Of Empires

+ c h a p t e r 1

The crown was an anomaly. She was groomed till her dark hair shone and her golden skin glittered. The dress she wore was restricting her ability to breathe, but the pressure it provided felt good-it reminded her of power. The odd pieces of jewelry she usually wore were abandoned for the event. Today it was just her, the gown and the crown.

Of course, she'd never call the thin piece of metal she was wearing a crown. A tiara was a more fitting name. Zorya Volodya was only a princess after all. In her eyes, the real crown was heavy and polished to perfection, sitting on her father's head.

At this particular moment, he did not look much like a king. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the crown. The reassuring smile he intended to give to his people looked more like a grimace. It was obvious to her that her father was struggling.

No one but her noticed all these details. The people around her were too busy fearing for their lives. Her brother Ivanovo looked only at her, like he always did. So she was the only one who noticed.

She was only eleven winters old then. Her father's entire kingdom had been summoned to the royal courtyard. Those of noble blood were at the very front, most of them seated on their horses and on the benches surrounding the estate. The gentry and the peasants stood behind them. They were all anticipating news that was not unknown to them, news that they all hoped was false.

Her father finally spoke.

"People of my kingdom, war is coming." He paused dramatically.

The people began whispering among themselves. Zorya looked at the fear painted on their faces and pouted.

"The Immortal alliance has conquered our neighbours, and now we are next. They are coming for us."

The people murmured louder. Zorya observed everything from where she stood to the left of her father.

She was peeved at the reactions her presence received- the lack of them, rather. Being the only princess of the kingdom, she was adored by all for her quaintness and charm. But now all the attention she usually received was redirected to a topic of lesser importance- a measly war threat from a measly empire from the measlier side of the continent. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palm. She'd be good and wait for her turn. Soon, she'd receive the attention she deserved.

The king continued his speech.

"I'm afraid that there's nothing we can do but prepare to fight. Because the only way to stop the Immortal alliance from taking away our people and our lands is by fighting them with all we have.

"Are my people with me?"

All the whispers stopped. There was an uncertain pause amongst the crowd. A moment later, the first cheer was sounded. Soon, all the people were chanting words that the king had hoped to hear.

"Yes!"

"We'll fight to death!"

"Those monsters will never take us."

"Long live the king!"

"Long live the queen!"

"Long live the Kingdom of Septentria!"

Zorya listened to the chorus of voices. Not once did they say her name. Her gaze sharpened and her voice came out like frost when she spoke.

"You will all die."

The people froze. She hadn't screamed out the words like she wanted to. She had said them in a calm voice that foreshadowed the upcoming storm.

Her father's head snapped towards her. Her older brother gripped her shoulder. The people of the kingdom looked at the eleven-year-old princess. She looked like a dark cloud hovering high above them all, promising nightmares. Her father glared at her sharply. She would be getting a beating later on. But he wouldn't be able to touch her, she'd make sure of it.

"What did you say?" Her father challenged.

She never backed down. She sighed and, as though she was talking to a city of fools, she enunciated her words slowly.

"I said, you will all end up dead. Do not pray for victory against the Immortals. Pray only for your lives."

She observed how all the attention she had craved was hers once again. She could feel the power spreading through her small body, combusting underneath her skin.

"Then you will find out that the Gods you pray to will not help you this time. But death will be consistent. Death will be loyal."

She looked into the eyes of each man, each woman and each child.

"Death will always come."

There were shrieks of fear amongst the crowd. Her father moved to discreetly pinch her side, but her beloved brother Ivanovo moved her away just in time.

Ivanovo looked down at her. He would never fault her, of course. He knew she was smart, smarter than anyone he had known.

"Will you be fixing this mayhem?" He gently asked her.

She only smiled. He relaxed his hold on her, because she had smiled the smile she would only ever show him.

"I'm not done yet." She spoke loud and clear, immediately silencing the crowd. Her father growled and reached for her once more. Ivanovo placed himself in between the both of them.

"There is a way to stop the war, of course." This grabbed everyone's attention and dared them to hope.

"Father, lend me your sword."

The King's hands moved, as though under a spell. Her spell, he realised. He handed her the sword without protest.

Her hands sagged under its weight. She unsheathed it and raised it as high as her tiny arms could. She walked forward, out of her brother's protective hold, and stopped before her father with her back facing him. The crowd watched her with grave interest.

In a flash she had the sword against her father's throat, and in another she had it sliced. He gurgled in an attempt to stay alive, but like a common fish out of the water, he died. With no ceremony at all, just like that.

Zorya wiped off the blood staining her cheeks with her baby blue handkerchief.