En

In Time of War

Deyanrie Frost pulled back the flap of the tent, her silk glove pristine in contrast to the dirty brown sheets that had withstood not only the weather, but also the uncounted, phenomenal dangers of the journey. The patched hide was thick and warm, providing her with a false sense of home — of a home away from home.

Home. What a funny word.

She stepped away from the tent, greeting her guards and the passing knights with nods of acknowledgment. They all lowered their eyes, most even going as far as to kneel, their foreheads touching the ground, much to her chagrin.

A worship meant for gods.

Respect for her title, she could understand, but not worship. She could neither embrace nor tolerate it. Although her bloodline was tainted by the touch of the Spirits, she was of flesh and blood. She was mortal. Like them, she too could die.

However, a long-established tradition was hard to break, especially when the participants were reluctant – resistant – to change. The Frosts were no Spirits, and Deyanrie would make sure that she be given only the treatment she deserves. Unlike her ancestors, she would never let her people believe that she is capable of creating miracles. Spirits be damned if she could not get her subjects to see the truth.

"Clear the path for the wagons!" one of the men shouted.

"Ready the archers for the second form!"

"All units, report to your commanding officers! Instructions for the next rally are given!"

She watched with grim acceptance the white-armored knights hurrying to their assigned formations. Most of them were cloaked with varying shades of gray wolf furs, their feet covered in bleached leather, allowing them to blend in with the snow-clad landscape of the Larchen mountain ranges. That was all she could provide for now. Provisions. Armory. Food.

Seeing the knights camped among the ragged rocks, silently bearing the hostility of the region, she was mad.

Spitting mad.

And scared.

She had no idea which was more dominant. The fury against the enemies for making them shed blood for freedom, or the fear of knowing that more of these good men would die in order to protect their families and loved ones.

Surrender was not an option. Even if all of them were weary to the bones.

Closing her eyes, it was easy for her to turn back time in her mind. Back into the peaceful months when her reign had just started. Back when her daily troubles involved playing matchmaker to her maid-in-waiting and ignoring the thunderous snores of her beloved at night.

When she assumed the throne, she thought that finally, finally peace was no longer a dream. After years of constant hiding and painful betrayals, of conflicts and wars and the seemingly eternal feud between the founding Houses, the North was finally reunited under the banner of the Frosts.

As the sole heir of the Royal line, she was destined to rule. When the civil war erupted, she gave up all hopes of fulfilling her destiny. Yet, somehow, events led her back to the throne.

But how would she rule when the whole kingdom was thrown into disarray once again?

Boring politics and dealing with the bureaucracy were better than fighting off the heathens that terrorized her people. After all, she preferred to have quill and paper in her hands, rather than to have her carved bow and tainted arrows in her old pack.

Why, oh, why did the sons of Summer have to invade?

She did not understand. There were no resources to squander in the frozen lands of the North. Besides, the Northern lands and the Southern Empire had ceased all forms of contact for decades.