Chapter 4: A Hope Burns to The Void

Queen Namia's life hung by a thread. The cold steel of the assassin's blade pressed against her throat, its sharp edge threatening to spill royal blood—a prized trophy for the intruder. Her prayers silently reached out to any power that would hear her plea for survival. Suddenly, the tension eased. The blade slipped away, followed by the dull thud of the assassin's body collapsing to the ground. A guard had managed to drive his sword through the attacker's back, swift and silent. Relief washed over her as the queen realized the threat had been eliminated—if only momentarily.

Without wasting a second, Queen Namia rushed toward the King's chambers, flanked by two guards. Just as she neared the massive doors, two more assassins, clad in armor identical to the castle guards, emerged from the shadows. The queen's guards were overwhelmed in moments, their attackers moving with unnatural speed and precision. Realizing she couldn't win this fight, Namia darted for the chamber door. Before she could reach it, a strong arm yanked her backward into the darkness.

Panic clawed at her chest. She feared she'd never see her husband or children again. The thought pierced her heart like a blade. The weight of the castle walls seemed to press in on her, suffocating her. Struggling fiercely, she kicked and flailed against her captors, her desperate attempts earning only their irritation. They bound her hands, silencing her defiance.

They shoved her into a carriage, an assassin following her inside to ensure she couldn't escape or attract attention. Outside the castle, the night remained deceptively peaceful. The townsfolk slept soundly in their homes, unaware of the chaos within the castle walls. Here and there, the dim glow of lanterns illuminated drunken men with women draped across their laps, their laughter echoing through the dark streets like the mockery of demons.

"Who sent you?" Namia asked, her voice trembling with fury and fear.

"It doesn't matter," the assassin sneered, leaning closer. "And don't think for a moment about doing anything stupid, or I'll make sure your suffering is legendary."

"You'll kill me anyway," she replied, her gaze fixed on the blackened window. The endless darkness outside mirrored the despair she felt within.

The assassin's lips curled into a vile smirk. "Maybe. But you get to choose how you go. Quick and clean, or slow and agonizing. Perhaps I'll strip you of your dignity first. Your choice."

Namia's stomach churned at his depravity. She turned away from his sneering face, disgusted. Silence stretched between them, her thoughts consumed by the fate of her family. Were they alive? Were they safe? The uncertainty gnawed at her, twisting fear and anger into a volatile storm inside her chest.

Gathering her courage, she asked, "What have you done to the King and my children?" Her voice quavered at first, but she steadied herself, refusing to let him see her fear.

The assassin ignored her.

"I am the Queen of Eastanzarth!" she barked, her voice sharp and commanding. "When I ask a question, you are in duty to answer it!"

The assassin scowled. "Damn you, woman! Can't you shut up?"

"I deserve to know what's happened to my family!" she demanded, her composure cracking.

He leaned in, his dagger grazing her throat. "The only thing you deserve is my mercy, and that's running thin."

"Mercy?" she spat. "You are no king, no god. You are a depraved coward, unworthy of such a word."

His eyes narrowed, fury flashing within them. "You'll beg for it soon enough—when my blade starts peeling your skin or my brothers strip you of your dignity."

Namia's stomach turned, but she didn't flinch. "You think I'll beg you, filth? A queen bows to no one, least of all a wretch like you."

He chuckled darkly. "Tell me, then—where are your precious children hiding?"

Her heart stopped. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms to suppress the rising panic. They were after her children. They wouldn't stop until they were found. She took a breath, steeling herself. "I don't know. That's the point of escape—no one knows, not even me."

The assassin snarled. "When I find them, I'll make their deaths slower than yours. I'll—"

Brak!

His head snapped to the side, hitting the wooden wall as Namia's fist connected with his cheek. Blood dripped from his face as he recoiled, his hand shooting out to grasp her throat.

"You'll regret that, woman," he growled, squeezing harder. Namia gasped, clawing at his hand, her vision blurring.

She struggled to speak, her voice rasping through the pressure on her throat. "You… dare… lay hands on a queen?"

"Your title means nothing now," he hissed, his grip tightening.

Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in her stomach. Her breath hitched as she looked down, blood seeping through her gown. She hadn't even seen the dagger before it was buried in her flesh.

Her trembling hand brushed the crimson stain spreading across her lap. Her vision blurred, the assassin's sneering face the last thing she saw. But even in her final moments, her hazel eyes burned with defiance. She would not beg. She would not break. She reminded herself that her children had their father's strength, and her intelligence, that they would survive anything, even the darkest force coming to their way. She believed they would find the wisdom in life to distinguish the good and the bad, and avenge her. Not only to avenge her, but also the innocents and the oppressed when the time was right.

The assassin pulled the blade free, letting her body slump against the seat. Blood pooled beneath her, staining the regal carriage. The assassin leaned back, wiping the blade on her gown with a grim smile.

"Good riddance," he muttered. His grin was vile, made to mock the queen whose body would soon turn as cold as moonless night.

Unbeknownst to him, a shadow flitted through the trees, closing in on the carriage. Silent and deadly, it promised retribution.

The queen's death was not the end—only the beginning of a storm that would engulf the realm.