synopsis ; after a long military campaign to try and conquer the mysterious kingdom of nabira, the kingdom of philos offers the king of nabira a deal to save his kingdom: a political marriage between the the crown prince and princess. the princess is whisked to the other side of the world, separated from her kingdom and family, forced to navigate her life in court with the help of a lemurian courtier and her duty as philos' next queen.
word count ; 1.7k words
author's note ; hi everyone! this is my new series that i am so happy to get started! it is a lil collaboration between me and the amazing vel!! ( @velaenam ) [go check out their part here!] hers takes place in ancient rome while mine is during the medieval times (mid-1200s to be exact!) please read the trigger warnings below before proceeding to read the prologue below. it serves as a warning for the rest of the series as it plays out.
as always, i am not responsible for what you decide to read/consume.
trigger/content warnings ; swearing, nsfw language, political manipulation, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, war and violence, sexual themes, misogyny/patriarchal culture, classism and elitism, culture tensions, xenophobia, racism, non consensual stuff at times...romantic love triangle, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut (thanks vel for letting me steal <3)
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You slowly suck in a breath, the warm wind finding its way into your lungs, the flying sand tickling your nostrils. The familiar scent of sand mixes in with the perfumed oil on your skin, the floral smell making the small stretch of desert bearable despite the constant fires that burned outside the walls.
Smoke has become familiar to you. A constant presence in an evolving war that has claimed the lives of hundreds of men.
You exhale, slow and steady — determined. Your arms remain strong, the wooden bow adorned with gold accents in its design, light in your hand.
The bow creaks as the string is pulled back. The tips of your fingers curl around the sinew drawstring, the once tacky material no longer sticking to your fingers after years of use. The crow feather from the arrow brushes against your cheek, remaining locked by the corner of your lips.
You stand alone in the deserted area. It is a short distance away from the palace, a secondary home when you need to get away from the turmoils of life and the raging war that sits outside Nabira’s walls, threatening to burst inside at any moment.
From the distance, you hear the sounds of screaming men, their lives being carelessly ended in a battle that you know will only end in devastation for both sides.
The world moves around you. The wind brushes the hair out of your face, kissing your skin while a cloudless blue sky hangs above you. Sand flies past your eyes. Under the scorching rays of the sun, the specks look like gold, adding to the never ending beauty of your kingdom.
Footsteps sound from behind. You remain in a contest with the target before you, pushed across the plains at a far distance, farther than any of your father’s archers could reach, resting atop a rock where statues of your ancestors stand. The gold accents and gems catch the afternoon light, shining from afar.
“My brother,” you speak. The arrow remains still, ready to be unleashed. “Has he returned to us?”
“He has perished in the midst of battle,” your maid’s voice is quiet, meek. She trembles, eyes fixated on the bow and arrow that lies in your hand. “The Philos King and Prince are to arrive at the palace within the hour.”
You do not react. You do not move a single muscle. Your lungs burn, fingers aching as the string presses into your skin, threatening to tear your flesh and have your blood and tears fall into the earth beneath your feet.
You know what is to be expected of you. A fate that you have always deemed to be worse than death, a permanent ending to one’s story. It is a role that you have never wished to play. While other girls fantasized about their future husbands, you picked up a bow and books, dedicating your future to the prosperity of Nabira.
A bitter taste forms across your tongue. The future of your country is in shambles now that your brother’s soul has been ripped away from the earth.
“Who.”
“Who…?”
“Who killed my brother?”
Your maid remains silent. The sinew string sinks further into your skin. Your blood seeps into the material, slowly dripping from your fingers, falling into the golden sand below. It stains the desert just as the war outside Nabira’s walls does.
Did your brother’s blood sink into the sand? Did his flesh and bones submerge beneath the sand, returning him to the land where your ancestors rest?
“Lumière, my lady.”
The reflection from the gold adorned statue flashes into your eye. You do not flinch. You accept the pain with open arms, knowing that the dull ache that forms behind your eyes is immeasurable to the pain your brother must have felt on the battlefield.
“Lumière,” you breathe out the knight’s name, knowing that it belongs to the crown prince of Philos who has never lost a battle.
Anger bubbles inside your now hollow chest. Your grip on the string tightens, the material burying itself into your flesh, threatening to slice till it reaches your bones.
You release the arrow. It slices through the sky, its black feathers a whir before it disappears across the distance. The bow relaxes in your hand, the string vibrating before settling back into its rightful place. Your eyes attach to the red mark on the light colored string. A permanent scar to remind yourself of what you have lost today.
Your arms relax. They feel weak at your sides. The wind envelops your body, the sand hitting against your bare hands, chaffing them. A lump forms on the inside of your throat, the amalgamation of all your worries and fears ready to burst from your mouth at any given moment.
You remain silent. You hold back the tears that threaten to fall, not wanting them to mix in with the blood that lies at your feet.
The sand may have your blood, but it will never have your tears.
“Leave me,” the words fall from your mouth like a breathless plea for the divine spirits in your life to take the reins.
Your quiver hits your hip, the smooth leather soaking in the sun’s heat. Your dress is a vibrant teal color, a shade that compliments the sea not too far from Nabira. Your neck and arms are decorated with golden jewelry while your fingers remain bare, needing the mobility for your archery.
With one step, you push into the empty terrain. The desert is hot and the winds push you towards the statues that lay across the stretch of land. Minutes pass and the statues grow taller, more dominant in the sky, the white stone beckoning for you to come forward.
The wind whispers your name and picks up your hair. A woman’s voice calls for you from within the wind. Her voice is like a lullaby, one that your mother sang to you before she passed.
You stop before the steps that leads into the circle of sand. Two statues sit in the center of the perimeter, the inside of the circle filled with nothing but the sand of the kingdom you call home, the place you would willingly put your life down for to protect it.
A man’s voice touches your ears. It’s strong yet he doesn’t speak over the woman. The wind hums in harmony, their voices joined as one.
You move up the first step, eyes focused on the pair of statues. With the second step, they become more visible. The male figure kneels before the woman, whose hand is placed atop his head. She wears a gold crown, fingers adorned with a single golden ring, a symbol of her love.
To you, though, you saw it as chains connected to the man whose name will forever be known throughout all of history while hers is destined to fade no matter how hard her emperor husband tried to keep her memory alive. Historians only ever remember men, never the women who push them towards greatness.
The people, though? They will remember her. They will carry on the memory of her life and legacy through the erected statues of the man’s dedication. Her stone shall never chip or crumble, the paint of her skin always remaining vibrant as the world breaks down others around her.
A step inside the circle. Your eyes move to the target, catching a glimpse of black crow feathers. You take a step to the side, every move calculated and made out of respect for the scene that sits in front of your eyes.
The arrow is lodged into the center of the target. A perfect hit from being at such a far distance. With one pull, you pull the arrow free from the woven straw of dead plants. The arrow is razor sharp, its jagged edges proving useful as a weapon of destruction.
You drag the tip of the arrow along the pad of your thumb. It presses into your flesh yet its touch is gentle, not slicing into your skin. You move in front of the statue, tilting your chin up. You lock eyes with the woman. The wind hastens, urgency met with every gust
Something resonates inside your heart. The once empty space, a void created by the death of your twin brother, is filled with a sense of purpose. Defiance crosses your mind. Your eyes flicker to the golden ring on her finger before moving back to her eyes.
“Is that what you wish for me, ancestor?” you ask aloud. The wind cools your fiery heart. “Are we to share the same fate?”
You slowly lower yourself onto your knees. The arrow falls to the side, forgotten as the wind covers it with sand. The golden flakes within the small fragments soothes your aching heart. The weight of Nabira’s world is released onto your shoulders, your knees sinking into the sand. You lean forward, bowing your head in reverence towards the ancestors who came before you, a gesture of honor and appreciation.
“Guide me,” you breathe the words out like they are a prayer, closing your eyes, “be with me till my last breath.”
Your hands submerge beneath the layers of sand. The wind quickens from around you, swirling as if it has come to life, their voices filling your ears and calming your racing mind. You draw in a long breath and slowly begin to exhale.
As your breath dies, so does the wind. You open your eyes and look at the woman before you.
There is a gentleness in her expression. She does not need to open her mouth to bring you the comfort and solace for the journey that has been laid out for you. Your fingers move to the side, curling around the arrow that sits beside your knees. You nod at her and rise to your feet. You turn on your heel, overlooking the landscape.
In the distance, Nabira’s walls stand tall, looming over the destruction and bloodshed that has tormented the soil for far too long. Plumes of smoke roll into the air, an omen of what is to come. Bells ring out, a signal for you to return to your father’s side, to mourn the loss of your brother, another life wasted in a useless war.
The wind brushes against your skin, pushing you towards your destiny.
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s1 is just. i love you grainy unfocused shots of cemeteries and foggy roads no one travels. i love you john’s journal as a bible. i love you sam driving the impala casually with dean sleeping in the passenger seat. i love you jessica moore and sarah blake and cassie robinson. i love you dark motels with neon signs and dusty libraries with huge lore books. i love you side character serving as a mirror to the winchesters. i love you cleaning guns and wounds and sharpening of knives and gas stations and flip phones and laptop stickers. i love you small towns where time stands still with something unknowable and hungry lurking in the shadows. i love you angry psychic sam and dean trying his best with a leather jacket too big for him. i love you looming presences of john and mary. i love you homemade and flawed equipment. i love you horror and tragedy and blood. i love you dramatic lighting and silhouettes. i love you folklore and local legends. i love you -
gummygunk
origamiaround
amandla
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