Coup d'état

Year 618

Winter

Kingdom of Witherfeld

Betrayal.

It is the greatest weapon an enemy or a friend who envies someone who's stronger than him shall resort to act. Through smooth calculations, anyone can stab a knife in one's grasp. Anyone can put someone into danger by means of manipulation, whether it may be in an emotional, mental or physical aspect of a mere being. Anyone can pretend as an innocent lamb, but a filthy demon later on. Anyone can be careful not to fall into one's trap unless the use of inevitable forces of evil already conquered by men.

I do not understand why such a being commits a crime to others, yet here I am, witnessing such a disaster before my golden eyes and blazing in the utmost fury of terror. Looking out from the windows of the ballroom, I am alone with the harp gifted by my future fiance (not anymore due to this damaging day), and am playing a romantic song I love to listen to.

Trying to put myself into the shoes of this usurper who I think of as an ally, still I cannot comprehend his monstrous measures.

A coup d'état. It now ensues throughout the palace my father and his family built for hundreds of years. Oh Witherfeld, my and our subjects' humble home little by little vanishes into thin air. The jollies of laughter I used to hear from my beloved people turns into loud screams, cries, and shrieks for a better living, I promise to offer them as I grow up. Now, gone. Bloods flush from their veins shower upon the sacred floors of the kingdom; plunging swords cut through the innocent knights' exhausting figures that take years of sacrifice in protecting the House of Corinthius. Thus, they put up their lives in vain like flies from a dirty lake.

My guilt keeps growing, watching them suffer from realities. I've performed my part as a sole princess, too. Surrendering my own freedom to choose whom I love to spend my life with, I do my very best to ease the pain of the people from hunger and poverty. Yet, these humble deeds I undertake turn out to be a farce for me. They undergo pain, hurt, and thus perish for good.

"What a waste," I say, moving away from the instrument. I remove the costly ornaments from my raven hair, place them on the table, and tread through the door to leave behind the soon to be ruined area. If only I know it shall end like this, I will never take these foolish lessons from the tutors who basically follow His Majesty's orders' for fame and protection's sake ever again! As I pass through the eerie hallway, I recognize the unfamiliar footsteps of hers; I unconsciously touch the pendant Mother gifted me. "Your Highness, Her Majesty The Queen wishes to see you this instant," Lydia, Mother's loyal lady-in-waiting, requests in a calm manner. I nod and let her lead the way through Her Majesty's bedroom.

…

Not long after, the lady-in-waiting speaks on behalf of me who stays quiet and opens the door for us to freely enter. Coughing in severity, Mother attempts to get up from the mattress, yet fails. For my sight isn't capable of seeing such a saddening scene, my feet walk toward their sick momma's feet to massage them for a bit while Lydia caresses her back and assists the Queen.

Utter silence.

No one utters a single word, we can wistfully pray in our hearts that we will not be caught by the groups of rebels and mercenaries and face our deaths through their sharp weapons. But then, a soft voice breaks the stillness. "Darling, how have you been? Are you doing well with your studies?"

I close my eyes, losing my temper. I stand up and pour in warm tea for her to drink. This wench does not know how to read a room. There's an ongoing chaos outside the palace, yet unwariness fumes throughout her sleeping place! Besides, she only listens to Father who I never have an inch of idea about his whereabouts nor my brother's. I assume they're in the middle of a tough fight against the foes. "Mother, I implore you, we shall run and hide somewhere. Our home's unsafe for you and your health."

"How so? Is the ruckus continuing?"

"Aye."

"But, Henley advises me not to fret for he and our son may be victorious soon and forever," she beams.

I grit my teeth, signaling the servant to gather all the necessities before the three of us leave and daring myself to act as if she is not there. The lady-in-waiting abides by my wishes. "Hadassah! Lydia! What is it that you are doing? We must all stay. This is an order!" She coughs once more as she senses the underlying pain in her lungs. The Queen lies down on her bed, gasping for air. However, forgive me, Your Majesty, but your daughter's impertinence begets self-serving peace for the both of us without Father and brother Theo, the Prince.

After finishing packing the garments needed, Lydia grabbed the shoulder of Queen Thyre, but she shoos away her hand as if disgusted. Her face turns pale like snowflake; she appears weaker than the last time I paid a visit. "G-go on, leave me be," she stutters.

"Your Majesty…"

"Lydia, it w-won't be a burden to you and my daughter unless I join," Her Majesty the Queen then shifted her gaze upon me, a vengeful child of hers whom she has an overbearing patience, gives a modest smile on her face; it surprises me, "Dassah, take Lydia with you. Im-mediately."

"No. Your Highness! Please."

Sigh. "Lydia, let us go," I scurry to the entryway, and slam the door, waiting for that silly girl to follow.

Damn it.

Mother definitely encounters the End as anticipated. It is well-predicted by the omen. Based upon the seemingly sleazy foretellers I and my family consulted two years ago in the Valley of Gargadon, a bedridden mother of the land shall befall; the kingdom in which the Institution beautifies and guides among the faithful ones shall be in ruins; the damnation of all, a child who is born with a silver spoon shall inherit the throne for an unknowing purpose— good or evil.

Alas, a curse shall plant a kiss upon the soul of the youngest eternally, perpetually. He may never disavow his fate for the love of his will be gone— he must endure.

…

One minute.

Five minutes.

Ten.

The lady-in-waiting finally comes into sight, weeping her heart out like a child that just lost her candy. Shoving the unwanted thoughts out of my mind, I motion her to hurry and carry the things we need. Again, Lydia obeys me. Truly odd. She used to be an adamant maid that dogs around my presumably late mother. I shall not let my guard down on her. "Follow me, Your Highness. To the hidden tunnel," she bows her head, takes the torch from a wall, and reverts back to her typical composure like nothing happened.

…

As we reach the destination, I stare intently at the back of Lydia who seems to shiver due to the breeze from winter. Haa. A youngster that's almost the same age as I do, 19, and am jealous of, funnily, becomes an aide of mine. Concerned, I rummage through the bag I bring to seek a hood as a cover for her frail body.

"Your Highness."

I pretend to be a deaf, even so I discern a clanging sound of the rusty door.

"Y-your H-highness."

I'm not finished yet. Give me a moment, Lydia. I know you're not as well as I do.

"Your-"

Slash!

The sounding wave of a lethal sword swings swiftly through the Queen's servant who swears allegiance to the royalty. Her neck leaks a mass of blood rolls through the ground. And lo, this scent, my lord, a familiar, dangerous scent of his lingers.

Posing a serious look on my face, I glare at him in contempt. This man… What is it that he wants? Killing some person right in front of me, a noblewoman somewhat irks me to the core.

How disrespectful.

"Milady, it is done," he lowers his head in reverence to his master. Lovely is he that bears luminous auburn locks, emerald-like eyes, and an olive skin I fancy most. Though he covers himself in blood. I will let it slide, since the plan is a major success.

"I am grateful for your service," I made a deep obeisance, "You, alongside the heroic deeds of yours, shape this lady into a merry one; she won't forget this renown history of Witherfeld. Your name, Casimir Aurelius Durkingham, lasts forever." I stood erect, approving. The heavy responsibility I carry on myself is lost. A feeling of immense gladness overpowers through my veins. "Sire, what is your wish that I shall fulfill in return?" I ask sweetly.

The devoted man thus bends on one knee, putting away his defiled sword from the untouchable royal.

Good for him.

He knows his place.

Out of my anticipation, he plants a soft kiss on my hand. His eyes twinkle in perhaps… delight?

"A hand in marriage, Your Majesty."