The Ambition to Reign

Chapter 1: The Raven

"More tea, Your Majesty?" said Alphonse, the old attentative butler.

"Yes please," the queen responded.

She was elegant. With her exquisite yellow gown and her graceful movements, many would find her attractive. Her blue eyes and blonde hair were her admirable features while her luxurious crown finished her tasteful appearance.

She looked towards the restless and thwarted kingdom beyond the hills from the balcony. Many civilians dwelled the town, occupying old, ramshackled buildings and small stalls to sell their goods in the market.
Their lives were engrossed with coin. They were struggling to afford the needs for their families. It was nearly impossible to aquire a proper lifestyle. The lack of food, money, and shelter caused the abundance of starvation. It was not appealing - as most would suggest - but above the ruined landscape was the grand castle where the queen resided. It was the only beauty to be found in the ruined country.

"As Your Majesty wishes," the butler replied as he poured the warm red tea delicately into her cup.

She lifted the cup towards her lips, took a sip, and placed it back on the tray. She then took a silver teaspoon and stirred it around the cup a few times. After stirring it, she glanced at her cup and observed the tea leaves swirling inside of it. "A raven," she noticed.

Her butler spoke. "That means-"

"I know," she interrupted. "Something bad will happen..." She exhaled. "Death."

The queen leaned back on her chair and slowly picked up the tea cup with the small tray hoping to take one last sip of her favourite tea. As she lifted it, she was immediately struck with a memory from her past. A king and a queen, a boy and a girl, a castle and blood. All of these pieces created the vivid image in her mind.

She heard a crash and was at once snapped back to reality. She shivered at the memory of her brief daze and forced herself to forget. Below her feet lay the shattered tea cup and tray.

"My apologies for wasting such lovely tea, Alphonse."

"It is no trouble at all, Your Majesty." He walked over and leaned down to carefully pick up the broken pieces.

The queen looked around her. "Where is Phillip?"

The butler looked up. "Lord Phillip has left with his fleet but shall be returning shortly, Your Majesty."

She looked down, slightly dissappointed. "I see."

The queen stood up and started walking towards her throne dowsed in gold jewels and embedded in red velvet. She gracefully sat down on the adorned throne.

The hall was grand - layered on each wall were several paintings of royal ancesters that were placed proportionally. The paintings followed the white staircase that led to the foyer of the second floor. This gave the hall its name - the Royal Hall. Despite its old appearance, it was still the largest and liveliest place in the castle.

From the end of the hallway came a loud burst from the doors. A young messenger came in, sweating and panting. "Your Majesty!" he cried. He kneeled down to her.

The queen looked at him dubiously. "What is it?"

"The people in the village of Esterton have started to rebel against our forces. Twenty soldiers are dead, thirty two villagers have been executed. And-" he hesitated.

"And what?" The queen was impatient.

"And Sir Brighton was killed too, Your Majesty. The villagers want a reduction in taxes or they will no longer grow livestock for the capitol."