Atarah was already having a bad day. She decided the council needed to see who was in charge. “Delroy can’t always get his way.” She mumbled. Delroy must've been her father and her uncle’s advisor, but her rule will have some changes. She walked far away from the council hall and stopped in front of a circular window, which overlooked the famous Sargas rose garden. The weather was beautiful, and she wished to run to the waterfalls, where her favorite place lay behind the cave. Atarah had everything there, her practice weapons, and hidden wine, which she stole whenever the king would open his exclusive wine collection. She discovered the cave when she was 7 and on a hunt with her father. “Who does it belong to?” she had asked her father, noticing every single detail in the damp cave with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her father had chuckled at her reaction. “To us. It belongs to Sargas, to the royal family, to the people of Sargas. To you.” He cupped her face with affection and picked her up before she could step further inside the cave.
“Can we visit it again?” She turned around her head to whisper the cave goodbye.
“Of course, honeybun, next time we will come here with mother and have a delicious picnic.”
But there wasn't a next time. As for the next three years, conflict arose between Sargas, and the Elvi. the dangerous ones, with the elemental and black magic. They were murdered or forced to flee. And among the dead were her parents. She remembered herself standing in front of the mirror, a little taller than the rest of 10-year-olds, wearing a black silk dress and repeating her memorized lines without getting teary-eyed.
Suddenly, the rain started spattering on the circular window, which brought back her attention. She saw someone’s blurred reflection coming towards her, and her reflexes kicked in. Atarah leaned slightly to the side, and grabbed the wrist of the stranger, twisting it to a 180, which resulted in a yell from the stranger. It was a boy. “What the hell, let go.” She recognized that annoying sound, but still held on to the wrist, twisting it more.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, gritting her teeth.
“I accompanied my father. Let go.” He was trying not to yell again.
“Fine,” she said and pushed him hard, away from her.
“Looks like you reached Antares safely.” Dragomir, grinned, his silver hair tied up in a neat bun, and his casual clothing made it look like he was accompanying his father.
“I am sorry for the loss of your uncle.” He bowed his head in respect, and Atarah murmured a thank-you.
“Will you be staying for the funeral tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Dragomir opened his mouth to say something but the doors of the council hall opened on the far right, and everyone came out, talking among each other. Delroy seemed to have forgotten her and walked in the opposite direction, deeply immersed with the minister of defense. Meanwhile, King Othello was staring at Atarah, his eyes drifting from his son to the princess of this kingdom. “Your father seems to like me,” she smirked. Othello caught the smirk and smiled creepily. Atarah shivered.
“Arrogant bitches are his type.” Dragomir winked at her and left to join his brother, not bothering to reply to her cursing.
***********************
Elaxai had informed her that the king and his sons will stay in the west wing of the palace, which was where the royals and their VIP guests stayed over. She also told her that Dragomir will have the room right next to hers, which meant that the distance from their balconies was just a leap. Elaxai knew of the princess's secret meetups with the prince, but she never brought up the subject. She had been seeing most of the prince, coming and going after the peace treaty was signed. Which stood a little long.
“Why did he have to have that room? I mean, there are so many of them. Why that?” Atarah was changing into her nightgown and complaining to Astara. “I can't stand that jerk.” She struggled to button up the dress from top but the button broke from her struggle and rolled on the floor, exposing half of her cleavage. “Ugh” she groaned. She pulled away the blanket from the bed and climbed up, lightning the lavender candle on her bedside table. “Goodnight Astara,” she said to the wolf, who was already asleep and covered herself comfortably, trying to get some sleep.
It was half past 3 in the morning when someone opened the door of her balcony. The intruder stepped inside the room, not bothering to close the door, and tiptoed into the dark. He saw the wolf sleeping peacefully by the window, its face away from the intruder. He was standing opposite to the bed, and suddenly the lamp lit up. Atarah rubbed her eyes, stretching her arms in the air. Her bladder was full, and the cold had already made her go to the washroom twice. The intruder froze mid-step. He saw the girl’s movement as she headed straight to the bathroom without looking at his way. Once the door was closed, he resumed.
He opened the door to her closet and took out the circular mirror, which acted as a torch. Sliding two fingers in the mirror, the light dimmed a little as to not attract attention; the intruder turned the torch towards the closet. He knew she kept it in here. He had seen her do so once he was in this room. But it would take a while to find them. He took a step inside, but a prickle on his neck made him stop and eventually ducked, dodging the long baton which struck to the door of the closet instead of his head.
“Who the hell are you?” The princess was standing with groggy eyes and a baton. The intruder turned around slowly, his hands in the air. When he saw she was half asleep, he made a run for it to the balcony. But Astara was quicker. The wolf blocked the exit, growling at him, and then Atarah leapt up on him. “Answer me, you jerk,” she said in his ear. They both struggled, and the weight of Atarah on him was enough to bring him down on the bed. The intruder rolled sideways, trying to get up, but Atarah grabbed his wrist and straddled him, pinning them over his head. Her face was inches away from him. “Lights.” she said to the room, on command two lights over her bed lit up. Exposing the intruder’s face.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?” she whispered to him. His eyes were wide. He had never been this close to her before. Her unbuttoned gown was showing way too much of her cleavage. “I got lost,” he said.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.”
Atarah tightened her grip on his wrist, and Dragomir flinched.
“Fine. I was just trying to get some diamonds.” He said, wriggling his fingers, but Atarah didn't let go.
“I gave you for this month. Don't be greedy.” She let go of his hands but didn't get off him.
“I don't need to tell you everything.”
“You were stealing from me. You need to tell me everything, unless you want me to call the guards and show that Antares has produced a thief for a prince.” She smirked.
He knew she wasn't kidding. And the guards outside her door would come any second if they heard another sound. Dragomir didn't want her pity. She was his nemesis on the battlefield, and he had already lost twice to her. Dragomir took the risk.
“My father has selected me to become the crown prince, and my elder brother got the news of it. He has been threatening me since then. I need money to protect myself. I need to move away from him, but I know I'll always be within his reach.” He looked at his blocked exit, where Astara stood loyally. “I don't want to harm my brother, and I know if we fight, there will be more bloodshed. The diamonds are going to my protectors as payments, but the head has asked for more because i need to seek refuge soon.”
“Why soon? Did something happen?” she asked, the sleep from her eyes disappeared.
“There was a murder attempt at me. Poison in my food. Luckily, the server slipped. My cat Lilian ate it, and a few seconds later she died.”
“Oh no, not the cat.” Atarah covered her mouth dramatically.
“Did you not hear the word ‘murder' attempt?” He raised his eyebrow at her.
“Yes, but the cat,” she pouted.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door. “Your highness, is everything alright?” Margaret called out. “I'm coming in.” She said. Before Atarah could react, Dragomir commanded the lights to turn off and flipped her over, getting on top of her and covering himself with the blanket. Atarah was shocked. What just happened? She thought. Dragomir was breathing heavily at her. His gray eyes looked directly at her, and his chest rose and fell in rhythm with hers. Atarah had instinctively wrapped her hands around his neck while he placed them on the bed. They heard the door opening, and Margeret coming in, looking around.
Satisfied that the princess was sleeping, she left.
“Aren't you getting off?” Atarah whispered to him, and Dragomir rolled away from her quickly, stepping out of the bed and walking to the balcony in one swift move. “Well then, I assume you won't tell on me?” he said, stepping out.
“NO, but I might blackmail you for it,” she smirked.
“I hate you.” Dragomir smiled back at her and left.
Atarah could not sleep after that incident. Mostly because her mind kept replaying that memory repeatedly, and that the prince had left behind his smell in her bedsheets. She lay on the other side of the bed, turning her head. Atarah inhaled in his scent, and memories of the waterfalls filled her head again.
The next day, Atarah got ready for the funeral. She chose a simple black dress with her red velvet cape which adorned her house sigil. “Everyone’s ready to proceed, your highness.” Margaret informed her with a bow. “I’ll be right outside Margeret.” When Atarah stepped outside her room, beside her, Dragomir also stepped outside, wearing a black suit and bowtie. His silver hair was tied neatly in a bun. His kingdom and house sigil were stitched on his right breast. The memories of last night came back to her, and she turned away her head, hiding the blush which was forming. “Aren't you going?” he said, fixing his bowtie., Atarah nodded and led the way outside the palace, aware of Dragomir’s footsteps behind her. The funeral was held outside where the memorial burial house of the royal family was. Tulips grew in bushes surrounding the house, giving it a lively glow instead of a gloomy, dark place. The house itself was made of white marble, with hints of black and gray lines running thro
The night was young, and the streets were filled with people enjoying the summer bliss. Black banners and flags waved at her as she passed by the shops. The mourning period wasn't over yet, and her citizen acknowledged that. Her red cape was hiding her figure and the mask hiding her face, but the huge needlework on the cape projected her birth and upon seeing it, many people bowed to her, muttering the phrase, “long live the queen.” Atarah didn't stop to nod or smile. This wasn't a summer solstice festival where all she did was smile. And wave at her cheering people. She looked o her right here at the empty alleyways and saw a black figure of a wolf walking with her steps. Atarah smiled. She knew Astara would never leave her alone. The port side was empty. Because of the recent murder, she saw as royal soldiers held back the few sailors who were curiously trying to take a peek at the hidden bodies. One soldier identified her and bowed, walking towards her, “Your highness, what bring
This wasn't the first time her birthday went so bloody. Atarah remembered her 14th birthday when her uncle had sent her to her first mission. It was to hunt a serial killer who had been kidnapping baby boys and eating their livers. She had found the man hunched over a fire, eating raw liver out of a dead baby boy. Atarah had vomited first at the brutal sight, and she wished for her parents to be there with her, to cover her eyes, and sing her back to sleep, saying it was all a dream. But she wasn't a 10-year-old anymore, so Atarah took a breath and took out her new sword. The man had watched her every move and then grinned. The blood dripped from his mouth, and his teeth were covered in little chunks of meat. He made a gurgling sound, as if calling her close to him. But Atarah knew best. She raised her sword just as the man stood up and brought it down, cutting his wrist off. The man screamed in agony; he ran forward, making those gurgling sound, and Atarah noticed he had no tongue.
Margeret was right, Delroy was punctual and Atarah was late 15 minutes, her hair dripping wet as she had slipped on whatever she could find first thing. “I apologize for my late arrival. Let’s begin.” She said once she entered the hall, huffing. Delroy gave a nod and then began the meeting. They had started off with the taxes and construction, which made her zone out 5 minutes into the meeting. “Your highness, do you agree?” Atarah rubbed her eyes and looked at the staring eyes of the four men. Agree? To what? She thought, she didn't want to look like a fool just before coronation, “Yes, I agree.” she smiled. Delroy’s eyes lit up with her agreement as he said, “well then, there will be a ball on the coronation weekend.” “Uh.” Atarah nodded with agreement. She had no idea what the ball will be for, most probably to gain favours with the allies. “And what do you think of Prince Jaswer of Hargon.” she really wanted to squeeze the life out of Delroy, who the fuck was that? Atarah quickl
Lands of Gliala: Atarah was geared for war. The sunlight struck harshly against her golden armor, blinding anyone standing beside her. That’s why she stood alone, in front, on top of her Akhal-Teke. Bearing the black rifle on her back and two blades on her belt. She donned on the red cape, embroidered with the Royal seal. A curved sword between two diamonds. Her army was positioned on the hill overlooking the vast war-torn land of Gliala. Once a thriving city of farmers, but when the Lura ravaged the land, bringing chaos, the city became ashes. “We have word that the army is closing in.” General Jasper walked up to her. “They are quite brave,” Atarah smirked, knowing what was coming for the enemy. “Place the snipers, block the exits. How is the air force coming?” She was looking straight ahead, at the notches, as if waiting for a long-loved one. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, strands of curls stopped under her ears. “Everything is in place, your highness.” Jasper
Kingdom of Sargas, The Royal Palace;A wine goblet almost smacked Atarah on the forehead. She ducked in time as it smashed against the glass door behind her. “Henry, control your liquor.” She yelled towards the table on the far right, just a foot away from the throne. Atarah walked down the aisle, her hair a tangled mess and her face covered in mud. The red cape was back in its place, as her rifle was nowhere to be seen. She stopped before the diamond steps leading to the throne and went on her knee. “Your Majesty,” she said, looking at the floor.A middle-aged man, with a diamond crusted gold crown on his bald head, occupied the grand chair. He was holding a goblet in his hand and stood up when Atarah bowed to him. “Quiet down everyone.” He yelled in the hall, his cracked voice reaching every corner of the walls. Atarah straightened up and felt the room suddenly turning over. It was quiet, all eyes on her, all ears on the king. “Today, we sow our sorrows in the lands of Gliala. Today
It was Elaxai who bandaged her after every battle, a short beautiful Elvi, with blond hair reaching her knees. “You were careful this time, your highness.” She said, wiping the crusted blood on the wound. Atarah flinched and bit her lips. “He stabbed me.” Elaxai smiled, and her pupils changed color. “I'm glad my pain makes you happy.” Atarah gripped the bedsheets when Elaxai placed her palm on the wound, and a rush of heat followed it. She was using magic. “Oh no, your highness. I just assumed your meeting went well with Prince Dragomir.” She looked Atarah in the eyes, her expression worried.“He stabbed me,” Atarah said, eyeing her shoulder. The Elvi removed her palm and got up. “All done. Get some sleep. You have to give a speech at the memorial tomorrow.” Elaxai lit up some honey-scented candles in her room and left, closing the door behind her, giving Atarah the peace and privacy she wished for. ^^^^^^^^^^^^It was past midn
Given her relationship with the King, Margaret thought the princess would crumble to the ground and weep. The woman was ready to handle the broken heir. She was already clutching on the napkin in her left hand, waiting for the tears, but Atarah shocked her by pulling out her blade, lightning fast, and held it up to her throat. “Where are the soldiers?” Her voice was calm, and it scared Margeret to even come up with the thought that the brave warrior had her uncle murdered. “On the way,” she stuttered. Atarah threw the blade on her bed and sat on the edge, looking at the carpet. Margaret didn't know what to do. Should she console her? Should she question her? What was the princess feeling? It was hard to understand her expression. “Your highness, the soldiers will take you to the throne room, for your safety.” Margaret whispered. She was afraid the princess would throw a blade at her anytime, and she would meet the same fate as her King. But thankfully Atarah didn't flinch from her po
Margeret was right, Delroy was punctual and Atarah was late 15 minutes, her hair dripping wet as she had slipped on whatever she could find first thing. “I apologize for my late arrival. Let’s begin.” She said once she entered the hall, huffing. Delroy gave a nod and then began the meeting. They had started off with the taxes and construction, which made her zone out 5 minutes into the meeting. “Your highness, do you agree?” Atarah rubbed her eyes and looked at the staring eyes of the four men. Agree? To what? She thought, she didn't want to look like a fool just before coronation, “Yes, I agree.” she smiled. Delroy’s eyes lit up with her agreement as he said, “well then, there will be a ball on the coronation weekend.” “Uh.” Atarah nodded with agreement. She had no idea what the ball will be for, most probably to gain favours with the allies. “And what do you think of Prince Jaswer of Hargon.” she really wanted to squeeze the life out of Delroy, who the fuck was that? Atarah quickl
This wasn't the first time her birthday went so bloody. Atarah remembered her 14th birthday when her uncle had sent her to her first mission. It was to hunt a serial killer who had been kidnapping baby boys and eating their livers. She had found the man hunched over a fire, eating raw liver out of a dead baby boy. Atarah had vomited first at the brutal sight, and she wished for her parents to be there with her, to cover her eyes, and sing her back to sleep, saying it was all a dream. But she wasn't a 10-year-old anymore, so Atarah took a breath and took out her new sword. The man had watched her every move and then grinned. The blood dripped from his mouth, and his teeth were covered in little chunks of meat. He made a gurgling sound, as if calling her close to him. But Atarah knew best. She raised her sword just as the man stood up and brought it down, cutting his wrist off. The man screamed in agony; he ran forward, making those gurgling sound, and Atarah noticed he had no tongue.
The night was young, and the streets were filled with people enjoying the summer bliss. Black banners and flags waved at her as she passed by the shops. The mourning period wasn't over yet, and her citizen acknowledged that. Her red cape was hiding her figure and the mask hiding her face, but the huge needlework on the cape projected her birth and upon seeing it, many people bowed to her, muttering the phrase, “long live the queen.” Atarah didn't stop to nod or smile. This wasn't a summer solstice festival where all she did was smile. And wave at her cheering people. She looked o her right here at the empty alleyways and saw a black figure of a wolf walking with her steps. Atarah smiled. She knew Astara would never leave her alone. The port side was empty. Because of the recent murder, she saw as royal soldiers held back the few sailors who were curiously trying to take a peek at the hidden bodies. One soldier identified her and bowed, walking towards her, “Your highness, what bring
The next day, Atarah got ready for the funeral. She chose a simple black dress with her red velvet cape which adorned her house sigil. “Everyone’s ready to proceed, your highness.” Margaret informed her with a bow. “I’ll be right outside Margeret.” When Atarah stepped outside her room, beside her, Dragomir also stepped outside, wearing a black suit and bowtie. His silver hair was tied neatly in a bun. His kingdom and house sigil were stitched on his right breast. The memories of last night came back to her, and she turned away her head, hiding the blush which was forming. “Aren't you going?” he said, fixing his bowtie., Atarah nodded and led the way outside the palace, aware of Dragomir’s footsteps behind her. The funeral was held outside where the memorial burial house of the royal family was. Tulips grew in bushes surrounding the house, giving it a lively glow instead of a gloomy, dark place. The house itself was made of white marble, with hints of black and gray lines running thro
Atarah was already having a bad day. She decided the council needed to see who was in charge. “Delroy can’t always get his way.” She mumbled. Delroy must've been her father and her uncle’s advisor, but her rule will have some changes. She walked far away from the council hall and stopped in front of a circular window, which overlooked the famous Sargas rose garden. The weather was beautiful, and she wished to run to the waterfalls, where her favorite place lay behind the cave. Atarah had everything there, her practice weapons, and hidden wine, which she stole whenever the king would open his exclusive wine collection. She discovered the cave when she was 7 and on a hunt with her father. “Who does it belong to?” she had asked her father, noticing every single detail in the damp cave with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her father had chuckled at her reaction. “To us. It belongs to Sargas, to the royal family, to the people of Sargas. To you.” He cupped her face with affection and picked h
Margaret was the first person who rushed towards the guards and fell on her knees. “It was my fault.” She cried. “I asked her to flee. Punish me, leave her be.” The guards exchanged a look. They were confused, and Atarah felt a powerful emotion towards the woman. “No one is punishing anyone, Margaret. Get up.” Atarah bent down and spoke to the woman in her ear. “You’re the head court lady. Compose yourself.” Margaret wiped away her tears. Her faded red locks had come undone from the braid, her eyes were a mess from the running eyeliner. She looked at Delroy and then at the princess. Getting up slowly, she dusted off her skirt and wiped away the tears. A soldier handed her a napkin with a smile, and she took it, clearing the eyeliner off her face. “Listen up everyone.” Delroy gathered us around in a group, hunched over, “The princess never left the palace. She wasn't seen at the port. She needed some time alone to grieve.” He then met eyes with the three guards and Margaret. “Are we
The walk back to the palace was quiet. Atarah’s head was covered again. She was walking in the middle with the three soldiers surrounding her. The streets were almost empty, and little by little the street lights were turning on. Richard stopped at the intersection, where a fountain had just turned on and water droplets flew from the splashes. Atarah took off her hood. “Are we there yet?” she asked, but Richard only put up his hand. Someone was hiding in the left alley. “Come out.” Richard said. Atarah already had her hand gripped on the handle of the blade, she knew her reflexes were faster than the bullet. “I COMMAND YOU TO COME OUT.” He yelled this time. Atarah heard a low growl in the shadows, and purple-blue pupils blinked at the group several times. She smirked, letting go of her grip and relaxing. “It’s alright, Richard. She means no harm.” Richard looked at his queen, confused, but got his answer when Astara walked out of the shadows. Her eyes threateningly settled on Richar
Luckily, the docks were not as busy as she had thought. Though it was 1am, the time when ships docked and cargo were unloaded. There were only a few ships docked and left unattended at the port. Atarah had her hood up. The blackout helped her face hidden from the few people who were already there. She spotted the white long ship with Antares’s flag on the head of it and walked towards it. There were four men attending the ship, their faces gloomy and empty bottles of whiskey kept neatly aside on the deck. Atarah stomped her feet on the deck, making as much noise as she could to wake them up. One man looked at the stranger, making a noise at 1 am. He put down the box and walked towards her. “Can i help you?” His voice was slurry. Atarah didn't take off her hood. “how much for Antares?” The stranger blinked his eyes twice and slapped himself awake. He yelled, “3000SAR” “When will the ship leave?”“When everyone is aboard.”“How much time?” “You running from something?” Atarah looked
Orantal, the capital of Sargas was alive at 1 am. The streets were filled with people walking in crowds, holding electric candles, and singing the funeral song. Atarah had sung herself in many funerals, but she had never witnessed the song reach her heart when sung by a thousand. She stopped running and stood on the dark rooftop watching her people grieve their beloved King. Something stung in her heart and in her nose. She tried to hold it in, but it was no use, and she released the emotions she was burying deep. Sure, the king was more like a fool than a father, but he did bring her up with love and affection. Taught her to protect herself because she couldn't trust the court, taught her to become the best of the best, so that when the time comes, it will be the people who fear her, and not the other way around. But most of all he was the only one besides Astara, whom she could joke about Delroy.Atarah sniffed. Dammit, she thought, wiping the tears with her sleeves. Why did they ha