Stalemate | A Rise To Power

𝘌𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥

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The rats never left.

No matter how many times Ethelind stamped on the revolting creatures—if she could catch them—they would always be back. At night, she heard them scurrying through the straw under her bed and, worst of all, they defecated everywhere. Ethelind knew she looked ridiculous whenever she went to grab her food where the guards left it, dancing around on the balls of her shoes to avoid treading in rat faeces. It was so humiliating. Sometimes the pests even ate her food before she got to it since the guards always left it out while she was asleep.

Ethelind had been in the dungeons for two years but refused to go mad. She would exercise, sleep, draw on the walls, and stare at the small, barred window above her bed that only sky was visible from. As she wasted away, seasons slowly drifted by as life continued outside the confines of her cell. It was as if she did not exist.

If only she could speak to one guard. As dutiful as the Northerners were to their king, she was sure she could find a way out if given a chance. She was a beautiful and coquettish woman with striking blue eyes, a smattering of freckles, and curved red lips. One look was always enough to catch someone's attention; even as pale and gaunt as she had become, she knew she had not lost her fair features.

Just one guard is all I want.

Maybe Lucian was letting her rot alone, waiting for her to succumb to illness and suffer a long, agonising death. Or, more likely, he was dragging out her final hours, knowing that the worst punishment for someone like her was to be forgotten, to become inconsequential. The last time the guards had left a bucket for her to wash in felt like months ago, and her body was so itchy. If Lucian wanted to kill her morale, he had done a good job.

Uncle or not, she often reflected on the Battle of Bloodfield Bay and wished that she had managed to kill him.

The memory of the day was bitter.

Ethelind sat on her horse, her red hair cut short to keep it out of the way. She wore no helmet, but she had covered the rest of her body in plate armour. In her right hand she wielded a longsword, a beastly thing with a serrated edge and leather hilt worn by overuse, and she had strapped a shield to her left arm.

"Nervous?" a voice asked below her, and she looked down to see Katana, her cousin. Katana was a short eleven-year-old girl, almost twelve, with shoulder-long blonde hair, freckles, and light brown eyes she had inherited from her mother.

They were both related to the man they were supposed to kill.

Lucian had four siblings: Emelyn Silverling, who married Lachlan and became queen of the South; Azalea Everwood, who died when she was fourteen; Damek Westerling, lord of Lakewood Moat; and Dinah Eternel, Ethelind's mother. Ethelind didn't consider any of them family, however. That title was reserved for Katana and the men-at-arms she fought with, some wary of her, some flirtatious, but most respectful of her skill, embracing her as a crucial part of their army.

Instead of serving Emelyn and Lucian, Ethelind had chosen to serve the Shadowharts, disregarding the Everwood lineage that had never suited her.

"Nervous? Yes. But ready to take down some of Lucian's incompetent soldiers? Definitely."

Katana smiled. "I don't doubt it." A slight pause ensued as she considered what to say, her eyes flitting to Lucian's army emerging on top of the hill, and she began to speak faster, knowing she had to leave before the battle began. "If you don't come back, I wanted... I mean, I thought it would... I was going to say..."