The chilled night air was thick with the howls and moans of the doomed. Fire raged all around. Smoke burned throats and made eyes water. The dead lay in piles heaped so high they obscured the view of the battlefield. Crows swooped down to pick at the corpses only to be batted at by feral cats looking for the same easy meal. A man crawled through the mud and blood; his left leg hung on by mere tendons. While the right was no more than torn skin and bone.
Through the smoke, a tall figure stalked, eyes gleaming a fiery crimson. His hair, black as a raven's feather, was long and fell into his face partially obscuring his features. The blood of those now dead or dying dripped from his chin and the ends of his hair. The sword in his hand glinted in the moonlight as he lifted it and drove it through the crawling man's back.
He's coming. He's coming.
His crimson eyes flashed, and he found her standing among the bodies, her expression one of horror. White teeth gleamed through a wicked grin as he twisted the sword before yanking it free from flesh and bone.
"You don't belong here." He spoke, tilting his head slightly with a puzzled expression on his face. He took a step forward.
She stepped back.
The woman struggled to find her voice as fear seized her. He chuckled and offered a leather gloved hand.
"Want to burn it all with me?"
He's coming. He's coming.
Felicity screamed as she woke mid-fall, from the comforting warmth of her bed to the cold wooden floor of her chambers. She lay, tangled in the white fluff of her duvet, forehead pressed against the floor. Her heart pounded in her chest. Felicity braced herself for the inevitable. Between her scream and the surprisingly loud thud of her body hitting the floor, someone would surely come to see what the ruckus was about.
"Oh, for heaven's sake! What are you doing on the floor?" Came a voice from the servants' antechamber. Felicity groaned and rolled over to stare up at the white plaster ceiling, supported by cypress beams. For a moment all she could see was red eyes staring back.
"Good morning, Sophie." She said as she rubbed her eyes and lifted her head to look at the gray-haired woman standing in the doorway.
"Really, Child? Do I have to tie you down to that bed?" Sophie asked, brow raised. With a shake of her head and a sigh, the lady-in-waiting swept into the room and set Felicity's breakfast on the writing desk. It sat between two large windows that overlooked the gardens. Felicity picked herself up off the floor and gave the duvet a few kicks to free herself from its warm embrace.
"What's for breakfast?" She asked as she walked over to glance at the tray, "And the only one I'll allow to tie me down to any bed; will be my husband."
"By all the gods," Sophie spluttered, her face turning red, just like Felicity knew it would, "You do enjoy testing this old woman's good nerves, don't you?"
Sophie fanned herself as she turned around to face her charge.
"What am I to do with you?" She queried and batted at the wrinkles in Felicity's shift.
"It is that kind of brash openness of the intimacies of one's marital chambers, that had your last four suitors running for the hills. You will do well to keep such talk off your lips when in polite company. Or I fear I will die a very old woman and never see you married and with no family of your own."
"What you mean is; before you see heirs to the throne. If that's all I'm good for, I guess all that's to be done is bundle me up and sell me at the market. I'm sure that nephew of your's would fill my shoes nicely." Felicity said dryly and took a seat at the writing table. Sophie snorted a laugh.
YOU ARE READING
The Fallen Queen
FantasíaA Queen stripped of title and lands is forced to marry the emperor who took them from her. She finds an unlikely friend, and maybe something more, in the General sent to retrieve her. But will it be enough to save her from her fate?
