Ruins of Camelot

Prologue

Gabriella hit the stairs at a full run and took them two at a time. Darkness met her as she followed the curving steps upwards towards a second landing. Here, nooks lined the hallway, each illuminated with a band of moonlight from an arrow slit. Merodach's footsteps clattered behind her, approaching quickly. Gabriella pelted along the landing and ducked into the furthest nook. She threw herself up against the shallow stone wall, gasping for breath.

Behind her, unseen, Merodach's footsteps knocked onto the landing, where he seemed to stop.

"This is good sport, Princess," he panted, and giggled lightly. "But I fear it cannot end well for you. Come out and give yourself up. It is the best you can hope for."

He began to pace slowly forwards. She heard him, knew that he had his sword raised, ready to cut her down the moment he discovered her. She pressed back against the wall of the arrow nook, trying not to breathe.

"Do you know?" the villain mused thoughtfully as he approached. "It just occurs to me. With your father dead, you are no longer a mere princess. Do you feel special, my dear? It is official. You are the last Queen of Camelot. Congratulations," he said silkily, "Your Highness."

With a dark shock, Gabriella realised that Merodach was right. If Herrengard had indeed been breached—and she had no doubt that it had— then her father was dead. She was the last of the line. Whatever remained of the Kingdom, it was hers. The realisation did not hearten her.

"Your child is dead," Merodach breathed, relishing the words. "Those that were meant to protect him are destroyed. Everything that you fight for, Queen, all of it... is in ruins. Why continue to resist? There is nothing left for you. Come out. You are the last ruler of Camelot, and as such, you must die. But I can make it quick. Soon, you can join those whom you have failed. Come out and face me. Die like a queen, and I will not even turn your body over to the appetites of my troops. It is only fitting. And admit it. You desire this..."

Gabriella's eyes were glassy in the dimness. Her enemy was nearly upon her now. She nodded to herself once. Slowly but resolutely, she stepped forwards, turned past the iron candelabra, and faced her nemesis.

"There," he said, and smiled sympathetically. "That is better, is it not?"

He raised his sword, positioned its tip just above her breastplate, inches from her throat, and began to thrust.