The night was cold.
The scent of blood and damp earth filled the air as the campfire burned low, casting shadows over the gathered soldiers.
King Ronan Dain sat by the fire, sharpening his blade with slow, measured strokes. He could hear his men murmuring, whispering of the battle to come. The final battle.
Across from him, Travis, his closest friend and one of his fiercest warriors, leaned forward, a grin on his scarred face.
"Long live King Ronan Dain, Overseer of all seven kingdoms, including the capital." His voice held a hint of amusement, as if victory was already theirs.
Ronan didn't look up. He ran the whetstone along the edge of his sword, the sound sharp and grating.
"Don't speak too soon, Travis. The war isn't over yet."
Travis scoffed. "Only a matter of time until you kill that bastard King Elliot and claim your rightful place."
Ronan clenched his jaw.
Ten years. That's how long this war had raged. It had taken everything from him—his father, his two elder brothers, his home. He had nothing left but the battlefield, his sword, and the burden of finishing what had begun before he was even old enough to hold a weapon.
"Gather the men," he said, standing to his full height. His voice was steady, unshaken. His golden eyes gleamed in the dark night. "One last battle before our long-awaited victory."
Travis grinned wider, slamming his fist against his chest in salute. "As you command, my King."
As Travis left to prepare the troops, Ronan turned his gaze toward the distant castle, its towering silhouette outlined against the dark sky. Vega, the last kingdom standing in his way.
Tonight, it would fall.
---
**Meanwhile, inside the castle**
Twelve-year-old Princess Selene Wynter stood frozen in the dimly lit chamber, her small hands trembling.
The chamber reeked of herbs.
The women of the castle—her mother, Queen Lorraine, her two older sisters, and the noblewomen who had once laughed and danced in these halls—stood in a circle, their expressions solemn. Each of them held a goblet filled with dark, poisoned wine.
Selene's mother lifted her cup, her expression calm, though her fingers trembled slightly.
"Today, the castle will be taken." Her voice was steady, yet distant, as though she were already gone. "We will not be taken alongside it. We will not suffer. This way is better. No pain."
The women all nodded in agreement, though fear flickered in their eyes.
Selene's heart pounded against her ribs. No, she didn't want to die this way. But she couldn't speak. She couldn't move.
She watched as her sisters drank first, their delicate hands shaking as they lifted the cups to their lips. Then the others followed, and then—one by one—they collapsed.
Selene stumbled backward, her stomach twisting, her lips quivering. She didn't want to die.
"Drink, Selene," her mother urged. Her eyes were sad, but there was no fear. Only resignation. "It is better this way, I promise."
The queen knelt in front of her, placing the goblet near her lips.
"No!" Selene shouted, shaking her head violently.
Without thinking, she turned and ran, her bare feet slapping against the cold stone floors.
She heard her mother's voice calling after her, but she refused to look back.
She didn't stop. She couldn't. The walls of the castle blurred as she ran through the halls, away from the room of death, away from the mother she would never see again.
The world outside was chaos.
Flames devoured the city below. Screams echoed from the streets. Ronan's army had breached the gates.
Selene's legs burned as she ran, desperate to find her father. She found him in the throne room, facing the massive doors that were moments from breaking open.
She wanted to cry out to him but—
The massive doors crashed open before she could.
Ronan Dain and his men stormed inside, their armor gleaming.
Ronan slowly approached, His golden eyes locked onto Elliot.
The last Usurper.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, its blade still slick with fresh blood.
Elliot raised his head, gray eyes burning with defiance as he met Ronan's gaze. Even in his final moments, he did not beg. He did not plead.
Ronan lifted his sword slightly. "Surrender, and your people will live. Resist, and your name dies with you."
A slow, painful chuckle escaped Elliot's lips. "You expect me to bow to a child?" His voice was rough, worn from years of command. "You may have won this war, boy, but you will never be my king. I would rather die than surrender to you."
Ronan did not blink. Did not hesitate.
"So be it."
In a single, fluid motion, he swung his sword.
The blade sliced cleanly through Elliot's neck. His head rolled from his shoulders, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Blood pooled around his lifeless body.
A scream ripped from Selene's throat.
"Father!"
She hadn't meant to make a sound, but it was too late.
Ronan's golden eyes snapped toward her. His men turned as well, their gazes locking onto the trembling girl hiding behind the throne.
For a brief moment, something flickered across Ronan's face—Mercy? Pity? It was gone before she could grasp it.
His expression hardened.
"Get her."
Two of his men surged forward.
Selene ran.
She sprinted through the castle, her lungs burning, her vision blurred with tears. She had no plan, no destination—only the primal urge to escape.
The shouts of soldiers echoed behind her, their heavy boots pounding against the stone.
She reached the castle's outer walls.
Below her, a river churned violently against jagged rocks.
The soldiers were close. Too close.
She had no time.
She took a deep breath—and jumped.
The wind tore at her, a brief moment of weightlessness before she hit the icy water.
The river swallowed her whole.
The soldiers skidded to a halt at the edge of the wall, staring down at the raging current below.
"No way she survived that," one muttered.
The other scoffed. "If the fall didn't kill her, the current will. Let's go back."
They turned away, unaware that the girl with emerald eyes still lived.
The river carried Selene far, far from the kingdom she once called home.
And from the man who would one day be her king.