My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  She sighed and patted into her dress pockets, "Sorry, fresh out."

  "Well, there is the other option." Anjali sighed, blowing air out her cheeks. "We walk in and order them to leave."

  "You can't be serious," Rosamund blinked at her, but the assassin only shrugged.

  "It's less the element of surprise, more having a good old fashioned throw down. But I'm running low on ideas here."

  She was right. They could stay out here, out of danger and sight, while her family were threatened, tortured, maybe even killed. Or, she could walk in there like the future Queen she was supposed to be and demand an explanation from whoever dared to invade her home. Standing up straight, Rosie tried to yank out a few wrinkles in her dress that was coated in blood.

  "Just so you know, I'm bloody well terrified," she sputtered, her eyes darting over to Anjali.

  "Stick beside me, Sapheela. I won't see a single cut to your beautiful skin," the assassin smiled, her hands wrapping around Rosie's shoulders for one last side hug.

  Certain she was prepared for this, Rosie took a step into the foyer. It required a few more before anyone bothered to look over at the two women. A handful of people stood on both sides of the room, party guests who seemed to be at the mercy of the mercenaries that rounded them up. Eyes cut back to the woman marching to her doom while silence fell across the very heart of the Theirin dynasty. The throne sat alone, barely visible in the shadows of a bright red fire blazing in the middle of the room. Her brother was held at sword point beside it, the man snarling at the merc and mostly rolling his eyes in exhaustion with the entire proceedings. Their mother was nowhere to be seen.

  "Ah," one of the men with a crossbow slotted in his arms turned towards the woman entering the fray, "the Princess arrives finally."

  "Coated in the blood of your men."

  "Well," he blinked a moment, "that's not very friendly, or cute."

  "Let my brother go," Rosie came to a halt at the edge of the aisle. Normally, it was kept in check by ropes so angered up citizens didn't rush at people walking to the crown for judgment. Now she could see the blood painted along the sides of where the nobles stood. They looked frightened like lambs lined up for the slaughter, but none were about to bolt. Perhaps they couldn't.

  "Sorry about that, Princess, but it ain't happening," the main merc turned to his fellows who stood at the side. Nearly all of them looked like the generic scum or villainy you scraped out of a pub at two in the morning, save one. He wasn't dressed in the armor of the band, but wore what looked like heavy velvet curtains with a mink stole stitched around the collar. The man was thin as a reed and kept dancing back away from the surroundings as if afraid a stray blade would split his thin skin.

  "I will not ask again," Rosie said, doing her damnedest to keep her legs from shaking or her voice quivering. She wanted to vomit on the floor from how badly her stomach twisted itself.

  The leader chuckled at her brave face and tipped his head to the side, "We need to wait for the boss."

  Boss? He wasn't in charge? Then who blighted was? "You will do as I command," Rosamund shifted to a new tactic. "Or suffer the consequences." Oh boy, her ability to bluff was running on empty.

  "No offense there, snooty pants," he crossed his arms and shifted back, "but I think I'll take my chances against two gels."

  Rosie let her eyes dart over to Anjali who tipped her head. She was ready. Whatever ready entailed. "Then we are at an impasse," Rosie said, trying to play the diplomat.

  "I suppose we..." he began, when a knife flew through the air and embedded into the throat of the merc holding her brother at sword point. Anjali wasted no time, spinning up into the air as she attacked the mercs on the right. It was up to Rosie to finish off the left ones.

  Only two. She could do it. Maybe.

  "Damn it!" the leader shouted, "Stop them!"

  A mace swung for her head, Rosie having to slide fast to the side. It careened through nothing but dead air giving her the perfect opportunity to strike. Slashing upward, her blade caught on the man's elbow. It jarred in her hands, the cheap steel easily rattling from striking the armor while the princess cursed her foolishness.

  The second guard chuckled at the dumb move and began to circle behind to try and flank her. Rosie's eyes flared and she twisted, thrusting fast to keep him at bay. With nowhere safe to go, she began to slide back, her eyes darting from one guard to the other. The second boasted a broadsword, far more likely to cleave off her head. But they were under some twisted orders. They needed her alive.

  Use that.

  Swinging her sword up high, Rosie left her chest wide open. A foolish move, one only very unexperienced swordswomen would do. She could practically taste the merc wishing to use it to his advantage, but he met his mace into her blade instead. The man put all his weight into it, trying to disarm her and finish this.

  Rolling her arm with the twist to cling tight, Rosie suddenly put all her muscle into jabbing forward. The blade didn't cut through the armor but the mace's handle and the man's palm. Shrieking, it clattered to the floor while blood seeped up the leather. At his friend's pain, the second sliced wild for her head. Rosie dropped down and turned on a dime. The broadsword sailed right over her and into the helmet of the bleeding merc.

  A clang reverberated through the great hall, every voice stilled as the second merc cleaved into and crunched the nose up into the brain of the first. His body collapsed to the ground, the broadsword trapped inside the dead man's dented helmet. The second merc remained in such shock, he barely turned as Rosie stabbed her sword upward and cut through the gap. Her blade sliced into bone and stopped. Hefting with all her might, she chopped further inside the man and aimed higher for the heart.

  It was hard to say if she managed it, but he collapsed to the floor, dying if not dead. There was so much blood the air practically sparkled in crimson, the life power seeping into her shoes. Rosie moved to wipe some of it off her hands, her eyes glancing over to find Anjali finishing off another three, when the main merc sighed loudly.

  "Cute, but this is far from over," he waved his hands and out of the side chambers came a dozen more mercs.

  "Blessed Andraste," Rosie groaned as she hefted up her sword. Anjali didn't bat an eye at the new additions, the assassin yanking her blade out of one spine and moving to dash into the fray.

  This was it. She could put up a fight, maybe take one or two more down, but... There was no hope against so many. So this was what it was like? To stare failure in the face, to know that no matter what you do, what you try, you won't walk away a winner. And still do it anyway.

  Rosie screamed with the same stupid bear roar she made in the hall. It was so sudden and unexpected all the mercs froze a moment, but she didn't care how idiotic it was. If this was the end she'd go down fighting. Let it come.

  Doors exploded on their hinges, and from behind her she heard more boots coming. More clank of armor. More swords ready to kill them all. Tucking her last breath into her lungs for safe keeping, she glanced over her shoulder prepared to stare death in the eye but was rewarded by salvation.

  "Commander Faris!" she shouted nearly falling to her knees to thank the Maker Himself. The leader of the royal guards stood in formation beside his troops, all of them seeming to have outfitted themselves and run to their princess' aid in record time.

  "Tess," Rosie whispered to herself before turning to the mercs. It wasn't quite even odds, but it was close enough. "Kill them all!" she screamed, her arm waving towards the mercs.

  The guards shouted and broke into a run. Metal armor churned past her like a river, Rosie remaining frozen in place while she held her sword out. Each guard struck hard against the mercenaries, their flimsier ordnance giving way to the much finer suits for the men and women chosen to protect the royal family.

  They were going to win. This wasn't a stupid idea. She could save her family. Save them all! Rosamund lifted her sword in the air in triumph, her eyes turning to find Anjali. The assassin was
spinning on her feet, one leg extended high as she moved to jam a dagger into a fallen man. It was deadly and beautiful at the same time.

  Rosie could practically taste the impact, Anjali's graceful arm hanging suspended before the bite when her entire body shook.

  What? The woman stumbled a moment, her movements frozen, and Rosie heard it. The cocking of a crossbow, a bolt being slotted into place by the fucking leader of this shit show that aimed right for Anjali.

  "No!" Rosie screamed, but she was too late. Her assassin eyed up the man trying to kill her. She could dodge it, she had to, but she didn't. Instead, she jammed her dagger into its intended target taking one last life before the man's bolt zipped through the crowd and struck deep into her chest.

  Forgetting the flying knives around her, Rosie broke into a run. Her eyes could only watch as Anjali flew backwards, her head striking hard against the floor and...and she wasn't moving. She wasn't getting up.

  No. No, damn it, no!

  Her knees scraped along the floor, blood sloshing up her dress, while Rosie drew her hands up and down the still woman. Two bolts stood up straight from her chest, one right over her heart. No! Please!

  "Anjali!" she cried out. This can't be happening. She wasn't... Not dead. Not broken by a man's arrow. Her heart wasn't crushed and bleeding. She was fine. She'd...

  Rosie's fingers barely touched above the deadly bolts. She ached to rip them out, to-to free Anjali, but that wouldn't save her. That wouldn't bring her back.

  Inside her chest, her heart crumbled to dust. Barely aware of the clomp of boots or the fall of men, Rosie scooped up Anjali in her arms and pressed her limp body to her chest. The bolts stung deep into Rosie's skin, each one digging a notch into her breasts, but the pain on the outside didn't matter.

  "Damn it, no!" she cried, burying her face into Anjali's warm shoulder. "You came back. You...you were going to, I wanted and hoped that, damn You Maker!"

  Her tears smothered over Anjali's perfect shoulder, Rosie rocking the two of them while she lost all sense in her brain. Her body wanted to lay down beside her, to forget everything she belonged to, everything she was meant to be. Sod the rest of the world. For a brief window she let herself love a woman and the Maker had to take it all away.

  "Sapheela," a breath whispered beside her ear. Rosie whipped her head up, her mouth falling open in shock. Umber eyes opened slowly and a warm hand cupped her cheek, "Such beautiful eyes should never be veiled in tears."

  "You're alive!" she shouted, her voice trembling with gratitude and confusion in equal parts. "Please tell me you're alive." Anjali drew her hand down her chest and plucked at one of the bolts. She winced at its retrieval but no blood dribbled free. "How in the Maker's name...?"

  Anjali smiled and lifted up a flap of her leather to reveal metal underneath. "Rivaini steel, twenty times stronger than whatever you have in the south."

  "And you didn't say anything! You let me weep over your body? I thought you were dead!" She shrieked wanting to throttle Anjali while also kiss her mouth off.

  "I struck my head, I lost consciousness," she gasped with a laugh. "But, it is nice to know you care enough to mourn so forcefully."

  "Shut up," Rosie rolled her eyes, grabbed onto Anjali's jaw, and pulled the beautiful woman to her lips for a kiss. The touch was as warm as life itself, happiness flooding her veins because she wasn't gone. She wasn't dead. She was here with her, while the battle around them both slowed to a halt.

  "Your Highness," a voice called to her, Rosie stumbling to her feet and offering a hand to Anjali. As she glanced around she noticed that the tide was truly turned in her favor. Most of the mercenaries were dead or badly wounded, the guards standing over them and daring any to try something.

  With a grin rising on her lips, Rosamund focused on the man with the crossbow. "You've lost, whoever you are. Stand down and we may prove merciful."

  She moved through the fallen crowds towards her brother, her eyes fully upon the leader of this farce, his weapon trembling in meaty hands. On occasion she'd glance over at Cailan. He looked unharmed, but his lips were both pursed in intense concentration while his fingers knocked a count back and forth to calm himself. What did they plan to do to him? To them both?

  Rosie lifted her head, about to put that very question to the man with the crossbow, when the door on the side opened. She braced herself, lifting her sword up higher when her father stumbled through -- his neck at the mercy of a blade. The King's eyes darted towards the crowd, and when landing on his children he moved as if to run towards them.

  "Ah," a hand grabbed onto him and Alistair moved to the side enough for Rosie to see who was orchestrating this madness.

  "You!" Fire burned in her veins, her knuckles popping as she wrung her anger out on the grip of her sword while wishing it was Lord Eldon's neck. The pissant she sent running away smirked at the display, the blade not moving an inch from her father's throat.

  "My Lady," he tipped his head at her, the smarm thick enough to smother a man, "I'd be putting down your weapons if I were you or..." he wiggled his hand a bit, the dagger's edge sliding closer to killing the King.

  "You dare threaten treason!" Rosie raged, lifting her sword higher. She thought it might startle the man, but he gripped tighter to Alistair and honed his eyes on her. They had no choice. Extending her fingers, Rosie made a show of lowering to the ground and laying the blade upon it. Eldon's beady eyes darted back to the others and she followed. While her heart groaned at having to give in, she could find no recourse. Extending a hand, she ordered the guards to follow suit.

  They growled at that, fangs smashing at the air while each placed sword and shield harmlessly upon the floor. No doubt every member of the royal guard had plans on what to do with Eldon. Even if he managed to make it out of the palace, he wouldn't survive long. They'd find him, they'd kill him for certain. The King had many friends.

  "You can't possibly hope to survive this," Rosie said, glaring at the man. "If you harm the King, your life is forfeit."

  Eldon hummed a little song under his breath before his eyes darted out towards the crowd. "I'm glad you brought so many to witness, my Lady."

  "Witness what?" Maker take him, if he intended to force her to marry him by threatening her father, she'd...

  Eldon's eyes burned into hers, "The truth. Bring him out! Oh, and the Queen too. This should prove most interesting."

  "Mother!" Cailan cried as Queen Beatrice was tugged from the other side that released a dozen mercenaries before. Her dress was torn and spotted with blood and she walked with a limp. There was no blade to her neck, but a hand gripped tight to her arm while she glared out at the proceedings.

  When her eyes landed upon Cailan and Rosamund, she mouthed a prayer of thanks to Andraste while her children did the same. They were alive at least. The next step was surviving. Beatrice tried to shake off the man gripping tight to her, when the right side door cracked open and an older man stumbled out.

  His remaining hair was salty more than pepper, a massive bald spot on top while a ring of remaining hair circled around the edges. The man squinted at the lights as if he'd been kept in the dark his whole life. When he pulled his hand down, ice blue eyes fell upon Cailan. They darted towards Rosie for a moment, but seemed to mostly impress upon the prince who was only focused on their mother in danger.

  "Does he look familiar to you?" Eldon asked while jabbing a finger at the old man. "Or you, your Majesty?" Now he turned towards Beatrice, and their mother...she looked as if she was about to spit venom upon not only Eldon but the mystery man as well. He in turn couldn't look over at her, his hands clasped together in front of his stomach.

  "This," Eldon continued, clearly enjoying the show, "is brother Cordell."

  Shit. Rosie tried to not react, but Cailan whipped his head over at the man while mouthing his name.

  "When I stumbled into this man at a tavern he told me a most interesting tale, didn't you Cordell?" Eldon oozed around the stage. The brother di
dn't look up, his eyes burning through the floor. "Why don't you share it with all the nice nobility gathered here?"

  "I don't think..." he began, his thin lips struggling to form a word while the hands rattled the air.

  "It seems our dear Queen, beloved Beatrice, is not as chaste or faithful as the songs would have you believe," Eldon turned on their mother who glared murder upon the bent head of the brother. She kept yanking at the end of her tether, her fingers flexed as if she was about to scratch the man's eyes out.

  A few in the audience shrugged at the news. Most everyone knew that the Queen had her lovers, and most didn't much care. The country worked, and aside from a bit of gossip to pass the time, it didn't amount to much. Maker knew the King didn't keep a chaste bed either.

  "Tell them, Cordell," Eldon jabbed at the brother who didn't seem up to playing the part. "Tell them who you really are?"

  "Maker's blighted colon, you do go on," their father finally spoke, his eyes rolling back towards the man that must have had him at knife point for hours. His voice was hoarse and struggling to reach the children. What did he do to him?

  "Silence," Eldon hissed, clearly planning to have this go one way.

  "What do you want? Silence or someone to tell a good story? There once was a man from Nevarra, whose snake trouser he wanted to get farther..."

  Eldon jammed his puny fist into their father's gut causing the King's naughty limerick to erupt into an oof as he folded downward. "Be silent! If the brother will not speak, then I shall! You have all been deceived, bannorn of Ferelden."

  The people he captured and held prisoner all glared at the man who imposed upon them and not the King spitting a bit of blood out of his mouth.

  "You've been told that the children of Beatrice, your queen, are the only legitimate blood lines to our King, but that is a lie!" Eldon stepped away from Alistair, letting the man sink to the floor. Rosie tried to rush towards him, but the bastard swung his dagger at her. Her dad coughed a bit more, grimacing at what came out, but he eyed her up and shook his head no. Freezing in her tracks, all she could do was glare.