The Final Battle

PAIGE

And once again the flaming sun sank back into the horizon, preparing for its awaited appearance tomorrow at the battlefield. In this kingdom, even the sun had no rest. Reluctantly Paige allowed the smooth velvet fabric of the curtains to slip through her fingers, once more shedding darkness upon that lonesome room. She only knew of the foretold attack, of the deaths-to-come, of the cries that would be heard ringing throughout the kingdom like funeral bells. Paige sank into an armchair, her face gently lit up by the shuddering flame of a nearby candle. The fear she had witnessed on the soldiers' faces was enough to shatter her heart. The acknowledged truth that most of them would not live through the next day. Not that they had a choice.

A soft knock on her door aroused her from her grief-stricken thoughts, and she stood, instinctively, candle in hand, squinting into the darkness to identify the silhouette by her bedroom door.

"You're not asleep." Paige walked over to where he stood.

"Does that surprise you?" she asked with a heavy sigh. Aiden's face glowed golden in the candlelight, highlighting his angelic features. He had always been her guardian angel.

"No, I suppose not," he replied. "You're afraid." She knew that his words, although testifying her own dread, also admitted his own. That was the closest that Aiden ever got to admitting fear. She had never seen him afraid before.

"Those people are going to die," she whispered, as if the quieter she said those words, the less true they became. "All because of this stupid kingdom and its stupid King and this stupid stupid war!" His arm rested on her shoulder, as a sign of silent comfort.

"We have to." She could have sworn she heard his voice break.

"But it won't ever end. These lives will be sacrificed, sure, but these enemies will come back. We'll retaliate. More lives will be lost. All for what?" She looked to Aiden as if searching for her answer, daring him to say it, to commit that small act of treason before she could.

My father's pride. They had been fighting this futile war for so long. Thousands of lives to pay the price for one old man's blind pride.

"Sleep," Aiden whispered. "That's what you need now. Not all this petty talk about war and its pride." He tried to smile, but the smile died halfway to his mouth and only grief lined the corners of his eyes.

"But I want to do something!" she pressed on. "I want to be of at least some use. This is my home, after all." She turned to him and opened her mouth to say something, but her eyes caught the single tear that rolled off his cheek, clinging to the edge of his chin.

"Happy birthday for tomorrow, Paige," he whispered. "Especially if I'm not there to tell you so."

CALLAN

The large-panelled windows revealed such widespread beauty that it astounded him. The world could be such a peaceful place- but it was these people, who wanted nothing more than to see the pain of others, that rid the world of such astounding beauty. One day all this would be over. And Callan was going to make sure that day was sooner than expected.

"Thinking again?" He turned at the voice, his expression softening as he saw the man at the door. The man's smile was proud and loving. "You need some rest, sire."

Faramond was his chief general, his entire family having been loyal servants to the royal family of Acraeneia ever since anyone could remember, and no man was more likely to set down his life voluntarily for Callan than Faramond himself.

"Faramond, "Callan began, hesitant. "Are we doing the right thing?" Faramond's eyes drifted to his feet. Even Callan could see the real answer brimming in his eyes.

"You know that is not for me to judge, sire," Faramond said. Of course that would be the answer. Callan was the Crown Prince; this was all for him to decide. The burden was all for him to shoulder. Taking one last deep breath, he straightened, chin lifted and face glowing in the last dying glimmers of the setting sun.

"If only your mother were here to see this," Faramond whispered, just loud enough for Callan to hear. "She would have been so proud."

Would she? Or would her heart have despaired for all the lives I am to take? Would her tears have fallen for all the blood I am to spill?

PAIGE

Early that fateful morning, Paige hurriedly scrambled into her dress, which had been selected ever so carefully by her mother, who could not have picked out anything less relevant, preferring to parade her daughter in something fit for a celebration.

Paige disliked the way her body was shaped, and although she would never admit it, she was envious of women like her mother, women who could look into a mirror and see beauty instead of all the shame that had collected over the years. Although her gown had wrapped itself around her curves like a python, she still had to slouch in order to prevent it from slipping off her body. It was a deep-red off-the-shoulder gown, its plunging neckline far too suggestive for her liking. Taking a deep breath, Paige positioned herself in the mirror, just so that the first early rays of the glowing sun caught on her dark black hair, clinging to her locks. She hurriedly pinned down her tiara, which she had not once been fond of for all the sharp, jagged bits that stuck into her scalp like a punishment, and brushed herself down, taking one last longing look at the mirror. She liked to get ready by herself. Although she would count her handmaidens among her closest of friends, Paige could not help the shame that would creep up her neck when she let herself be pampered and prodded by a stranger's fingers, her bare body having become someone else's canvas. She was worried she was too curvy, too bony, too round, and altogether too unattractive to be the Princess she claimed.

"Paige dear!" she heard, at her door.

"Yes, Mother!" she answered in a shrill voice that didn't sound like her own. Then again, she never dared be herself in her mother's presence.

"Come out, dear," her mother called, rather impatiently. "It's time." Time for what? Paige was tempted to ask, however she reluctantly held her tongue and hitching her dress up, opened the door.

Queen Anastasia did not look like she was mourning what could be their last time together as a family. She looked fit to attend some grand fairy-tale ball, practically glowing in her strapless white gown, crown worn proudly upon her head as she looked down upon her offspring with disappointment.

"My daughter," Anastasia gushed, arms resting on Paige's shoulders. "Finally a woman. It is your birthday after all."

"Yes, Mother," Paige replied, monotonously. She saw no reason to give her mother false enthusiasm when people were dying outside for their sake.

"What have I told you about slouching?" Anastasia snapped, pulling her daughter's shoulders back forcefully as Paige reluctantly thrust her chest forward, trying her bets not to wince as her mother's nails dug into her skin. "And do not forget to smile. You are to be a queen one day, and you must do your best to look beautiful." This wasn't beautiful. This was torture.

"Do they have to fight, Mother?" Paige asked, trying to look into her mother's eyes. They may as well have been made of ice. When her mother looked back, Paige did not feel anything remotely human radiate from them.

"Yes, it is their duty to fight for the kingdom and its king," her mother snapped impatiently, as she clapped her hands. "Brielle! Fix the hem of this gown for me!"

"But they'll die," Paige protested in a weak whisper, as Brielle, Anastasia's most trusted handmaiden got down to work, fiddling with the bottom of her dress. Paige looked back up at her mother, who had now placed her hands upon Paige's shoulders, a seemingly loving, maternal gesture. Then, why did it feel more like a threat?

"Red really does suit you, darling."

CALLAN

The entire army had been made to attire in only the mournful colour of night black, under Prince Callan's orders. Lives were to be lost and even if they did not belong to his only people, Callan knew the cost of a life all too well. This was his way of paying tribute to them.

He, himself, was dressed in black armour, the colour of starless midnight, with the royal crest of Acraeneia at his side, mounted like the regal heir he was upon his equally dark black steed. He was a picture of impending doom, as if Death himself had ridden onto the battlefield, with bone-chillingly chiselled features, a strong jaw, cheekbones that may as well have been carved with a skilful hand and eyes, deep and blue like the bottom of some chasm.

"Let us proceed!" Callan bellowed, his deep voice taking on an unfamiliar tone, one that he remembered belonged to his father. One that he would have to get used to using. "This day shall mark our victory once and for all!" The entire nation cheered, spurred on by mixed emotions. Anger, at the kingdom of Askemia, which had made them suffer for so long; grief for their loved ones who had set off to fight in this dreaded war; and also a glint of hope. Hope, that that day may mark the beginning of a beautiful era, free of locked-up hatred. Callan for one, was rooting for that part of it.

PAIGE

"The Acraeneiae are gaining proximity, my liege."

The King rose from his throne, his face an image unable to be deciphered, as the servant descended like a fearful mouse in the presence of a panther. A high-pitched gasp deafened Paige's left ear, as she closed her eyes, bracing herself for her mother's reaction. If her mother pricked her finger on a needle, the entire Kingdom would come to know about it.

"What on earth do you mean?" she shrieked, her shrill voice echoing throughout the throne room, possibly even through the entire castle. "But they are nothing compared to the might of noble Askemia!" Noble. Paige begged to differ. She never could comprehend how someone so noble could allow citizens of his own kingdom to perish in poverty and starvation.

"Anastasia, you will keep quiet!" King Isadore bellowed, his order met with impenetrable silence. Even Anastasia's sobs had ceased. Paige watched as the throne room froze, allowing silence to move in and close its ranks around them. Her mother, aunt and cousin were all clustered in one small group, fear and horror painted across each one's face. Isadore was an aged man, however like his wife, his age refused to surface on his bold youthful face, that still shone with the features of a leader.

"My men shall press on!" he thundered, his voice bringing a glint of hope into the eyes of the occupants of the throne room. All except for Paige who frowned, jaw clenched as she silenced her raging thoughts. Her father was too proud for his own good. Too proud and too stupid. If it were up to her, Paige would end this war with a truce. Hells, if it were up to her, there would be no war.

"Truer words have never been spoken," gushed Anastasia, as King Isadore glowed under the praises that were showered upon his determined manner.

Paige suddenly felt sick to her stomach. This was not about to end well at all.

CALLAN

"Why won't they give up?" Callan growled with frustration, as he sheathed his bloodied sword in irritation. "They are losing too many men, can they not see?"

"My Lord," answered Faramond, who always fought at his side. "The Askemians are too proud for their own good."

"This is ridiculous!" he yelled, his horse carrying him onwards. "They have lost already. More men will only mean more death. Can they not tone down their pride for the sake of their own kind?"

"They will not rest until their last man is dead."

Callan shook his head. He had never before met a man so selfish as the King of Askemia.

"Then, we shall end this tonight." Callan's feet dug into the flank of his night-black steed, as he raced off towards the castle, his army following close behind. However, their attack was not met with defence, but empty land, obviously lacking in any form of retaliation. Callan reared back, shooting his general a perplexed glance.

"Perhaps this is a war strategy, Faramond," Callan hissed, strong muscles tensing under his armour.

"Sire..." Faramond whispered, just audible for those around him. "While the King may still be willing to wage an unjust war, his warriors have given in." He glanced back at Callan whose eyes widened with recognition. "I don't think the fight will continue."

And that was when the subtlest of smirks appeared on the Prince's face.

"Then we shall infiltrate the castle and find the King for ourselves," said Callan, as he lifted his head high and scanned the foreign lands around him that were soon to become his own. "No mercy."