1 The Last Princess

The fall of the ancient House of Eosin, and of the Kingdom of Vezda came not with the clashing of swords and screams of the dying-- as it was always supposed-- but with the scratching of pen across parchment in a mostly silent room.

Princess Talia, the last ruler of Vezda, sat at the table beside the scribe, and seemed to be far more interested in watching the lazy progress of dust motes floating in and out of a particularly brilliant ray of sunlight. Behind her, stood the stone-faced advisors and heads of all the major Houses of Vezda, and not a one of them watched the scribe either. The eyes of every man and woman were focused only on the young Princess, and though they spoke not a word, their eyes spoke for them: many of them were wet with tears, red-rimmed or even dry and blood-shot. Every emotion was represented in that assembly of eyes, pity for the brave girl, fear of what the future held, exhaustion and apathy from all the years of war, longing for the past and everything that was, love for the girl who had been precious to all of them, and more than any other emotion... anger.

Across the table from Princess Talia and the scribe sat evil in the form of a man-- Prince Mikhail of Unaria, the rabid wolf, blood-stained right hand, and brother of Emperor Grigori.

It had been ten years since the man had taken command of the armies of the Empire, which had long been engaged in a continuous assault on the Kingdom of Vezda. It was widely known that the former King of Vezda had died at his hands while defending the main temple, and that the elder princess, Talia's only sister, had been captured and personally executed by the man as well. What was rumored of him was even worse, though those stories could not be confirmed. It was little wonder that the Princess preferred to stare adamantly at the small patch of sunlight spilling across the stone floor than to sully her bright blue eyes sparing even a glance at the darkness and corruption that emanated from the massive figure seated across from her.

Had she looked, what she would have seen might have given even that brave girl shivers. Prince Mikhail was indeed a giant of a man. The solid oak chair he lounged back in seemed strained to support such a figure. Shedding the heavy armor and helmet that he'd worn for almost a decade had done little to reduce his threatening aura.

His choice of clothing for the occasion was surprisingly humble, leggings, and a long black tunic open at that neck with sleeves rolled up to display muscular forearms marked with strange curling black lines and scars. His long black hair, unbound today, was clean and combed through and hung almost to his waist. He had unbuckled his sword and leaned it against the table when he first sat. It should have been a friendly gesture, but the mere size of such a blade, and the strength it must have taken to wield it, sent a message that the owner was no one to be trifled with. It was his eyes which were most frightening. They were so dark that they seemed to be black, and in the style of all Unarian warriors, they had been lined with a smudgestick, making them seem even larger and fiercer, and those intense eyes were focused, without blinking, on the small princess.

"And now Your Highness... we must come to a final agreement on the northern border..." the scribe began.

"We shall cede the Drail Mountain range to the Empire," Princess Talia cut in. "You may write it down."

Prince Mikhail shifted slightly in his chair, which gave the scribe pause.

"Think well before ceding that..." he growled in a deep voice which seemed hoarse from disuse. "The mountains have long been an effective natural barrier for your Kingdom. The Emperor would be willing to accept the region of--"

"The region of Madrost?" The princess interrupted. "Certainly not! We know well what he wants there. Our university and libraires are the great treasure of our people. No. My father believed this: the people and their leaders must always walk a balance between two things--wisdom and morality. The University gives us knowledge and the Temple gives us the ability to sort good knowledge from evil. Knowledge without the constraints of morality can lead to destruction, and morality without being tempered by learning becomes similarly destructive. We will not give away either of our pillars! Your emperor will have to be content with the mountains. Our mining operations are more than enough of a compensation, I should think. As for our defenses... I do not doubt that the Empire will not long be content with even granting us limited freedom as a territory beneath its flag. We shall have to think of... other ways to defend ourselves."

Though her words carried both the heavy sting of accusation and the underlying insult that the empire had neither wisdom nor morality, Prince Mikhail did not react at all. He nodded slowly before leaning back again.

"So be it," he agreed.

"And I shall need more than your word-- or the Emperor's for that matter. I want it written that before I surrender my person, I will be granted a period of at least thirty days to tour all of our northern regions, confer with my generals, and see that your armies have truly withdrawn far beyond the borders," Princess Talia continued.

Prince Mikhail lifted one massive hand to rub thoughtfully at his stubbled chin as he considered.

"I could agree to that if the Princess agreed to do so under a small detachment of Unarian guards," he offered.

"How small?" she demanded.

"Four... maybe five of my own men," he decided.

"No more than two," the Princess ordered. "Write it down. And now, I suppose, we should discuss the manner of my execution. Am I correct to assume you'll wish to make a public spectacle of such an event? Am I to be beheaded or can I request something a little more dignified?"

"Poison," he countered, "But a public display afterward. The emperor suggests that your body be carried in an open casket upon a bier through the capital city."

"Well... I've always loved a parade," she said and giggled in a way that any who knew the girl would recognize as unnaturally high-pitched. From behind her, came the sound of a stiffled sob. "And my remains? Can I ask that my remains be returned to Vezda for burial?"

"No." He answered simply.

Talia sighed and leaned forward to drum her fingers lightly on the table as the scribe continued to write.

"What about my sister?" she countered after a long pause. "What about her remains? Can I ask that at least her remains be returned for burial?"

"No," he repeated.

"Demon!" hissed an unidentified voice from those assembled behind the Princess.

"Be still, or I'll send you all out," the Princess cautioned without even turning to glance at her subjects. If Prince Mikhail thought it strange to see a slip of a girl command a room full of her elders and be obeyed at once, it did not show itself in his sharp features. Perhaps it was not surprising, for who had not heard of Princess Talia of Vezda?

Born the day before the Empire declared war on her country and raised primarily on battlefields by a warrior King and Queen, it was often whispered that her smallness of stature came from the starving years when the Empire had cut off the capital from its fertile farmlands, but even a waifish frame did little to stunt her bravery or her mind.

At the age of nine she had run through a battlefield, dodging enemy soldiers, to reach the bell tower of Gelt where she lit the flares to call for reinforcements with her own hand. At the age of twelve, when her father had fallen in battle and her mother had taken ill, she travelled to the sacred island by herself to deliver the message to her brother and bring him home early from his training. At thirteen, when her brother fell and her eldest sister was forced to lead their armies, the Princess went into training herself, and by the age of sixteen, after the execution of her sister, she took command of an exhausted and dwindling army and somehow managed to continue to defend Vezda for two more years. Even in the taverns of the Empire she was spoken of with a certain sort of admiration, and perhaps that was why the Emperor so desperately wanted to display her corpse to his own people.

"I'll agree to the manner of execution, but I want the date of it to be agreed upon before I sign. No more than three days from the time I surrender my person. My sister was a prisoner for seven months before you murdered her. Who knows what indignities and tortures she endured while--"

"She suffered no indignities before her death," the dark prince snapped, "you insult the character of our great Emperor."

"My apologies," she said and gave a small disdainful sniff. "Thank you for reminding me that I have no need to fling bitter words. His actions are certainly testament enough to the great character of your Emperor."

Rather than take the bait her words offered, Prince Mikhail frowned and continued to observe her small form as he considered the execution date.

"In good weather and with great speed it would take at least a week to reach the Capitol," he countered.

"But I've always heard it's cold in the north-- are you saying my corpse won't keep?" she smirked.

"Yes," he agreed. "The point of displaying your body is for it to be recognized."

Several gasps and stifled murmurs of frustration and anguish rose from those assembled behind the table. Prince Mikhail's words painted for them a horrifying image. Their small princess, with her large and bright blue eyes, her long dark hair shot through with red, always carefully arranged and put up to make her seem taller, the slightly upturned nose with just a few freckles sprinkled across it, and the small pink lips which always seemed to hint at a smile, even in the worst of times-- the features they knew so well... bloated and decaying, held up for all the citizens of the empire to jeer and spit upon. It was too cruel.

"Two weeks," he growled.

"Three days," she shook her head. "I have agreed to give my life, I don't wish to give up my dignity before that."

"One week, and I shall guard you every moment of it myself, not a hand will be raised against you before your death," he said, and folded his own hands upon the table to show that it was his final offer.

"One week and you shall assign any man other than you to act as my guard. Please forgive my lack of decorum, but after today, I hope that I shall never spend another moment in your presence. It is a torture worse than any I can imagine to have to speak courteously to the man who murdered my father and sister," Princess Talia asserted.

"Then you... have very little imagination," he answered in a voice deeper and quieter than she had yet heard.

She glanced up and met his eyes for the first time since he'd entered the room. What she saw in the black fathomless depths of his cold stare, who could say, but it stilled her tongue... and no one had ever seen Princess Talia at a loss for words.

"One week then," he agreed. "I shall dispatch a copy of the treaty with our fastest rider for the Emperor's final approval. If all goes well, it should be ready for your signature in a fortnight."

"W...wait," she stuttered, glancing away as her brow furrowed. "There was something else... something I want to say, and that I want you to tell the Emperor." She straightened in her chair, squaring her thin shoulders. "I want to say, that when I sign the treaty, know that I will send copies to every Kingdom, Territory, and Empire on this continent. Every ally and enemy of the Unarian Empire will know the content of our agreement. When you violate it... which will happen eventually, I'm sure... Your allies will know that their treaties can be dispatched in the same way, and your enemies will recognize what they hate and grow in number."

A long, cruel smile spread slowly across the prince's face, as he stood and gave a stiff bow to the girl.

"I will bid you farewell then, Princess Talia, last of the House of Eosin. May the wisdom and morality you've long protected give you peace in your last days."

He turned then, hung his sword at his side and strode from the room without a backward glance.