26th of Saun, Arc 716
Continued from Negotiations Between Parties
There had never been an atmosphere quieter or colder than the one inside the royal tent at this moment. Centered in an encampment, surrounded by thousands of men, horses, and weapons, the blue tent had been violated by a taint far more vicious than anyone could ever have anticipated. Only bits before, the current king of Rynmere had ran foot from the tent. 'Negotiations' had taken place between two sides for a country that had been torn asunder by civil war. During those negotiations, a betrayal had taken place. Elyna, a beloved family member, friend, and student had taken her blade and stabbed the Dragon King in the neck. Blood had poured freely from the wound and sprayed around the sharpened edge. Blue Burhan banners were stained with droplets of bright crimson. Arterial blood identified a lethal strike.Continued from Negotiations Between Parties
Zvezdana had felt her world shatter at the moment that the knife entered the neck of her beloved. In the few weeks she had come to know Veljorn, their journey together had been quick. They had met on chance and were married days after the encounter. She had been swept off her feet, promised the throne, Rynmere, and a chance at true happiness. She had been in love from the very beginning. Even if he did not appear to return the feelings openly, she was clouded by the knowledge he loved her. His secret words in her ear only confirmed that. She had willingly followed his campaign from Burhan to Venora to the gates of Andaris City. Zvezdana – like the rest of his army – believed him to be the Dragon King, the future of Rynmere, and the slayer of Cassander, the boy king.
Now, all of that was gone. Fire was running through the encampment, sounds of voices calling for water and trying to put the flames out filled the air. Cassander and his party had fled and the remaining two dragons had been slain to prevent further fires from starting. The royal tent was at risk of catching fire, some of the edges already threatened by the nearby flames. If she did not move soon, even she would be engulfed in fire.
She sat on her knees, head buried in the crook of her arm over his breast plate. She had pulled his body from the chair where it now laid in her lap. Zvezdana could feel the sticky substance under her fingers as it had tainted her finger tips when she moved him. It coated the front of her dress, causing the normally watery fabric to adhere to her skin. Her eyes were puffy from crying, her face red from screaming at her “cousin”, “friend”, and “pupil.” Even her brother had played a role in this, the metaphoric dagger he placed in her back a subtle sting in comparison to Elyna's crime. When she finally lifted her face to stare at the black plate metal of her husband, she barely recognized herself in her reflection.
Her eyes had a hollow, dark appearance. They stared, lifelessly into the dark plate, her reflection staring back at her in the polished steel. The reflection of a broken woman, with nothing left to live for anymore. A reflection that suggested that all her dreams had been taken, broken, and thrown into the fire for fuel. Her crown was no longer on her head. It was behind her, somewhere on the floor where it had fallen in the struggle to get Veljorn to the bed. It had pulled at her hair, strands of hair now flailing wildly from her up-do. It gave her an animalistic look, a look she only recalled having when she threw a fit at Lamonte a week or so ago against her brother.
How many people had plotted against her? Had Alistair known about this, even though they had come to strenuous terms about their relationship and their family? Faith had had a role, so how much did her cousins know? Were her parents and grandparents involved? What about the Burhan family? Did they put Elyna up to this?
Elyna. The name made her blood boil. How dare she? There was no way she was going to let the Elyna get away with this treachery. She would use every ounce of energy left in her body to lead this rebellion. Zvezdana was going to finish what Veljorn had started, to her last breath.
The defeated queen rolled her head back with a loud groan. Tears threatened her eyes again. There was no way that she was going to lead an army of men against Andaris City. They followed Veljorn, not her. They believed her to be their queen, but only in name and marriage, not action. She had mediocre skills with a sword. She was talented with her language, and it helped raise moral for her to be among the men, but beyond that, she was useless. Agony gripped her heart as she pulled at the sheets with one hand, reaching her other hand out to smudge the reflection in the plate.
“Veljorn…”
Her voice cracked pitifully in the quiet. At that moment, one of the guards came rushing in, hoping that he could do something for his Queen. If he could get her away from the fires, than his mission would be complete.
“Lady Zvezdana…”
“What,“ Zvezdana hissed, staring lifelessly into the plate, “did you just call me?”
The guard, confused, repeated himself. “Lady Zvezdana, please. We must get you away from here.”
“You shall refer to your queen as ‘your highness’ you insolent fool.”
“My lady, please. The war is over. The fires will be upon us soon!”
“HE’S NOT DEAD!”
Denial struck that man in the face as Zvezdana moved her body in a fashion that made her appear possessed. Her knees remained connected with the ground as her mind could not make her body function correctly. Veljorn's body slumped off of her lap. Her neck and head lolled in weak fashion and her hands connected with the damaged rug beneath her. She began to crawl to him, growling and hissing. Again, she repeated the phrase.
“He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead!”
Finally she grabbed his armored shoe, staring up at him as a widow. He felt pity for her, and remorse for he had been somewhat close to his king. As part of his personal guard, Veljorn had actually spent time with the knights closest to him. It was probably the sailor in him that wanted to share drinks with his follows. Now, he had an obligation to protect his wife.
“Please. You must come away! Now!”
“Get out! I will come up with something. We will not allow his dreams to end.”
She was delirious with grief, that much he suspected. He contemplated dragging her from the tent, but elected that giving her more time with her late husband might force some sense into her. Especially when the flames threatened her life. Besides, night had just fallen. He bowed, mumbling a farewell before leaving the tent to stand guard. The other guard that had been present gave him a sidelong glance, which was only replaced by a grim look of understanding. Grief had a way of ruining the mind. They would give her just a few bits more before going into the tent and forcefully dragging her out.
Zvezdana remained on her hands and knees, fresh tears dripping from her high cheek bones onto the carpet. Who was she kidding? How would she come with a plan in the next few trills to prevent the men from abandoning their post? She shivered and collapsed into a heap of sobs, slamming her fist into the carpet. Shortly, another scream escaped her lips, barely muffled by the ground. The last bit of energy was leaving her. She whispered a prayer to whomever was listening, begging and pleading for help with all her being.
“Immortals, hear my plea. If there are any that care, come before me. I beg for your guidance and your power for my revenge. I would give anything. Won’t someone help me?”
