Twelve Years Ago
War burned in the air again. A king's claim to land—a tale as old as time. Though they were young, Rhosyn and Edrien were as used to the kingdom's foreign conflict with their neighbouring country as much as they were used to being thrown together.
Edrien was the Crown Prince. Because Rhosyn's uncle—Duke Valewyn—was the king's close friend and adviser, and because of their similar age, she'd been made the prince's playmate.
Father and brother were resolving a conflict in a neighbouring county and due to the threat of a Celandrean navy landing in the south, Rhosyn was being transported north with the prince. The carriage jolted again uncomfortably, forcing young Rhosyn to brace herself against the hard frame.
Edrien's gaze mocked her unrefined grace and she glared her retort back. He tormented her at any given chance. If he weren't the Crown Prince, she would've punched him, just as her father taught her. How unfortunate for her.
A tremor shuddered through the vehicle—they were picking up speed.
Just as suddenly as the carriage sped, it jutted to a halt, Rhosyn being thrown to the floor and Edrien screeching in shock, as he was thrown heavily against his seat.
She bit through the pain throbbing in her wrist, the sound of soldiers' calls urgent outside the curtained box.
The captain's shadow blotted the seam of the door. "Protect the Crown Prince!" He called, horses whinnying in terror for the bout to come and the soldier's silent breaths a last prayer for courage.
"Lady—" Edrien whispered, voice shaky.
"Shhh..." she interrupted him.
He was going to snap back, but the distinct ringing of a blade being drawn cut through any thought they'd had. Now they sat in eerie silence, listening to the clash of weapons and choking breaths of those who fell to the floor with heavy thuds.
Fear crawled up her arms and breathed down her neck. It washed away any warmth and pinned her to the spot.
Boots approached—squelching in the wet mud.
"Don't come any closer," the captain's voice threatened, his presence on the other side of the carriage door—their last defence against the enemy at their gate.
The whirl of something in the wind whipped up, the clank against metal and then the hush of it being driven through something thick and wet. A gargle of pain split into the air and Rhosyn finally found herself shaking off the crippling panic.
She wasn't going to bow down and let death take her. Her uncle had always said that it was their job as House Valewyn, the most loyal of all Aramor's Houses, to protect the crown at all costs. Crown Prince Edrien wasn't only her playmate, he was also her future king and it was her job to make sure he'll fulfill that future. Or by the power Rhosyn forced herself to wield, she wouldn't let the enemy win—not even through fear.
She stood on shaky legs, willing them to hold her, staring with chin raised and courage worn like a second skin at the door in front of her. The sound of her heart, a deafening drum and a battle march she embodied.
When the door opened, Rhosyn prepared herself to see a grotesque enemy of disturbing proportions and grim magnitudes. But she was disappointed. The monster who stood grinning over the still bleeding out captain was like any other man she'd seen—except maybe he bore a longer face and darker features.
His lips moved, but the words stretched and slid together, syllables long and slurred—meaningless to her. They slithered and melted together in an unusually unpleasant way, dripping like poison and spells weaved to curses.
The monster took a bold step forward, looking past her at Edrien who'd shrunk into the fabric, pale faced and whimpering.
When the hand came to push her aside, she struck. Gripping the thin blade like her last will and praying to God for forgiveness, knowing even as she did he wouldn't hear her—not here. With the advantage of her speed and the monster underestimating her, she drove the knife up under his ribs, feeling heat flood over her as his life started to leak from him.
He yelped, trying to pull back in alarm, but Rhosyn wasn't finished. Just as her father taught her, she reclaimed her weapon and persisted to poke the man full of holes—her own personal pincushion. They crashed into the wall of the carriage, his energy draining along with his blood.
Then he gripped her wrist and she choked on her cry. With awful strength she couldn't hope to beat, he started to slowly twist her hand back, the sharp blade edging closer to her neck and she felt the agonising searing pain as it started drawing a line up her collarbone toward her throat.
This monster was no man. The satisfaction he gained with every shaky breath when she denied him her pleas. Even as he drowned in his own blood, he forced her arm further and further back. If he didn't slit her throat first, her arm would break. But that was what he probably wanted, something more than her death alone—her suffering.
But she still didn't want to let him win. He could take her life—but he won't break her.
A line burned and bled trailing to the base of her neck and just as the pain rippled in a numbing wave through her, his grip weakened and his breath held on a gasping need. Blood hacked in his throat and in one violent gargle, he sagged unseeing.
"Lady Rhosyn!" Edrien called from behind, his terrified voice tinged with a new softer tone.
But that man wasn't the only Celandrean soldier who was attacking. There was a company of men who proceeded to disarm and seize them both as hostages, their foreign words a natter that Rhosyn tried to shut out. They were swiftly escorted to the nearest coastline with no issue, which Rhosyn found odd.
Within days they were secured on a ship and setting sail. For the next six months, that was the last time they'd see their homeland.
Edrien knew some basic Celandrean language, whispering what little he understood to her when he could. Three things changed between them during their time in captivity.
First, Rhosyn promised herself she'll never let fear conquer her.
Secondly, Edrien started treating her better. Gone was the boy who would tease her over her pigtails or her inability to string words together occasionally. They clung to each other every night and they pretended to not hear each other cry when they missed their families. Whenever their captors returned, Rhosyn would shield Edrien and sometimes she thought they came just to mock the Crown Prince of the great Aramor kingdom be protected by an eight year old girl.
Lastly, he made her a promise. "When I'm king, Rhos, I'll keep you safe," his whisper hushed, the only soft thing about their 'luxurious' prison cell.
"Then I'll keep the king," Rhosyn breathed back.
The first vow she'd make that'll bind her to a man—but not the last.
When the war ended, their release sought in return for peace and finally they'd returned home. But not everyone returned home and sometimes the cost of war is never worth it.