“Peace be with you,” Kasandra said, voice trembling as she placed a kiss on Ser Ramey’s cold brow.

A gallant man, quick with a joke and a smile. As a girl, he seemed to be a sun unto himself. Larger than life. People gravitated around him; so many seeking the warmth of his company.

His smiling face would shine no more.

Her gaze surveyed the place that had once been her home. The scent of smoke overwhelming her senses as fire rushed through the palace. The screams of her people in the city below threatening to crush her very spirit.

So much had been lost.

“My lady,” Ser Weston said, voice tight and resolved, “we need to leave. Ramey’s light has gone to the Creator. He would not have wished us to grieve. Not now, anyhow.”

Lady? Of what, she wondered. Her kingdom was overrun, her father and mother struck down before her eyes, brothers murdered before they could rise and give account of themselves. Kasandra remembered her mother frowning at her as she watched Ser Weston whispered a joke in her ear. He’d long fancied her, and she him, ever since they were children, but their positions in life were too far apart for it to be considered a reality. Her mother’s frown remained in place even after the crossbow bolt had taken the Queen in the chest. Her father’s laughter cut off with the knife from a false servant.

Men rushed into the banquet hall in the greys and blues of the Heivite Nation. Cries of ‘Heritics’ and ‘Blasphemers’ hot on their lips as they spilled blood. A feast established to celebrate an end to the war between her people and the Heivites. Their kind words and relief nothing more than a facade.

Had Kasandra been sitting in her proper place, she would have joined her family on the path to the Creator. Ser Weston had saved her from dancing with a fool of a young lord that seemed to have been born without rhythm. The recently titled knight had unwittingly saved her from more than bruised toes. As it stood, she was the last of her line.

Cracking wood signaled their pursuers as they attempted to break down the door. Ser Weston and the handful of his men watched warily. Hands white-knuckling their swords as they prepared to make a stand.

“Kasandra,” Weston said, voice stern as he used her name without the title, freehand offered toward her, “we need to leave. If we hurry, we can make it to the stables before the Heivites.”

Kasanda’s father had warned her of a day when the world would crumble. Her mother had a touch of the Gift; a bit of magic from their sacred bloodline. It allowed her mother to see things, images of what might be. As the visions grew in intensity her father, fearing for his nation, attempted to bring a peaceful resolution to the war. An act, it would seem, that only gave the visions life.

“No,” she said, looking up at Ser Weston. “Take me to my mother’s study.”

Weston’s face went pale, “There’s no escape from there Kasandra. If we go, you’ll die. Or worse…” The knight’s face twisted in a grimace.

Kasandra’s mother always told her that she had the Gift as well. She claimed it was greater than her own by leaps and bounds, but said it was a sleeping thing and best left that way. That the price of Power was not worth the burden on her soul. Because of this, Kasandra was never allowed in her mother’s study. She worried that something there might Awaken the Gift within her.

Ignoring Ser Weston’s offered hand, she stood, holding herself apart. She was Queen now, she thought, it was time to behave like one.

“Take me to her study,” she said, putting steel in her voice, as her father had done so many times. “That is my command.”

Weston’s eyes hardened to fine points and, for a brief moment, she thought he would refuse. She stood taller, fear of his rejection blooming anger in her chest. Now that the capital was in flames, there was nothing preventing Weston or his men from leaving. Only their oaths to her father and their family.

Kasandra refused to let her fear show. The doors cracked even further behind them. Voices from the other side yelling at one another to hurry.

Weston’s gaze went from her to the doors, “As you wish,” he said, voice softening.

“You can’t be serious West, she’s just a girl,” said one of the soldiers.

“Pick her up and let's get out while we can,” called another.

Weston became suddenly still, “We will go to the Queen’s study. Any word in protest will be considered treason.”

Those who hadn’t spoken began to back away from the knight and the two protesting soldiers. None offered support for either side and Kasandra realized that they were waiting for a resolution. Part of her was mortified that her word held so little sway, but her eyes were opened to the reality of her situation. Without warriors loyal to her name, she was nothing in their eyes.

“Don’t do this West,” said the first, slowly shifting his feet. “I’d have died for the King and Queen, but they’re gone. I’ll not die for her.”

Weston hadn’t moved, his eyes fixed, face drawn.

“That bitch will get us all,” began the second, but Weston’s sword moved faster than eyes could follow, cutting out his throat.