Of Kings and Pawns

Chapter 23 - Chains of Blood

Lady Emilina Kievan stood on the wide expanse of her balcony, her eyes tracing the fields of golden wheat that stretched out beneath the shadow of Kievan Keep. The air was crisp with the scent of the harvest, but beneath that, she could taste the bitterness of dread. Her people, fragile from the famine inflicted by Yvan Rus’s father, had barely begun to heal. Now Yvan, the Red Bear, demanded their harvest for his war machine. Not just wheat, but men... men who bore no love for House Rus but were bound to serve them.

Emilina's mind churned as she walked the perimeter of her keep. Her footsteps were haunted by the whispers of her ancestors, each voice questioning her loyalty to House Rus. Should she defy them? Could she align herself with Otto Eigermann? But to switch allegiances felt like trading one bloodstained sheet for another. Both Rus and Eigermann had soaked their hands in blood... both carried the weight of violence and ambition, and she doesn't want to know which one is heavier.

She sat down on the balcony, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted a cup of tea to her lips. She had hoped the tea would calm her mind, but the looming shadow of war pressed too heavily on her thoughts. Yvan's forces would soon march south to collect both men and grain, like locusts descending on a field, stripping it bare. Yet, despite her anger, Emilina still held out hope for peace. Yvan was not just her lord but her kin... blood of her blood. Their houses had been intertwined for generations through marriages, binding Kievan to Rus.

To defy him would be to commit kinslaying, and Emilina knew the gods cursed such acts. But the question of her loyalties weighed heavily on her shoulders. Would her people forgive her if she continued to bend to Yvan's will? Or would they see her as complicit in their suffering?

With a deep sigh, she stood and made her way to her son Dmitri’s chambers. Dmitri had inherited much from his father... the strength of a leader, but the recklessness of a warrior. Emilina feared that should anything happen to her, Dmitri would lead House Kievan into a war they could not win. She knocked softly on his door, seeking his counsel, but there was no answer. She knocked again, a sense of unease creeping up her spine.

When she pushed the door open, her heart stopped. Dmitri’s bed was empty, and a single piece of parchment lay folded neatly on his pillow. With trembling hands, Emilina unfolded it, her eyes scanning the sharp, decisive strokes of her son’s handwriting.

Dmitri’s Message:

Mother,

By the time you read this, I will have left Kievan Keep. I have joined Otto Eigermann’s cause as a mercenary.

I know this news will pain you, but I ask that you understand. This is not about betraying our family or our lands. This is about freeing House Kievan from the chains of Rus. We have lived under their shadow for too long, forced to give our blood and our harvests for their wars. But I have seen what you refuse to: Eigermann will betray Rus when the time is right. And when he does, House Kievan will be free.

I fight not just for myself, but for our legacy. If you cannot see it now, I hope one day you will.

Take care of the people, and trust that I will return to save the legacy of our house. If I must become a traitor in the eyes of Rus to protect our home, so be it.

Your son, Dmitri

Emilina’s breath caught in her throat, and the parchment slipped from her fingers. Dmitri, her firstborn, had pledged himself to Otto Eigermann. Her son, who should have been standing by her side, had chosen to fight for the very man who embodied the same tyranny she sought to escape.

A cold chill began to spread from her chest, tightening her lungs as she stumbled back. The weight of the betrayal... of blood turned against blood... was too much. She tried to call for her guards, her voice barely a whisper, but her breath escaped her. Her vision blurred as her body began to falter.

By the time the guards burst into her chambers, Lady Emilina Kievan had collapsed onto the cold stone floor, the letter discarded beside her. Her fate, hanging by a thread, was now left to the will of the gods.