#erkf series

[actress4him]

Empires Rise, Kingdoms Fall - Chapter 1 - Calamity

Attention, everyone who voted for the winning choice on my “what should I write next” poll! It took me a bit longer than I anticipated, but the first chapter of my new series is here!

This will feature a female main whumpee, because it’s me so of course it will, but I do plan on bringing in at least one male whumpee later. So, if you enjoy multi-gender royal whump, this series is for you! Let me know if you’d like to be on a tag list for this series.

Contains: lady whump, dude whump, lots of blood, lots of death, murder, war, royal whump

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The kingdom is falling. 

From her bedroom window, Maela can see thousands of soldiers, crawling like ants over the hillsides. Smoke furls up into the sky from the nearest towns and villages. Her ladies-in-waiting have assured her time and time again that the war will never reach them here, that even if it did, the city walls are too strong, that Highlea cannot possibly fall.

Yet as she stands in enraptured horror, skirts clutched tightly in her fists, the entire castle is in an uproar. Servants are throwing jewels and tapestries into trunks in a desperate attempt to save them. The last of the Highlean army, those who have not already gone out to fight, are swarming along the tops of the walls, finding their positions to defend the keep. Somewhere down the corridor, someone is weeping loudly.

“Princess!” Her chief lady-in-waiting, Semira, appears at her side and grasps her elbow. “Come, we must get you somewhere safe.”

They were supposed to be safe here. 

Semira seems to sense the protest in her gaze, forcing a smile that is meant to be comforting. “It’s alright. This is all just precautions, I’m sure none of it will be necessary in the end. But your mother is already on her way to the great hall, we should join her there.”

Maela allows herself to be led away from the window. Her eyes drag across her room, taking in the canopied bed, the books, the painting of her with her family as if in a dream. There’s a sense of dread weighing down her steps, something telling her that she’ll never see this room again.

“What about Father? And…and Adler and Eiran?”

“The king and princes have gone out to make their stand with the soldiers,” Semira answers gently. “But you shouldn’t worry about them. They’re strong. They’ll want you safe and protected, though.”

She knows they’re strong. They’ve been trained well, and her father has been to war many times. Adler, too, has marched out to battle before, and come back unscathed.

But Eiran, like herself, has never seen war. He’s only seventeen, a year her senior. All they’ve known is the aftermath, when soldiers are brought back on stretchers and draped over the shoulders of their comrades, bleeding and missing limbs and dying.

Will that be her family’s fate before the day is over?

Semira practically drags her through the corridors. They pass multiple servants, but none of them bother to pause and bow or even nod to the princess, too caught up in their urgent tasks. 

The great hall is in the centermost part of the keep, with no windows and great wooden doors that can be barred shut. They’ve never had to do so before. But now, as soon as Maela and Semira are inside, two guards drop the large crossbar into place with a thud that echoes through the cavernous room. 

Queen Haelyn stands in the very center of the hall, her back turned to them. She looks lost, and small. 

Taking a step forward, hands clasped anxiously in front of her, Maela calls out with a slight tremor in her voice. “Mother?”

The queen spins around, smiling with relief. It doesn’t quite cover the worry that’s etched into her face. “Maela. Good, you’re here. Thank you, Semira.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Semira curtsies in response. 

Maela lifts her skirts so she can hurry across the floor to where her mother stands. She searches her face, finding lines in her normally perfect brown skin, and strands of black hair that aren’t quite as neatly tucked away as usual. “Mother…I’m afraid for Father and the boys.”

Queen Haelyn’s attention has already been drawn elsewhere, her gaze seeming to pierce through the stone walls and out to where the fighting continues, but she drags it almost reluctantly back to her daughter. “Hm? Oh. I’m…certain they’ll be alright, dear. The city has never been breached before, and certainly they won’t make it here, to the keep. This castle was built to be easily defended.” 

It’s all just repetition of the same things Maela’s ladies-in-waiting have been telling her. As if she’s quoting something from a book, or information that has been passed to her that she has no choice but to believe. 

“If there’s no way for them to breach, then…why are we barricading ourselves here?” She waves a hand toward the locked doors. “Why are all the servants packing away our valuables as if the keep may be looted or burned?”

“It’s just a precaution, dear.” Again, she repeats Semira’s words, in a hazy voice that speaks the opposite of her words. She’s afraid, too. 

Everyone is afraid. The fear permeates the air, and has been growing thicker with each passing day. This army…it’s not like others who have marched against them before. Rumors precede it - of a number of soldiers beyond count, of ruthless followers and a far more ruthless leader, of kingdom after kingdom crumbling in its path.

So many towns and villages of Highlea have already been decimated. Now, it seems, it’s their turn.

Maela isn’t ready to die. Nor is she ready to lose everything she knows and everyone she loves.

But she’s not going to receive comfort from her mother. Giving the expected half-curtsy, despite the fact that no one is paying attention, she backs away and returns to Semira. She’s the only one of her ladies-in-waiting that she’s seen since the chaos began, and she’s afraid to ask where the others are. The only other people in the hall are the two guards by the doors, and a few of the highest officials of the court. 

Everyone else is out there somewhere, left to their own devices and the hands of fate. Inside this room, cut off from the rest of the world, it’s hard to keep her imagination from running wild of what that fate might be. 

Minutes stretch into hours. Semira, always vigilant about her princess’ wellbeing, tries to convince Maela to sit and rest, but she can’t. Anxiety has seized every inch of her body, thrumming through her veins. She can’t even stay still, much less sit down.

The silence from beyond the doors is nearly unbearable, until it’s broken and she finds herself wishing that it would return. At first, it’s thumping and banging. The fight isn’t close enough for them to actually hear the clanging of swords, but it has obviously moved much closer to the keep. Far too close. 

Queen Haelyn, across the room on her throne, goes from staring aimlessly at the walls to squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Maela grasps Semira’s hand so hard that she’s probably crushing it.

When the first scream erupts from somewhere across the castle, Maela jolts, then claps a hand to her mouth. She can feel the blood draining from her face. The screams multiply - some pained, some frightened, some dragging on in agony. Each one is like a knife to her gut. Tears stream down her face.

The army is here. They’re inside the castle. 

She finds herself looking to her mother again, but there’s still nothing to draw from her. The queen’s eyes are still closed, and now her lips are moving. Whispering prayers, most likely. Maela instead glances at Semira, hoping for comfort from the one source she can usually count on it from, but she’s gone just as pale and is staring wide-eyed at the doors.

Any second now, they’ll arrive here, at the great hall. And if towering stone walls and an entire army couldn’t stop them, then what are two wooden doors going to do?

They’re going to die. Highlea has fallen, their people are slaughtered, and they’re next.

Something slams against the doors, and the wood shudders. Maela cries out in fear. She wants desperately to turn and bury her face in Semira’s shoulder, but that’s unbecoming of a princess, even one who’s about to die. 

Another hit, and Semira drags her toward the thrones so that they can stand close to her mother. The other nobles and officials are clustered together on one side of the room, the guards facing the doors with their swords drawn as if the mere two of them can stop what no army has been able to.

The doors splinter on the third hit. 

On the fourth, they fly wide open. Soldiers in foreign armor pour into the hall past the battering ram. Maela stumbles backwards, clinging to the arm of her father’s empty throne.

The two guards are down within seconds, their blood leaking out onto the polished wooden floor. The officials are next, surrounded and murdered without even a chance to fight back. Their strangled gasps and cries imbed into Maela’s chest.

Then everything stops. The soldiers spread out across the room, filling up the corners yet leaving an open pathway down the center, and they simply stand there, facing the three remaining women. No one speaks, no one moves. Maela’s not sure she’s even breathing.

Footsteps click down the corridor, breaking the silence. A moment later, a woman sweeps into the room, her golden crown glinting in the torchlight. Her train, a brilliant red that nearly perfectly matches the blood on the floor, drags across the bodies of the guards as if they’re merely part of the landscape. 

There’s no mistaking who she is, even if Maela has never actually seen her before. She’s heard enough. The woman’s black hair is cropped close to her scalp in the style of the warm southern kingdom of Seland, her golden eyes outlined in kohl. 

There have been many rumors about those eyes, mostly from superstitious townsfolk who whisper that she can burn down entire kingdoms just from the force of her gaze. Standing here right now, watching the way they bore into both her and her mother in turn, Maela almost believes them. 

“Queen Haelyn,” the woman purrs. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

The queen sits stiff and poised on her throne. “Queen Edrice.”

“Actually, it’s Empress now, haven’t you heard?” Her smile makes Maela’s skin crawl. “Yours is only the latest in the line of kingdoms that are now under my rule.”

Without waiting for a response, she makes a motion with one hand and the soldiers closest to the doors immediately turn and walk back out of the room. A moment later, they return leading yet more soldiers. These, however, are dragging bodies behind them. 

The first is tossed roughly at the empress’ feet, and Maela’s gasp echoes through the room. 

“The king is dead,” Empress Edrice announces without breaking eye contact with Queen Haelyn. She raises one slender eyebrow. “Long live the king?”

The second body is dropped, then the third. 

“No,” Maela whispers. Her eyes dart back and forth between the three, grief seizing her chest until it feels like it will be crushed.  

“Oops.” Edrice gives a brief glance toward Adler, the eldest prince. “The king is dead…again.” 

She turns her head to consider Eiran, the youngest. “Oh. Well, this one is still alive.” 

Hope surges inside of Maela, despite how still and bloody her brother looks, only to falter when the empress speaks again. 

“Can any of you provide a reason that I should keep him that way?”

For an agonizingly long moment, complete silence falls over the crowded room. Maela looks desperately to her mother, afraid that she’s going to just sit there and allow this to happen. 

Her father is dead. Adler is dead. But Eiran is still alive, he can still be saved. Out of all the loss that has happened today, perhaps this one can be prevented. 

She and her brother are a long way from their days of sneaking treats to her father’s dogs and going on long horse rides together and making fun of nobility behind their backs. Their time now is spent in more appropriate pursuits for their titles, and very rarely in each other’s company. 

But she still loves him. 

Queen Haelyn finally speaks up, her voice a shadow of what it was a moment ago. “He’s…he’s just a boy.”

The empress hums in response. “Yes. A boy who is technically now the king. And unfortunately, I really don’t have a need for kings.”

“Please!” The word bursts from Maela before she can stop it, and she almost regrets it once she has Edrice’s full attention on her, shrinking back a little. She has to try, though, foolish as it may be. “Please…Your Majesty. Spare him.”

There’s that smile again, cruel and far too humored by the whole situation. “As pretty as your pleas are, dear, I’m afraid they’re not enough to stay my hand.”

She gives her wrist a flick, and the soldier who’d dragged Eiran in draws his sword, plunging it through the small gap in the prince’s armor. His body flails for only an instant before falling still again, blood spilling out from around the sword and coating his armor in a red sheen. 

With a wail, Maela crumples to her knees. It’s not proper behavior, but she doesn’t care. Her brothers and father are dead. Everything in her world is coming crashing down around her, and she has the horrifying feeling that it’s not about to stop. 

“Well that’s taken care of.” The nonchalance in her voice is maddening. “Now I suppose that leaves the queen.”

“No,” Maela sobs. “No, no, no…”

Another gesture from Empress Edrice, and two soldiers charge forward, seizing Queen Haelyn by both arms and jerking her from her throne. She doesn’t fight them, only stumbles forward as gracefully as possible under the circumstances, her chin lifted high as she’s planted in front of the empress. 

Maela lunges toward her, but is stopped by Semira’s arm thrown around her waist. She falls back to her knees, tears pouring down her cheeks. 

Even facing death in utter defeat, her mother is beautiful. She’s always been beautiful, always perfect, the picture of what a queen should be and what Maela must strive to be. Somehow she always knew that she could never be that perfect, though, and she feels it now more than ever. There’s no possible way that she will stare death in the face with that same poise and grace.

“Any last words, Your Majesty?”

Maela can see her mother’s shoulders rise and fall slightly as she takes in a breath, but the words that follow take her by surprise. “My daughter. She’s a child still, she’s no threat to you.”

Edrice’s lips purse in amusement. “Touching.” 

As much as she doesn’t want to watch, Maela can’t tear her eyes away. Another sword is drawn and thrust through Queen Haelyn’s middle, protruding bright red out her back. When it’s yanked back again, the soldiers let go of her arms, and she collapses to the floor. 

Maela’s whole family is lying dead in front of her. There’s so much blood, the wood underneath is barely visible anymore. 

Time warps, and she somehow spends an eternity staring at those four dead bodies while she weeps until her stomach hurts and her throat is raw. 

Meanwhile, Semira is pulled away from her, fighting desperately to keep hold but ultimately failing. Maela cries even harder at her loss. She wants to turn, to find out if her closest friend’s fate is the same as the others, but she’s trapped in this moment of unending grief, unable to move and too afraid to face yet another bloody death of a loved one. 

For an instant she thinks, a bit hysterically, that this can’t possibly be real. This whole day has been a dream, surely, a nightmare that she’ll wake from at any moment. 

But then the scent of blood hits her all over again, and she’s forced to face the terrifying truth. This is all very, very real. 

Suddenly Empress Edrice is standing directly in front of her. Maela can’t help flinching back. This is it, her time has now come. She wishes, selfishly, that she could have been first, that she wouldn’t have had to endure seeing everyone else’s deaths before her own. 

At least this way, her parents won’t have to witness her cowardice.

“Come now, dear, you’re alright.” The empress reaches out with long, slender fingers and tips Maela’s chin upwards so that she can look into her tear-soaked face. Her mouth twists into an expression that Maela doesn’t quite understand. 

“Such a pretty, pitiful little thing. Your mother was right, you’re no threat to me.” The fingers leave her chin and gracefully swipe some of the tears away before tracing her jawline. Maela shudders involuntarily. The touch is gentle, even kind. But she’s keenly aware that this same hand ordered the murder of her family just minutes ago. 

She’s also keenly aware that she doesn’t seem like she’s about to order hers. 

The expression on Empress Edrice’s face turns back into a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take very good care of you.”

Maela stares up at her with watery, bewildered black eyes. She’s…not going to kill her. Why? She should be glad, should feel at least some form of relief at knowing she doesn’t have to die. 

But somehow, living now seems like the more frightening option.