Legacy of the Destroyer: Ragnarök

Prologue

Legacy of the Destroyer: Ragnarök

PROLOGUE

A GIRL GAZED PITILESSLY out the window, snow drifting gently beyond it. Her eyes were of a pale, plaintive blue, with an almost silver edge to them. Perhaps this was because of the lack of emotion in her eyes; yet it didn't give her a deadened look. She was alert and attentive, her posture was rigid, just enough so that she emitted an aura befitting of royalty; there was no nervousness about her. Her dainty hands folded themselves onto the cold stone ledge, unflinchingly.

Perhaps because she felt no cold. Or perhaps because her hands were cold to begin with.

While she looked uninterested, her mind was filled with a hundred things. She contemplated how the weather affected the rest of her nation, particularly the soldiers doing battle with the enemy. She thought of the growing number of orphans in the city, and the lack of government funds to feed them. She was still thinking of ways to raise funds in the Royal Treasury when a footstep outside her door reached her ears.

She turned swiftly and stood with one hand on her desk, the other motionless at her side. “Enter,” she commanded immediately after the knock sounded. The intruder entered, and she recognized him as her chief advisor, Castelain.

“Queen Dresmia, if I am not interrupting…” he began.

The twelve-winters-old queen waved aside his apology, still looking unabashed. “You may speak freely, Castelain.”

He bowed and began to talk softly, but enough that his voice reached her ears. “There is a woman, who wishes an audience with the queen. She has made her way into the palace, and is standing outside these very doors.” He motioned to the heavy cypress doors he had just entered through.

“What do you mean, ‘has made her way into the palace’?” she interjected, both intrigued and angry. “What were the guards doing?”

Castelain paused. “She was very… insistent. She says that if she doesn’t deliver this message to the queen herself, the consequence will be doom to the entire kingdom.”

“I hardly believe you believe such nonsense.”

He allowed a nervous chuckle. “She claims to be a prophetess,” he explained.

There was a pause. As Dresmia’s mother, the Queen Dowager, had been a prophetess herself, she knew that the Sight wasn’t something to take lightly. “She is standing outside these doors, you say?”

“My Queen,” Castelain tried to warn her. “As your chief advisor, I advise you not to listen to her words. I hardly think it’s appropriate—“

“I shall take your advice into consideration. For now, let her in. I will decide for myself whether or not this prophetess is telling the truth.” Dresmia’s tone was final. Even as a young girl, she had authoritativeness not unlike her father’s. Coupled with her mother’s beauty, she could be very convincing. Castelain knew that, despite her young age, she was able to think for herself.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Castelain backed out of the room after dismissing himself from her presence.

As she waited for her visitor, she composed herself. She smoothed the gown she was wearing over herself, ignoring the trembling that had begun to form in her hands. She had tried to make light of the prophetess’ title, but knew she hadn’t convinced even herself. At the moment, she only looked the part of a queen, with her hair elegantly braided into a bun atop her head, topped by a silver crown; her thoughts were nothing short of turmoil. This would be the first time she had come face to face with someone with the Sight. It was unnerving.