upon her, even more so, like they could all see through her to her iced heart just barely beating. She wondered if she'd die from rage before the axe could chop her head off. She could already sense a slow drop of cold sweat beading on the nape of her neck despite the breeze of early autumn. Perhaps where it sat was where the blade would sever her body into two.
Behind the king, the queen made a show of dramatically dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. If one cared to look closely, they would find no tears were falling at all. King Wilfred cleared his throat and held at hand toward Morana from his place on the platform above her. "My dear, traitorous Morana, what do you have to say for yourself and your heinous crimes, if there is anything at all?"
That this entire charade is a lie, Morana thought at first. But who would believe her over the king and queen? Very few, and the ones that did would be dealt with as swiftly as she was, just in the dead of night rather than broad daylight. Even so, she couldn't say nothing. Her etiquette teacher's voice echoed in her head, "straight spine, chin high," so she did just that. Her hair fell around her shoulders—looking like charcoal covered in white ash with the dirt of the cell staining it—and she pressed her cracked lips into a thin line. Knowing the monarchs, anything she said would be twisted to make them look like the saviors of the kingdom. One use of being raised royalty is knowing how to avoid that.
"My name is Morana," she started, her voice rid of any emotion toward her impending doom. "There are countless things I could say before my head becomes severed from my body. I could plead my innocence as I'm sure some of you wish for me to do. I could plead guilty and get this over with quickly. Instead, I wish to warrant a warning. Outside these kingdom walls, a foreign army awaits to tear this place apart, brick-by-brick. The king and queen want to keep this knowledge from you. They hope that my execution, however unjust and undeserved as I view it as, will be enough to reinstall your trust in them. I strongly advise you not to give it to them. They will betray you as they have betrayed me if only to keep themselves on the throne while all of you scramble for scraps in the neglected streets of Effrin. Everything in this kingdom is for them and only them. Your loyalty only feeds their greed and their disgustingly blood-stained throne. So go, find a place of proper peace and solace in another kingdom. One that actually wishes to help their people instead of taking their power from the backs of those helplessly uninformed.
"As for the people I thought I could call my parents," Morana continued, glaring at the monarchs with a gaze that could cut glass. "I wish you both destruction and defamation of the deepest kind despite deserving so much worse. Your titles and thrones are built from the bloodshed of your so-called 'wonderful' citizens and you relish in their pain. Only the stars hold your true fate in their hands and I would curse my own name in the hopes that they agree with my sentiment. And for my former brother—" she focused on Calvin this time, pausing for a moment as she watched a tear slide down his cheek "—I have no understanding of what you grasped of this situation. Whether you were informed or not matters minimally to me. The only thing I wish for you is that you see what this kingdom truly is—an exploitation of those who work ten times as hard as you and receive a quarter of your supplies and appreciation. Since I will be unable to do much with my head discarded from my shoulders, I do hope the crown will begin to revert from the corruption that clings to its metal when it falls to your hands. Or perhaps it will shatter completely and there will be nothing left of this rotted royal line. My memories of you will haunt me until my last breaths, just as I hope my words will plague your mind until you fix this tormented kingdom.
"So be it that my last words are to inform those who you have left in a dark, starless night. I've always seen it as my duty to protect the innocent, therefore I don't miss the irony that I will die trying. Just know, for all those listening and for all those who can hear my voice unaltered and unchanged—this kingdom will burn to ashes in due time, when their lies falter and the enemy hits a weak spot. No one here is safe and I don't believe anyone ever was. My name is Morana," she repeated, spitting venom with every word, "and I never knew I was a traitor until everyone else. I do wish I could be there to watch this kingdom fall. And fall it will." With that, she bowed her head over the chopping block—not in defeat, but in preparation.
It seemed even the early morning birds shushed after her speech. The wind stilled, the rustling of clothes halted, and the smallest conversation was silenced completely. Morana's hair obscured her wicked smile. She knew she'd won. They may take her life or change her words, but the people here know otherwise. It must be about half the kingdom.
Good luck getting that story out of their heads.
Clearly shaken, the king lowered himself into his throne again. His voice, however, refrained from trembling. "I see all those lessons made you an excellent liar," he observed, lying himself. "Alas, the time has come. I do wish you would've chose differently my dear, for I truly did adore having you as my daughter. Executioner, you have my command. Make it bloody."
She didn't have to look up to know her executioner was smiling. He always enjoyed killing people too much for her liking, but perhaps when it's your job you must find some kind of joy in it. Her mind wondered for a split second if he'd ever meet this fate. Or, would he live out his days killing people for the royals until old age caught up to him?
Morana wouldn't describe herself as scared, nor sad at dying. Perhaps a more fitting word was bitter. Bitter at the world for being as cruel as it was. Bitter at believing her so-called family actually loved her. Bitter for letting them get away with it. Bitter at the stars twinkling in the shadows of a dusty blue morning, the fates of life written in their spaces all too inhuman for her to read. Bitter at herself as a small sliver of hope appeared that she might be saved.
Maybe then she'd be able to tear this kingdom apart like the Kanderan's planned to do for years.
The sound of metal dragging across the dirt floor scraped against the inside of her head, sending the stinging fumes of the early autumn ground into her senses. The executioner's shadow flashed in her vision. It was only slightly visible in the slow light of the morning, yet still enough to remind Morana that this was truly happening. In just moments, she would cease to breathe. She heard the swish of the axe as it was brought over her head. The metal of the sharpened blade rested against the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine, before he pulled it up again in either anticipation or hesitation. With the executioner, it was most likely the former. Closing her eyes, Morana cursed upon the stars for letting this be her fate.
A gust of wind flew by her head. She thought that was it. The deed was finished and the most surprising part was she didn't feel a thing. Perhaps death was more merciful than Morana expected—not one to stop for a cup of tea in the middle of a busy kingdom day. But then the sound of gasps filled her ears and a thud to her left made her open her eyes again.
Her executioner was dead, his head split open by an arrow with a red tag attached to its rear. Empty green eyes stared into hers as blood trickled down his forehead and pooled on the ground. She wrinkled her nose at the sight and smell. She was no stranger to dead bodies, but her stomach still seemed to disagree with the scene laid before her. Especially because she was meant to be dead.
Not him.
Like someone had suddenly lit a match against gasoline, the crowd dispersed in terror. Fleeting voices called her a witch, a murderer, or something worse. Every word felt like a stab to the heart with an icicle. These people used to love her, but now they run away in fear.
She hadn't the slightest idea why the executioner fell dead beside her, but as every guard became preoccupied with keeping the monarchs safe, she took her chance. Worse case scenario: she'd end up dead anyways.
As she stood—hands still annoyingly tied behind her back—more arrows flew past her head. Only a skilled archer could have shot them as they landed perfectly in the chest of two guards who attempted to reach Morana. Their corpses landed limply in front of her as more crimson stained the mud beneath their bodies. It was clear these assassins wanted her alive as anyone who tried to reach her ended up dead. She was like an omen of death, and she intended to use it. Maybe the stars aren't so evil after all.
She darted toward the forest, not bothering to slow when people got in her way. More arrows ended up impaling the ones who got too close. Ducking under flailing hands and leaping over bodies trampled by the fear-filled crowd, Morana had no problem with blending in as a concerned citizen—spare the roped-up hands. She continued on her path toward the forest that lined the border of Effrin.
She reached a wall of metal instead. No, not a wall of metal. A guard dressed head-to-toe in shiny metallic armor. He grabbed Morana by the bicep and attempted to pull her back toward the chopping block. His grip was like a metal clamp against her arm—one that would definitely leave a bruise. She made sure to bite down extra hard between the spaces in his armor for that. Every etiquette lesson was forgotten in that moment as her mind became preoccupied with a predatory rage. She should be feared here. She was the traitor, was she not? The witch? The murderer? Metallic red blood filled her mouth, sneaking into the spaces between her teeth and pooling over her tongue ill-tasting strawberry juice. She refrained from recoiling at the substance. Instead, she kept her jaw tight until the guard's grip loosened from her arm and she managed to push some space between them. An arrow soon found his head like she hoped it would.
Spitting the foreign blood from her mouth, she pushed through more of the crowd with a now aching arm and crimson blood trailing down her chin like wine spilled against a white dress. She felt squeezed by the many bodies around her own, feeling as though she may implode from the pressure. Nonetheless, she persisted despite her discomfort. It was either this, or death, and she came to far already for the latter to become true. She could do more damage to this dreadful kingdom if her heart was still beating and head still attached to her neck.
More arrows flew past her head. There was no telling where they were coming from and she didn't turn to see who the targets were. As long as they weren't trying to kill her, she wouldn't stop their massacre; she owed nothing to these people anymore. The crowd led her down the lower streets of Effrin and she managed to find an alleyway to duck into, away from the prying eyes of the guards or worse, the monarchs. They knew her better than most. The thought gutted Morana from the inside out, leaving more icy rage in her body's empty stead.
In between the two buildings, she found a sharp piece of metal protruding from a broken metal fence long since left to rust. She lined up the rope that tied up her hands against the sharpest point she could feel and began shifting the rope up and down the makeshift blade. After a couple painstaking moments of waiting for the binding to drop, she finally felt the weight lift and rubbed her wrists to rid herself of the feeling.
The alleyway was a straight shot toward the forest. She didn't stop when she reached the shade of fiery leaves just beginning to fall, nor did she halt when the chaos of the morning slowly faded from earshot. Morana was never one to go hiking out on a forest trail, but she did appreciate the games she used to play with her Grandmother Reiand—former grandmother, thought it pained her to call her such—where she would make Morana memorize the maps of Effrin. The thought warmed a sliver of her frozen heart. Reiand was always the first person she would go to for anything, and her passing made the world bleaker. At least in Morana's eyes.
After what just happened, the world now seemed dead to her. She couldn't help the tiny thought that whispered deep in her mind, maybe it should be?
Astoundingly, Morana managed to keep her footing throughout most of the forest. Sometimes it was as if the roots and low-hanging branches were trying to trip and scratch her. For someone so used to being cooped up in a castle, the fresh smell of the dirt beneath her feet gave her a sense of calm that she hadn't had before. Sharp wind tousled her midnight black hair and whipped at her exposed skin, sending prickles of ice into her veins. The sounds of the forest never quieted and she was glad for that. She had no intention of getting lost in her thoughts at the moment. It already felt as though someone was running a knife along the inside of her skull; she couldn't imagine what other feelings they'd provoke if she let them run wild.
She wiped away more blood from her mouth with a hand that looked like an artist's abstract rendition of a battlefield snowed over. Red and brown mixed over pale white. For a moment, she was paralyzed there, staring at her bloodied hands as a new sense overcame her. Is this what it feels like to maim someone? Would it feel worse to kill? Those questions weren't something she could answer on her own and frankly, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the answer anyway. It was only when a different sound came from behind her did she break away from her trance.
A branch snapped. The weight seemed like too much to be a harmless animal and she hadn't yet encountered a predator brave enough to approach her. She couldn't be sure they even existed in these woods, less they may be a threat toward the king and queen. Morana was only slightly startled when she whirled around to find a masked stranger on her heels.
They had hair the color of fire; of the autumn leaves around them; of copper and ruby. It was pulled into a complicated braid on the back of their head and reached to their waist, even when tied back. Most of their face was obscured by the red fabric wrapped around their mouth and nose down to the base of their collarbone. However, their eyes were left uncovered. They were a dark brown like the mud beneath their feet. They were almost so dark the pupil was hidden in the color. The rest of their body was covered in armor and, for a moment, Morana thought she had been found, but a marking across the breastplate said differently.
"You're Kanderan," Morana said, rising to her full height and narrowing her eyes. In response, the Kanderan widened their stance, as if preparing to chase after her should she decide to run. That was answer enough. "Why are you here?" Morana questioned, using a tone of formality that contrasted her muddy appearance.
"Orders from the king," they replied. Their voice was muffled by the fabric around their mouth, but she could still hear the Kanderan accent on the prolonged S's.
"Mmh?" Morana mused. "King Theosas? My sworn enemy since the moment I was born?"
The stranger inclined their head. "I would think you have worst enemies to deal with now, do you not?"
"I suppose. Does he wish to kill me himself? To spite the Effrin royals, perhaps?"
"No." They shook their head. Morana could see the corners of their eyes crinkle in amusement. "I believe he wishes to strike a deal with someone he feels may see the Effrin kingdom as he does."
Morana raised her chin out of habit and silently weighed her options. Either way, she knew she'd end up in the hands of the Kanderan royals. This person was far more agile than her and could easily chase her down if the need arose. She supposed the best choice was to go peacefully. At least if she died there, the Effrin royals wouldn't receive the satisfaction of killing her themselves.
"Ah, I see. Well then, I don't assume the king likes to be kept waiting. Lead me to him." Her eyes flashed as the stranger unsheathed a knife from their waist. "Wait—"
She felt the blunt of the hilt before she could fully get the words out of her mouth. Her head hit the ground and more blood pooled in her mouth—this time from her own split tongue.
The stranger knelt down beside her and pulled a sack over her head. Morana swore she could hear a sliver of regret slithering its way into their voice. "I'm sorry Princess, but you still can't be trusted to not turn your back on us Kands. Feel free to take a nap as it would save me the guilt of hitting your head again."
She was barely conscious as they spoke their last words. Then, the pull of sweet, sweet darkness overcame her every sense.
The world was only pain for Morana. Her head throbbed like a heartbeat, though she couldn't be sure hers was still beating. Bruises littered her skin like moldy bread. Scratches lined her arms and legs from the forest, most covered by mud and grime, as were her clothes. When she tried to open her eyes, she was met with an even grander headache as the bright flames above blinded her. She laid her head back down and another sharp throb shot through her skull like an arrow to a target.
For a moment, she considered staying on the cold marble floor as it brought a sliver of relief to her pains. She licked her lips to do something and tasted blood. Her mind reeked with disgust before remembering the events of the last several hours. Not that it relieved much of her distaste for a stranger's blood—as well as her own—drying in her mouth. Slowly, foreign voices faded into her hearing, as did her vision as it finally adjusted to the candles above her.
Disregarding her pain, she hoisted herself up to a sit. Spots popped up in her vision but she shook them away. She still had to hold her hands against the marble to balance—as her spine refused to carry her weight like it used to—however, she managed to hold her chin high. Even if she looked like a common-folk, she still cared enough to look presentable as she met the gaze of the singular person she was raised to despise.
Four days ago, she would've called him weak and stupid. She held too much pride in her former kingdom to not have insulted the man who sat before her. But when you spend three days locked up, accused under false pretenses that you're a traitor, and your entire kingdom, including the people you called family, turn their backs on you, you learn to think differently and see things you were formerly blinded to.
He had brown skin and a muscular build. Black curls sat upon his head, perfectly tended to—spare the small specks of gray littering the roots—reminding Morana of her own frazzled curls cascading in tangles down her back. He wore blood-red robes fit for a royal and a golden metal crown encrusted with red rubies that sparkled in the lights of the room. Matching gold jewelry adorned his neck, wrists, and hands. His lips glistened with some kind of gloss and the inner corners of his eyes were made-up with sparkling glitter. The makeup made his copper-brown eyes glow.
Morana thought it must've been a trick of the light, but she could've sworn that when their gazes met, his eyes flashed with pity.
King Theosas Denopin of the Kanderan Kingdom smiled at her from his throne, showing off teeth almost as blinding as the lights. "Princess Morana of the Effrin Kingdom," he mused, his voice like honey. A movement to his left caught her attention and she felt ignorant for not noticing them before. The king and former princess were not the only ones in the throne room.
His wife, Queen Nexis Denopin of the Kanderan Kingdom, adjusted in her throne. Her skin, almost as black as midnight, was contrasted sharply by her amethyst purple dress that pooled around the bottom of her glass throne. She wore a crown similar to her husband's, but instead of rubies, she had amethysts lying on top of her black hair. Her nails were long and well-manicured as they tapped along the armrest of her throne. Golden jewelry—more than what her husband wore—accessorized most parts of her body that her dress did not. Earrings Morana would've mistaken as miniature chandeliers dangled from her ears. Sharp eyes as black as obsidian ran over Morana's form on the floor.
She suddenly felt naked in the scraps of fabric she wore, ruined with dirt and grime from the time she spent in the cell, then after in the forest.
To the right of the king's throne was two of his three son's. The other Morana knew to be manning the battlefields between their two kingdoms himself, having taken a liking to the smell of blood and sight of bodies for some strange reason.
Prince Rend Denopin of the Kanderan Kingdom was the eldest of the three sons with hair as black as his parents, yet skin lighter than his father's. Most noticeably, he had a scar from the bottom of his lip to the base of his neck. What from, she did not know, nor did she care to find out. A crown was wrapped around his forehead with both rubies and amethysts encased in its golden metal. He wore a black jacket buttoned up to the left of his chest and black pants with freshly shined boots underneath. His eyes were like his mother's—sharp and unforgiving.
Prince Theryn Denopin of the Kanderan Kingdom was the youngest of the three sons by seven years to Prince Hyrena Denopin—the middle of the three sons currently finding a place on the battlefield. He looked like both his mother and his father simultaneously. His skin was of a color in between the tree-brown and midnight-black. His tar-colored hair reached just to his shoulders, though it was combed back as it was still dripping wet from a presumed shower. He wore clothes akin to his brother along with a similar crown—his being less extravagant as he was only the third heir to the throne.
For a fleeting moment, Morana wondered if he felt as she had when she was an heir to a throne. Always in someone's shadow as they got all the praise; all the attention; all the love, knowing you'd never be the one in the limelight unless an unfortunate circumstance befell the one person who understood you better than most. But that moment passed and she returned to the constant feeling of wanting to run away from this room. And these people.
Slowly rising to her feet, Morana flinched at the sound of armor clanking behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted to flaming red hair of the stranger who she met in the forest standing behind her.
Queen Nexis smiled coldly at Morana's subdued fear. "Dame Aerlion was the one to… take you in," she explained, gesturing to the woman clad in metal. "She's one of our best."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Dame Aerlion replied, bowing her head in near-perfect curtsy.
"I see," Morana said. She spoke slowly, unsure if she were allowed to speak at all.
King Theosas quickly overtook the conversation. His voice took more care in addressing her with respect and understanding than his wife, and for that, Morana must thank him. "I understand there have been certain—ah, how do I put this…"
"Unfortunate circumstances?" Morana offered.
"Yes, yes," the king began. "Quite unfortunate for you, my dear. A princess of Effrin, now defamed and exiled all because of a lie so clearly made by the monarchs of your former kingdom." His eyes glazed over as if he were thinking of a memory long since tarnished by the fate of the stars. Morana stayed silent—mostly for fear that if she spoke, she'd lash out toward King Theosas. And that'd be less than favorable. No matter, as the king started again before she lost her tongue. "I can't imagine the pain and sorrow you must be in at such a betrayal. If I were you, I know I'd like to enact a sort of revenge upon my betrayers."
"I don't see a fault in that," she replied blandly. Years of learning to infect her voice with as much emotion as possible also taught her how to bleach it of any kind of inflection.
King Theosas gave her a warm smile, the effect rattling her insides like beads breaking from a bracelet. "I'm glad, for I have a proposition."
"So I've heard."
"Ah," he started, giving a leveled narrow of the eyes toward Dame Aerlion behind Morana, "I see someone has been talking. I don't suppose she told you what, exactly, it is I wish to discuss?" When Morana shook her head ever so slightly—scared to upset her already pounding headache—he continued. "I was in a position similar to yours once before. Betrayed by a nation I thought I could consider my brethren—that nation being the Effrin Kingdom. I felt weak. I felt helpless. I felt enraged, as I'm sure you do now, and I took it out in the means of a petty war I now live to regret. My dilemma now, is that there is no way for me to call off this war without losing everything I've built. I'd sacrifice my people, my kingdom, and my family if I retreated.
"Now, my dear, that's where I see a deal to be struck with you. We can end this war together, but I need your help. You grew up inside their castle walls. You know the ins and outs of the Earien Castle, the rules and laws that would inhibit them while strengthening us, and much more information that we could've never reached even with the best spies this kingdom could offer. In return, I will make it my personal mission to make sure you receive the throne you rightfully deserve with no one to tell you otherwise. An indestructible bond between the Effrin and Kanderan Kingdoms could be forged with you leading the former, helping them to thrive when all they used to know what famine and war. I only ask for one thing alongside the information that you give," he finished, leaning forward on his throne.
Morana raised her chin and squared her shoulders like she had practiced a million times before. "It is?" she prompted.
"I ask for your hand in marriage to my third son, Prince Theryn Denopin of the Kanderan Kingdom."
The prince clearly hadn't expected those words by the sudden flush of his cheeks, but Morana had been prepared for it since the moment she heard the word "proposition" come from the king's mouth. His eldest was already betrothed to Princess Sandern of the Restien Kingdom. The middle one was too busy on the battlefield for a marriage proposal, which left only the youngest to marry off. Her brows still furrowed slightly as she replayed the sentence over in her head again.
"I have a choice in this?" she wondered aloud.
The king nodded, to Morana's surprise and Prince Theryn's relief. "You do."
"And if I refuse?"
Queen Nexis spoke for him, her voice taut with barely restrained bitterness. "Then you're free to leave and never set foot in this kingdom again."
"I don't think you deserve to die," the king continued again, "but if your of no use to me, I would rather not waste my resources. But by all means, create a life somewhere far away from both kingdoms borders. Like I said, the choice is yours." His hands created a triangle shape in his lap as he observed her.
The choice is yours, his voice echoed in her head. Growing up in Effrin with the idea that she was to live a life as a princess, she never thought that would be possible. It became drilled into her head by everyone around her that she would be sold off to a prince of some foreign kingdom for whatever reason her former father saw fit. Her voice didn't matter in the slightest. Now, her voice was the deciding factor.
She didn't see much of a downside in accepting King Theosas' proposal. He was giving her the ability to see out her revenge upon her bastard former family—and already a couple ideas were coming to mind on where to hit them first. The only thing she had to do was spill the secrets she kept for the past twenty-two years of her life. A small price for a life-altering result that made the frozen-over blood in her veins jump with a sudden wave of blistering heat. Not only would she watch as those cursed royals fell from grace, but she'd be right there, next in line, to take their place on that sliver throne with a crown of her own upon her head again. She could pick up the pieces of that broken kingdom just like she promised she would years ago, reforging it into what Effrin should have been for decades now.
She could feel her younger self clawing at the wall of skin on her body, begging her to decline the offer. For once in her life, she got to choose where it led, and she never wanted a husband. But the woman who would've turned and walked away was the same one who died in the cold cell several days prior. A new woman took her place, and she lifted her eyes to meet the king's gaze in front of her, disregarding the hopeful look in the prince's eyes.
"I accept the offer," she said, "on one condition."
"Name it."
A man with dark curls and blue eyes like hers flashed against her eyelids for a fraction of a second. It sent a string of hot lightning cracking into the ice frozen over her heart. "Prince Calven is mine to deal with." There was no arguing with her tone, and she left no room for negotiation. Her former brother was hers to decide the fate of. Not the stars, not the Kanderan royals in front of her, and certainly not some random warrior on the front lines of a militia.
King Theosas seemed surprised with her specification, but agreed nonetheless. "I don't see a fault in that," he said, repeating her own words back to her.
At that, she smiled like an animal, foreign blood still staining the white within her mouth. "Then it's a deal, Your Majesty."
"It's a deal," King Theosas agreed with a nod of his head. "And please," he started, his voice growing warmer and more welcoming than moments before, "call me Theo from now on."