A Whisper of Night

PRELUDE

The smallest of smiles tugged at Lady Valenjae's lips as she regarded her daughter. Even that effort felt like she was moving mountains with her cheeks, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her jaw. 

The Lady was tired...so, so tired. 

Astnorden was jabbering away, her little voice stumbling unevenly as she struggled with a book five times the size of her head. A gown of the finest silk fell over her skinny frame, embroidered with gold thread and minuscule pearls. It was a garment befitting royalty.

So she will know her birthright, she'd told the tailor, only six months prior. So she will never doubt her position as the Princess of Skeynvald, rightful heir to the Night Kingdom.

The tailor had responded with some fearful mutters - back then, her citizens were still too afraid of treason - but had complied nonetheless.

Six months, thought Lady Valenjae. Has it only been six months...? It seemed like a lifetime since the war, a lifetime since her husband's guttural shrieks had split her ears and the stench of his burning flesh had forced bile from her throat. It seemed like a lifetime since her crown had been struck from her head, since she had been robbed of her title of Queen.

"Mama!" Astna whined. She'd always been an insistent child, just like her father. She was healthy, too; had Valenjae not forsaken her gods at the fall of her kingdom, she would've thanked them for such a strong heir.

They were lucky to be in the South - in the North, leadership would've fallen to her son. A sickly little thing.... She swallowed, hopelessness overwhelming her as another one of her son's wails stabbed the air. She'd begged the nurses to take him away that evening, begged them to give her just a night of peace....

"Mama!"

"Yes, my sweetling?" She leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from Astna's forehead.

Her daughter was exceptionally bright, able to read and write and do maths far beyond her age of three. Had she been born a boy, Valenjae would've already begun training her to rule, would've already begun to whisper of ideas of revenge and kingship into her ears. Now, however, she was not so sure - nobody liked a little girl who grew up with bitterness in her eyes and vengeance in her voice.

"I can't read this," she said in frustration, jabbing a pudgy finger at the title of the chapter. "Cri-crimson?"

Valenjae's eyes widened as she took in the title. The War of the Crimson Knights.

"Yes," she said, as calmly as she could. "Darling...are you sure you want to read this?"

"Yes! It has Baba's name here, you see - "

Valenjae swallowed.

The War of the Crimson Knights, the second greatest war since the Fall of Lymiria, took the lives of almost three-hundred soldiers and redefined the boundaries of the South. It was fought between King Arslan Valchtnalla, the ruler of Skeynvald, and King Marento Steliste, the ruler of the Scorvald, over the province of Norrayn (one of the most fertile regions in the five kingdoms).

What began as a small territorial conflict rapidly escalated into a war over centuries of economic and political tensions. To secure his claim over Norrayn, King Arslan wed Lady Valenjae Norrayn, an insult to King Marento (who had been personally rejected by Lady Valenjae).

After four years of war, King Marento's cleverness triumphed over King Arslan's twelve-headed hydra and superior forces. The king of Scorvald claimed not only Norrayn, but three-quarters of Skeynvald's territory, as well as its capital, Skeynheld (King Arslan's hydra was slain in the Battle of Skeynheld).