WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 1

Hello everybody! If you're new here, I'm @Natthefantastic, and I'm obsessed with Red Queen. After the devastating ending to King's Cage, I decided to take matters into my own hands, writing my first ever fanfiction, Bleeding Crown. Looking back now, I've decided my first story was inaccurate in some ways, and I want to make a more realistic version of the story. I will include Mare, Evangeline, and Iris's POV's in this story. For those of you who enjoyed Bleeding Crown, I hope you enjoy this one even more! Now that I'm a more experienced writer, I wish to mold this into a masterpiece. It means the world to me when you vote and comment on this story! Thanks!

"I've been broken too many times to break again"

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Mare

We're going to let them kill each other. I remember my own thoughts while sitting in the dark room. My enemies have given me a bedchamber at the Ridge House, and it's disgusting in its own way. Plush, thick bedcovers, I rest upon; they're unnecessary when I have the relentless heat of the summertime clawing its way in through walls. A small bathroom lays in one of the corners, in a similar spot compared to my prison room at Whitefire; I can't help but wonder if the Samo's gave me this space as a cruel joke. I'd leave it if I had the capacity to do so, but it's been mere hours. I'll be honest. It's not only him I'm afraid of facing. Anyone at all. Even Cameron, who's never been very sentimental. Or smiling silver, who's relieved Tiberias has started his quest for the throne.

Tiberias. It pains and soothes me to use his true name. For one, it's a reminder of who he really is. Who he always has been. Secondly, it lets me forget who he was to me. So perhaps I shouldn't call him anything. Just him.

I chastise myself for the thought diving into my head, yet there's no point in denying it. If I had the choice, I'd choose to be back in my chambers at the palace, wrists wrapped in the manacles that rubbed them barren. No freedom whatsoever. But that's the idea; at least that way, I wouldn't have to select whether or not I should walk out the door. Still, is it all that different? It seems now I still reside in a cage; the form of imprisonment is simply much more complex.

New tears slip out, joining the ones that already formed a shallow pool on my cheeks. "It's okay," I whisper to none other than myself. "It's okay." It's pathetic I have to tell myself this, but no one else is here to comfort me. Kilorn and my family stayed behind at the Piedmont base when I went off to defend Corvium, and as far as I know, that's still where they reside. I'll be surprised if they get word of what's happened in less than a week. Or if anyone tells them at all. It may change everything for me, but the Scarlet Guard was always prepared for this day. Like the silvers will give into democracy so easily. They've been killing each other for power for hundreds of years. How they would react if reds wanted power. It'll be a bloodbath. So why would the Guard tell their own people? That will only create unnecessary tension. There's already far too much of that. One of their top sayings; no one knows more than what they must.

I've been sitting up straight-backed for what feels like hours, the tenseness never failing to continue to work over every part of my body. I roll out my neck in circles, then stretching out my legs, finally making an attempt to stand. Do one thing for yourself today, I tell myself. No matter how little it is.

Though I never make it. I collapse on the floor midway to the chair I was aiming for. I should've been asleep hours ago, yet I'm certain my weakness isn't from fatigue. A feeble whimper escapes from my mouth, a sound I'd be mortified of if anyone else had heard it. Next, my throat clenches up, leaving me gasping for air; teardrops stream more hastily than ever down my face until soundlessly sloshing to the marble floor. Sobs freely crash out of me now, with no restraint. I yearn to scream, so the entire kingdom can hear my agony, yet the last cord of dignity I have holds firm. So instead I remain on the icey plates of black, shiny marble, and containing what I wish to let out. Choking on my own breath as if it was water. The absolute epitome of misery.