⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅ ◈ ⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The rats never left.

No matter how many times Ethelind stamped on the revolting creatures—if she could catch them—they would always be back. At night, she heard them scurrying through the straw under her bed and, worst of all, they defecated everywhere. Ethelind knew she looked ridiculous whenever she went to grab her food where the guards left it, dancing around on the balls of her shoes to avoid treading in rat faeces. It was so humiliating. Sometimes the pests even ate her food before she got to it since the guards always left it out while she was asleep.

Ethelind had been in the dungeons for two years but refused to go mad. She would exercise, sleep, draw on the walls, and stare at the small, barred window above her bed that only sky was visible from. As she wasted away, seasons slowly drifted by as life continued outside the confines of her cell. It was as if she did not exist.

If only she could speak to one guard. As dutiful as the Northerners were to their king, she was sure she could find a way out if given a chance. She was a beautiful and coquettish woman with striking blue eyes, a smattering of freckles, and curved red lips. One look was always enough to catch someone's attention; even as pale and gaunt as she had become, she knew she had not lost her fair features.

Just one guard is all I want.

Maybe Lucian was letting her rot alone, waiting for her to succumb to illness and suffer a long, agonising death. Or, more likely, he was dragging out her final hours, knowing that the worst punishment for someone like her was to be forgotten, to become inconsequential. The last time the guards had left a bucket for her to wash in felt like months ago, and her body was so itchy. If Lucian wanted to kill her morale, he had done a good job.

Uncle or not, she often reflected on the Battle of Bloodfield Bay and wished that she had managed to kill him.

The memory of the day was bitter.

Ethelind sat on her horse, her red hair cut short to keep it out of the way. She wore no helmet, but she had covered the rest of her body in plate armour. In her right hand she wielded a longsword, a beastly thing with a serrated edge and leather hilt worn by overuse, and she had strapped a shield to her left arm.

"Nervous?" a voice asked below her, and she looked down to see Katana, her cousin. Katana was a short eleven-year-old girl, almost twelve, with shoulder-long blonde hair, freckles, and light brown eyes she had inherited from her mother.

They were both related to the man they were supposed to kill.

Lucian had four siblings: Emelyn Silverling, who married Lachlan and became queen of the South; Azalea Everwood, who died when she was fourteen; Damek Westerling, lord of Lakewood Moat; and Dinah Eternel, Ethelind's mother. Ethelind didn't consider any of them family, however. That title was reserved for Katana and the men-at-arms she fought with, some wary of her, some flirtatious, but most respectful of her skill, embracing her as a crucial part of their army.

Instead of serving Emelyn and Lucian, Ethelind had chosen to serve the Shadowharts, disregarding the Everwood lineage that had never suited her.

"Nervous? Yes. But ready to take down some of Lucian's incompetent soldiers? Definitely."

Katana smiled. "I don't doubt it." A slight pause ensued as she considered what to say, her eyes flitting to Lucian's army emerging on top of the hill, and she began to speak faster, knowing she had to leave before the battle began. "If you don't come back, I wanted... I mean, I thought it would... I was going to say..."

"Save it. I'm not dying today. You don't need to give me your last words for 'just in case'."

Katana nodded. "Until the morrow, then."

The customary valedictory between soldiers. Ethelind nodded. "Until the morrow."

Katana turned and sprinted for the tents behind the battlefield, a dirk hanging on her belt like usual, glinting in the light. Ethelind watched her go silently, wondering if she would ever see the girl again, then shook her head and rode to the front line, pushing Katana out of her mind. From afar, she could see Lucian's golden hair glinting in the light where he rode at the front of his army, Lachlan at his side with a raised sword.

Until the morrow, then.

She looked at their leaders, the brothers Xavier and Kael Shadowhart, for a command. Kael nodded their cue to charge.

Ethelind knew what the stakes were. Although they had more people, Lucian had the higher ground and more disciplined army.

But it was too late to turn back.

She took a deep breath and pushed her horse to charge, shield raised over her head as arrows rained down, moving uphill with her sword cutting through enemies as she rode past. She neared the top before an archer shot down her horse, and she jumped off the whinnying animal, narrowing her eyes in the archer's direction.

It was a bloodbath for their army. Moans and cries of agony filled the air, blending with the sharp clashing of sword against sword as they met in a deadly dance. She almost tripped over a body, the man's guts and intestines spilling on the ground, and his mouth open in a silent scream. With a curse, she jumped away from the grotesque sight, then raised her eyes to watch people fall around her as the sun beat down, hammering them relentlessly with its heavy heat. The metallic tang of blood lingered, and corpses covered the field, which the crows and vultures would later feast on.

For a moment, she faltered at the perversion of human life, at the merciless killing and inhumane slaughter. Time seemed to slow, and she stood frozen on the battlefield, her hands shaking as she reflected on the true nature of humanity, watching her comrades shot down and hacked to pieces. Blood seeped into the grass, staining it red, and soldiers fell, their bodies accumulating for a feud they had not asked for.

Then someone charged at her from the side and all horror and fear of death melted away, replaced with a darkness that swarmed her soul. Imagining a conclusive victory after thirteen years of war, purpose coursed through her veins and she dodged the poleaxe before kicking her assailant back and plunging her sword into his chest, feeling it pierce muscle and bone. She yanked her sword free and turned away from the body: this was the cost of war, and one that she would not shy away from.

It was at that fated moment another soldier ran at her, and she wheeled around, blocking their attack. The person, who she assumed to be a male, lunged forward again. He was a young boy, about Ethelind's age, yet talented. The visor of his helmet obscured most of his face, but Ethelind could see the startling blue of his eyes, the tilt of his lips in a smile. They exchanged blows, the boy even nicking her side in a quick counter, before Ethelind threw her shield up to block an attack and lunged at him with a jab, too quick for him to anticipate. He parried but was caught off balance and stumbled.

Ethelind kicked him to the ground and ripped his helmet off to see Lucian's son, Thomas. His beautiful eyes fixed on her as he tried to pull himself up, but she pushed him back down and planted a boot on his stomach, considering him carefully. In the heat of the sun, they were both panting, sweat streaming down their faces.

"Hello, cousin," Thomas Everwood said meekly, his face bloody where she had kicked him. He was covered in mud, but she could still see the soft, handsome features of his face, the way the sun gleamed on his straw-coloured hair. "I believe we have met before."

He didn't look afraid on the outside, but Ethelind could sense the fear hidden deep inside him. The knowledge of inevitable death.

"Indeed, I remember. Yield?" Ethelind offered.

"You mistake me for a craven." Thomas gave her a sardonic smile.

"It's cowardly, but wise. It is a decision that could save your life. Do you yield?" Ethelind asked, leaning her face close to his.

"No." Thomas smiled calmly, even as his eyes blazed. "I will be a true Northerner to the last."

Ethelind had to admit he had courage: she had a sliver of respect for him and was tempted to let him live. But he was the enemy. He was the son of a man who had killed so many of her fellow soldiers. She had seen them die, their lives spilling onto bloodstained battlefields. She had seen them feast and laugh, talking about their wives and children. They had become her family and now they lay around her, their lips never able to move again.

Her heart turned to steel.

"Sleep well then, Thomas Everwood."

Ethelind saw his eyes widen in terror as she struck her sword into his neck, going for the gap in his armour, before pulling it out. He shuddered, his blue eyes glazing over and blood dribbling between his lips, before he went still.

She allowed herself a few seconds to stare at Thomas, sprawled across grass getting darker with his blood by the second. She had slain her own cousin, a boy she knew was only seventeen. With a shaky exhale, she stood to continue her push up the hill.

She looked up to find herself face to face with Lucian. He had seen her kill his son, and the look in his eyes was of complete fury.

For a moment, her heart stopped beating in her chest.

"You bitch," he growled and swung his sword, an attack that Ethelind barely blocked in time. No matter Ethelind's skill, Lucian was stronger and, worst of all, he was angry. No, infuriated. Ethelind knew what rage could do to a person, and her heart quickened with panic. In this fight, he would be indomitable.

"Lucian, my dear uncle..." Ethelind stepped back, her sword moving to block another blow.

"Don't you dear me." Lucian attacked again with such force that Ethelind was lucky to dodge. Every block she managed sent a shudder of pain down her body, and she winced under the weight and power behind his blows. She tried for an attack to his legs, but he anticipated it and parried, pushing with so much strength she stumbled, her arms straining. After breaking free, he attacked again, that time with such ferocity it was all Ethelind could do to dodge or block. She tried to get in an attack of her own but was so focused on saving herself that she failed completely.

"Do you yield?" Lucian asked when he knew he had her and her sword lay a distance from her feet, disarmed. Her shield hung in tatters at her arm, sliced from his relentless attacks.

"Yes," Ethelind said. She would not make the same mistake that Thomas had. Although she was proud, she wasn't ready to die yet.

"I can't hear you," Lucian glowered.

"I yield."

Lucian's sword slashed across her shoulder, resulting in a quick shriek of pain from Ethelind, leaving her to grab her shoulder and feel the blood dribble between her fingers. Her shield dropped to the ground, useless.

"I. Yield," Ethelind hissed through her teeth, wincing as she forced the words out.

He pointed his sword at her, his eyes fiery chips of ice. "You betrayed our family. You have slain our soldiers, killed my son, and..."

"Go on, avenge him then," Ethelind sneered back. "Kill a niece begging for clemency and fuck your honourable reputation. Go on, I know you want to."

He raised his sword, as if about to stab her, and, for an alarming moment, she thought he would strike the blow.

Then he lowered it, breathing heavily.

"I will kill you. Just not now," he vowed lowly and gestured for her to get up. "You are going to walk and, if you dare try anything, I'll end you."

Around them Shadowhart soldiers tried to get through to kill the king, but Lucian's King's Guard had stepped to his defence and weren't letting anyone get close. She was on her own.

Ethelind death-stared Lucian. She didn't want to give in, and could feel the humiliation pressing on her, threatening to make her break. But she didn't. She never let herself.

"Got it?" Lucian asked.

Ethelind tried to ignore the throbbing in her gaping wound. The cut from Thomas had also begun to sting. "Got it."

Lucian shoved her at a stony-faced soldier.

"Confine her as a prisoner of war," Lucian demanded, and the soldier nodded as Lucian charged back into the melee.

As soon as Lucian left, she turned to the soldier.

"Get me out of here and I will reward you greatly," she blurted. "My father owns a big castle and lots of lands. All you need to do is pretend I ran away."

She was answered when the soldier kicked her down and pinned her arms behind her back, making her gasp at the pain in her shoulder. Reluctantly, she allowed the soldier to march her away from the battlefield and to a wagon with a few other prisoners of war. He pushed her in, hard enough for her to fall to her knees and moan in pain.

She spun around as the wagon door slammed shut, locking her in darkness.

"Ain't no way out, love," a prisoner told her. "Jus' accept it."

Ignoring him, she stripped off her armour with her good arm, leaving her in a knee-length tunic. It took her a few attempts to rip off some of her sleeve, and a lot longer to knot it around her shoulder with shaking hands. Her side was still bleeding but would clot, even if it left a scar.

She refused to think about what had happened. Dwelling on the past was a path she never walked; it was the only way she could live with what she had seen and done. Maybe that feeling of weightlessness was from blood loss, or the knowledge she would die soon.

She blacked out a few times and, at some point, woke up to find that the wagon was moving. Each time the wagon hit a rock or went up a bumpy path, Ethelind felt her shoulder shift and blinding pain shot up it so powerfully that she ended up fainting until the wagon stopped. She was woken by hands grabbing her as a guard pulled her out and forced her to her feet, arms pinned behind her back.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust, and she assessed Northstone Castle in silence, the stronghold of Lucian Everwood. There weren't many people around other than a few maids and a chubby auburn-haired girl who peeked around a rosebush to watch her with wide eyes. Thomas' sister, if she remembered correctly. Ethelind didn't want to know how she would react to her brother's death.

The walk to the dungeons didn't take long.

Three days later, the Battle of Bloodfield Bay was over, and Lucian came to see her in her cell, passing her bread and water. A physician had tended to her shoulder the day before, and she wasn't sure what it meant. She just needed time to concoct an escape plan.

"You are here to kill me, then?" Ethelind asked after taking a big gulp of water.

"Not yet," Lucian decided, his cold eyes scanning her.

"That's a shame. I am often annoying to people who want me dead," Ethelind said, waiting for his reaction as she quickly finished the water.

"I often kill the people who want me dead," he replied in the same tone.

"That's inconvenient, uncle," Ethelind quipped. She put the empty clay cup to the side and started to tear into the bread.

"It is," Lucian agreed. "I think you will be happy to know that the Southern War is finally over. Xavier is dead."

"He was useless and going to die anyway," Ethelind said, noticing that Lucian didn't mention Kael.

Lucian examined her quietly. His body blocked the doorway and his hand rested on the pommel of his sword, an obvious threat. Trying to get out would be suicide.

"As Thomas did," Lucian said.

"You're calling your own son useless?" Ethelind asked, raising her eyebrows. She couldn't help exacerbating the situation, trying to keep up a facade of bravado in her humiliation.

She knew she had hit a nerve when Lucian's facial expression changed completely. He struck her in the face, and she fell to her knees. Her ribs ached, and so did her shoulder. It was too much, and she began to breathe heavily to stop herself from crying. In. Out. In. Out.

"No. I'm saying he died because of you," Lucian sneered.

Ethelind looked up at him again and pitied him as she saw the flicker of pain behind his guarded expression. He had lost a son but still felt obliged to keep up an appearance of indifference.

Then she hardened. She owed nothing to her uncle, if she could even call him that. He was nothing like family to her, and he had chosen Emelyn over Ethelind's mother for power in the South. If Lucian had chosen Dinah, Ethelind would be a princess. She would be in line for the Southern throne.

If it weren't for Lucian, she could have been queen.

"And yet you have not killed me. Don't you want to avenge your son?"

"I do. But I have better uses for you and they are far, far worse."

"You can't ransom me back." Panic suddenly burst through Ethelind as she stumbled, one hand clutching her shoulder. "My parents, they won't pay..."

"I know." He smiled coldly. "Dinah Eternel has always been a selfish bitch, huh? I see you inherited that trait."

And with that, he had left.

Ethelind played with her hands as she tried to figure out what he had meant. She wasn't much use to him. If he intended to kill her...

No, he would kill her. And she had to be ready to run when he came for her.

It seemed almost stupid now. There had always been a feud between the Shadowharts and Everwoods, but they were mostly restricted to border skirmishes and battles that went nowhere. Since the Advancement Years had started, the Shadowharts had kept the South while the Everwoods kept the North.

Until nineteen years ago, Magnar Everwood, her grandfather, had managed a breakthrough, and invaded the South in the five-year-long Border War, killing King Einar Shadowhart in the process.

Einar's sons escaped the massacre, however, and raised an army against Emelyn and Lachlan, who took the Southern throne upon Magnar's death. And so began the thirteen-year-long Southern War, a civil war full of stalemates and guerrilla warfare, until Emelyn pleaded her brother for aid and Lucian's armies crushed Xavier and Kael's at the Battle of Bloodfield Bay.

Long story short, Ethelind had chosen the losing side, and she had paid the price.

"Ethelind?" A voice called from outside her cell.

"Alive and not mad yet," Ethelind replied, standing and doing her small dance across the straw to get to the metal bars holding her hostage. Audrey stood barefoot outside the cell with a candle in her hand and a long nightdress hanging from her thin shoulders. She looked tired and haggard, but it was hard to see her as anything less than lovely: she was not beautiful, but she had pleasant, unassuming features.

"I'm surprised my father still hasn't mentioned you." Audrey sat down cross-legged, placing the candle beside her. "It's been two years."

"Time is a strange thing," Ethelind said, sitting opposite and facing her through the bars.

"My brother died two years ago, yet the pain is as raw as it was when I first found out."

Ethelind knew that Audrey only kept coming back because she didn't know that Ethelind had killed her brother. If she did find out, however... that was a thought that Ethelind left unfinished.

"They locked me in this cell two years ago, yet the boredom is as raw as it was when I was first thrown in."

Audrey shook her head. "I can't get you out."

"You don't want to get me out." Ethelind grinned. "But you still come."

"I still come because—"

"Because you have no one else to talk to. Without your brother, you get bored, and you use me as your substitute. Don't lie to yourself, dear cousin."

"I could stop coming. I have Clovis."

"You wouldn't." Ethelind didn't mention that she depended on it. "How have you been?"

Audrey leaned her head against the metal. "Everyone is playing their own game, it seems, and it's hard to trust anyone."

Ethelind knew everything happening in the castle from Audrey. Audrey had few others to talk to, so she went to the only prisoner of war that Lucian hadn't executed. Ethelind knew the girl was struggling so offered her the thing Audrey craved: an honest, headstrong confidant. In return, she got information.

"And what game do you play?" Ethelind asked.

"I play no game." Audrey eyed her warily.

"As you said, everyone is playing one. So, which one are you playing at?"

"One where I can live."

"Vague," Ethelind tutted. "You will get a throne someday. Do your ambitions lead you there?"

"What? No."

"Think about it. The sooner you figure out your ambitions, the sooner everything else will be in coming to you," Ethelind advised.

"You always talk of games but never make sense." Audrey began to play with her hands.

"Let me put it this way. There are queens, and there are pawns who work for the queens. Mere sacrifices for the purposes of another. So, tell me now, cousin." Ethelind smiled at her. "Are you a queen, or a pawn?"

Audrey stared at her incredulously before she stood and left without another word. She often did that, but Ethelind knew that she'd always be back.

Ethelind smiled and leaned back.

* * *

The next day, Ethelind woke up to find that the cell was darker than usual, and she glanced up to see an owl perched by the bars to her cell, blocking the light. She pushed her bed over to the window and stood on it, leaning on her tiptoes to reach for the parchment she knew the owl had attached to its leg. After a few tries, she tugged it loose and sat down to read it.

She knew it was from Kael as soon as she saw the Shadowhart seal of an owl with an arrow through its heart.

Wisdom Cannot Defeat Death, she thought. The Shadowhart motto.

Once she had finished reading the letter, she grinned and wrote a response on the back using the diluted coffee they had left her. Her time had come.

In the next few days, she would be free.

Love you all,

Shelly M x