The Walls
"A serpent speaks sweetest when it coils to strike."
The fortress walls of Valdina Palace rose like ancient sentinels, their pale stone serving as the kingdom's last bulwark against the gathering storm.
Atop the ramparts, soldiers maintained their vigilant watch, their gazes fixed upon the dark mass spread across the horizon.
"They're falling back."
The guards released a collective breath as they watched the rebel forces retreat from their latest assault.
"Were it not for your aid, these walls would have fallen before nightfall."
The captain of the guard mopped the sweat from his brow and turned to acknowledge the weathered veterans who stood beside him, weapons still at the ready.
When the first warnings had arrived, the captain had scarcely believed them.
A rebellion. An army marching on the castle itself.
The protracted war had drained the capital of its garrison. Had they faced this assault unprepared, rebel banners would already be flying from these very walls.
The old soldier beside him shook his grizzled head.
"It's too soon to celebrate. Look—they haven't abandoned their purpose."
Even hastily assembled, the rebel host stretched so far that the horizon itself seemed stained black with their numbers.
Their formations held steady before the walls, a silent promise: they would not rest until this castle fell.
The captain released a heavy sigh.
"So many... How did such rage fester in this small kingdom?"
The fire that had smoldered beneath the surface had finally erupted into open flame.
Princess Medea had labored to ease that suffering, to quench that anger. Was it not enough?
Swallowing his bitter thoughts, the captain tightened his grip on his sword.
"Her Majesty the Queen Mother!"
A ripple of movement swept along the battlements. An elderly woman ascended the stone steps, supported by attendants, the nobility of Valdina trailing in her wake.
"Merciful heavens—it has come to this!"
"Look at them. There's no end to their numbers. How many have joined this madness?"
From this vantage point, the enemy was laid bare before them.
Most of the gathered lords could not conceal their horror at the dark tide filling the distant fields. Only a few maintained their composure—Count Montega, battle-hardened from years of fighting demons, surveyed the field with a tactical eye, while Prime Minister Sissair remained steadfast at the Queen Mother's side.
"Your Majesty, this position is far too exposed. Please allow us to escort you to safety."
The captain's plea fell on deaf ears. The Queen Mother's jaw was set with iron determination.
"What purpose would these old bones serve, hiding away while others bleed? Tell me—what are our casualties? What is our situation?"
She turned to survey the city sprawled below the walls. From this height, the panicked movement of citizens fleeing through the streets was clearly visible.
"Marquis Gilliforth intercepted their advance, Your Majesty. The castle stands, and we've reached a stalemate. Here on the walls, the retired soldiers bolstered our defense—we repelled their attacks with ease."
The Queen Mother's gaze followed the captain's gesture to a cluster of men standing uncertainly nearby.
"Your Majesty... we pay our respects."
"Your Majesty? Your Highness? Er... Your Majesty?"
The veterans shifted awkwardly, bowing with more enthusiasm than grace. Most had never learned the proper forms of address for royalty—they were simple soldiers who had given their youth to the battlefield, not the court.
The Queen Mother studied them closely.
Their armor was faded, their weapons worn. Their bodies bore the marks of old wounds never properly tended. And yet here they stood once more, defending the kingdom that had failed to care for them.
Her aged eyes glistened with emotion.
"You have my deepest gratitude. On behalf of the royal house, I thank you. When this crisis passes, you shall be rewarded as you deserve."
Without hesitation, she reached out to clasp their calloused hands in her own.
"I understand the hardships you've endured—the hunger, the exhaustion, the neglect. Yet I cannot stand idle while these insurgents assault the palace and threaten innocent lives."
"We merely wished to repay the kindness we received, Your Majesty. Her Highness the Princess took us in when no one else would. She gave us shelter and purpose once more."
The veterans ducked their heads, embarrassed by their own words.
"Medea?"
The Queen Mother's brow arched with surprise.
The veterans spoke of how the Princess had used her personal funds to provide relief for abandoned soldiers—men cast aside by the kingdom they had served, left to wander without home or hope.
While that child was easing the suffering of these forgotten men, I sat lost in my own grief, blind to everything beyond my chamber walls.
The Queen Mother paused, forcing down the wave of regret and self-reproach that threatened to overwhelm her.
"Medea—where is she now?"
Only now, with the immediate crisis momentarily abated, did the Queen Mother realize what had escaped her notice.
Her granddaughter was nowhere to be seen.
It has been far too long!
Before departing for the walls, she had dispatched guards to the Princess's palace with explicit orders to bring Medea to safety.
Yet Medea had not arrived.
Dread coiled in the Queen Mother's chest.
"Has something befallen her?"
Heads turned, searching. The Princess was not among them.
"You mean to tell me you were all so consumed with your own affairs that not one of you thought to watch over the Princess? Worthless—every last one of you!"
The Queen Mother's fury erupted like a tempest.
"Mother! Joaquin has arrived!"
A commanding voice rang across the battlements. The Regent's entourage had reached the walls.
Duke Claudio dismounted and strode forward, his knights arrayed behind him. His silver armor gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight—so polished, so pristine, it seemed better suited to a coronation than a siege.
"Are you unharmed? I was shocked to learn you had come to such a perilous place. I went first to the palace, only to discover you had already departed."
His voice remained measured, composed.
"A rebellion... The audacity of these traitors, daring to assault the royal palace itself. In a thousand years of history, such disgrace has never befallen Valdina. How did our kingdom sink to such depths...?"
His words dripped with carefully calibrated sorrow.
"You went to the palace? Then, Joaquin—did you see Medea?"
The Queen Mother had no patience for his theatrical grief. Her only concern was her granddaughter.
"Did you visit her quarters? I ordered my guards to bring her here safely, yet she has not arrived."
Perhaps the insurgents had infiltrated the palace. Perhaps they had harmed her.
The cane in the Queen Mother's grip trembled.
"...Mother, please prepare yourself."
The Regent shook his head slowly.
His eyes were heavy with sorrow, his lips pressed into a mournful line. The performance was flawless.
"It appears that Medea has fled."
"What?"
The Queen Mother could not believe her ears.
"I too went to confirm her safety. But her palace stood empty—abandoned. Consumed with worry, I interrogated every servant I could find. They confirmed it: Medea departed through a secret passage."
A ripple of shock spread through the gathered nobles.
The Queen Mother stood frozen. Inwardly, the Regent exulted.
"Perhaps the late King arranged this escape route, should the castle ever fall. Whether that proves fortunate or tragic remains to be seen. In any case, Medea will survive... Once this ordeal concludes, we shall bring her home safely."
His words painted a damning picture—King Peleus, abandoning his people while ensuring only his sister's survival.
The Queen Mother's face drained of color.
"Fled? Impossible. Medea would never do such a thing."
She refused to accept her son's account.
Medea, who stood defiant against the Empire itself to preserve the royal family's honor. She would know that fleeing now would shatter the people's spirits. Why would she abandon them so callously?
Though she had not spent as much time with Medea as she should have, the Queen Mother had witnessed firsthand her eldest granddaughter's unshakeable sense of duty.
"Medea has indeed shown remarkable initiative of late. But she remains, at heart, a sheltered young woman."
The Regent shook his head, as though his mother's faith pained him.
"Word has spread of the rebels massing before the palace. They cry that the kingdom rots because of a corrupt Princess—that witches must be burned. How could Medea withstand such terror?"
"..."
"Mother, I beg you—do not pursue this matter. If word spreads that the Princess has abandoned her people, the soldiers' morale will crumble entirely."
The lie hung in the air like poison.
The Regent's face betrayed nothing but concern, nothing but sorrow for a wayward niece.
And somewhere beyond the walls, riding hard toward this very moment, the Princess he had condemned was preparing to shatter every word he had spoken.
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