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At Dawn

Summary:

Elena Gilbert seeks the truth about what happened to her family ten years prior, but answers lie with a man she no longer trusts. Fantasy AU.

Chapter Text

His blade struck hers with a force that sent her reeling backward, her fingers gripping the handle tight to keep it from dropping into the dirt. To be disarmed was to lose the fight, after all. Any good knight knew that.

Elena Gilbert was clumsy with a sword, but she didn't give up. Scrambling back to her feet, she thrust the sword forward, only for her opponent to knock it away again with ease.

"Surrender," he said, and she could hear the smile, the smirk. It only made her want to fight harder. One of these days, she would best him. Then she would be the one to smile pridefully. Damon Salvatore and his family, rulers of the neighboring kingdom Zicon, visited often, and Elena, young and petulant, made time to bother Damon for lessons any chance she got. This trip was no exception. They'd been out on the training ground several days in a row.

Like most of their sword fights, the King of Miria interrupted this one too. Otherwise known as her father. He switched between roles so seamlessly that sometimes Elena could not tell which he acted as at any given moment.

He approached from behind Elena, placing a hand on her shoulder. She sighed, sheathing the sword and turning to face him. "I know I'm supposed to be in class, but Father—" she said, words rushed and cheeks flushed.

Because he was the kindest king in all the lands, he offered her the softest smile as he ruffled her already messed-up hair. Brunette strands were woven into precise braids. At least, they'd been precise hours ago before she'd escaped her teacher and drawn her sword in the mud. Now hair fell out of those braids, dirt stained the bottom of her dress, and there was a bit of dried blood on her arm where she'd badly missed a block.

"Come along," he said, shooting a curt nod to her dueling partner before extending his arm. Elena took it, and they walked back to the castle together. Though, she could not help but look back over her shoulder at the boy only a few years older than her fourteen, standing in the mud with a breastplate and his sword still drawn. He smiled at her and her nose crinkled. Would it be too petulant to stick out her tongue? She resisted.

Inside the opulent castle of marble and gold, Elena received many a dirty look from those who passed them in the hall. She did not suit their standards for what a princess should be, and that had always been the case. While she loved to spend time with her nose in a book, she longed to be outside even more, and while the sword was not her strong suit—she wielded a bow with deadly intent, and her work with daggers almost always left her opponents in a state of shock.

Despite her father's kindness regarding her extracurriculars, unspoken tension hung between the pair. In just a few years, he would seek a man, a prince, to take her hand. And while there had been a few discussions with neighboring kingdoms, such as those who visited, whose sons she both dueled and studied with during their stay, Elena did not wish to marry. Why should her brother get all the glory in inheriting the crown while she joined some other family and ruled in a kingdom she knew nothing about? It was not only the arrangement of it all but the ruling, too. Ever since she'd been a young child, she'd begged to forsake her title, wishing to join the ranks of their cavalry instead. Her family had only laughed at this desire. So, she fulfilled her duties as best she could, while sneaking away at any given opportunity to fulfill.

Her father left her in the hall outside her rooms with a pointed glance that she knew better than to disobey. With a sigh, she pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by her ladies-in-waiting. Caroline and Bonnie had been by her side since her younger years. They kept her company and assisted with small tasks such as dressing and bathing. She could tell from the looks on their faces that they were both interested and disappointed. Typical.

Caroline motioned to a few dresses she'd laid out on the bed for the night's ball, and Bonnie brewed tea in the corner. Neither of them questioned where she'd gotten off to, but instead made quick work of helping her dress for the coming event.

Caroline couldn't help but comment on the elephant in the room. "Did you see him?" she asked, as she laced up Elena's corset after both she and Bonnie helped to scrub the dirt from her skin and rebraid her hair. Elena only smiled, her cheeks flushing a rosy pink. Caroline smiled too, looking over at Bonnie and saying, "I knew it."

But Bonnie shook her head. "You're wasting your time on him, my lady." Ever polite despite how many times Elena had asked her to drop the title and use her name instead. She ducked her head. "I only mean, isn't he set to be married soon?"

The brunette chuckled. "Please, both of you. I have no interest in him. Besides, when I grow up, I'm going to be a knight, not a wife," Elena explained.

Her lady's maids exchanged a glance that made Elena sigh. No one ever understood what she wanted out of life. It only made her hungrier for it. She knew in her gut that what she wanted was within her reach, she just didn't know how to grasp it.

"Done," Caroline said, putting the finishing touches on Elena's makeup. "Oh, I hope you have so much fun tonight. I wish I could come with you."

"I wish you could go in my place," Elena sighed.

Once dressed in a soft pink ball gown, her hair braided intricately down her back, and her cheeks and lips the same shade of rose, Elena could procrastinate no further. Her ladies-in-waiting stayed behind, and one of the soldiers stationed outside the entrance to her chambers took over, leading her down to the ballroom.

Elena believed balls to be the most absurd show of pageantry and perhaps the most dreadful thing she'd ever had to participate in. Not only did the gown limit her range of movement and make her skin itch, but it also made it more difficult to breathe, and there were no places to store the daggers she'd swiped from the armory. Descending the steps, the herald announced her by title and name and she curtsied while looking for a particular face in the crowd.

Okay, so maybe she hadn't been exactly truthful in her conversation with Bonnie and Caroline. She did harbor a slight crush on the visiting crown prince. In the same vein, however, she knew that he would never see her as more than a kid. Eighteen to her fourteen, she was only a gnat to him. A little sister even. The thought alone made her stomach turn.

His brother, however, of her same age, always seemed quite interested in her. Before she even had a moment to get settled, he approached.

"Your Highness," he said, half bowing. He smiled when he caught her eyes, and Elena had to place a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

Finally, she curtsied. "Your Highness," she repeated back to the prince, stifling a giggle.

"I was just curious if I could have your first dance, Princess?" he asked.

Elena shifted uncomfortably. "Stefan," she whispered under her breath. "You know I'm not a very good dancer."

"Well maybe if you stopped skipping your lessons to bother my brother…"

She wished to smack him in the arm but knew there were far too many eyes on the pair of them to ever do any such thing. "Fine," she said, words harsh and annoyed as she took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. More than anything, Elena despised the attention associated with being the daughter of the king and queen of Miria. Her life would be so much better if only she could sneak around unnoticed.

"Don't be nervous," Stefan said, taking her other hand. "We've done this a hundred times."

His words did not help, and she proceeded to step on his toes once, twice, three times. Her cheeks blazed bright red, and she wanted nothing more than to detach from her friend and hide behind her parents' thrones like she'd done when she was much smaller. Only now, her head would certainly peak out over the top and everyone would be able to see her anyway.

Each time a new song started, she tried to slip away into the crowd, but Stefan held her hands firm, with a knowing look. Sometimes, she hated how well he knew her. She longed to disappear into the garden or sneak back to her chambers when her parents weren't looking—but Stefan knew all of her tricks. Her father must have enlisted his help to ensure she stayed present for the entirety of the night.

What she did not expect, however, was for Stefan's older brother to tap him on the shoulder and say, "Mind if I cut in?"

Stefan's brows furrowed, but after a pointed glance from his brother, he released her hands and disappeared into the crowd without another word. Elena had danced with Damon many times before, and in some ways, it was less intimate than sparring. But still, the feeling of his hands in hers made her cheeks flush. It seemed as if they'd be some shade of pink the entire night.

She tried to relax and pretend that his attention did nothing to her. "What do you want?" she asked, eyes drifting up to meet his. They had done this a million times, since they were even smaller. It didn't mean anything now just as it hadn't meant anything then.

With cool blue eyes, Damon looked down at her. He smirked and she nearly rolled her eyes at that alone. "Your swordsmanship still needs much work," he said, finally, then spun her away—following the same steps as other partners on the dance floor around them.

When he pulled her back in, she stepped on his toes. Unlike Stefan, he didn't comment on her poor dancing. "It does not," she said vehemently, refusing to admit her lack of skill to him, despite the fact that they both knew the truth.

"You won't be a knight if you can't best me in a duel, Princess." As the crown prince, Damon did not often see battle, but his father—the King of Zicon, had taught him everything he knew. And he certainly knew more than she.

Many words were left unspoken. Practice was not the only thing that held her back and they both knew it. But his words gave her hope anyway, let her imagine a life where she wouldn't be tethered by marriage.

"At dawn, then," Elena said, looking him in the eye. "A rematch."


When dawn came, she leaned against a stone wall with the handle of her sword tight in her grip. At least an hour passed of watching soldiers train before she gave up on waiting for him. He wouldn't have intentionally left her out in the morning cold, her eager eyes morphing into disappointment as more time passed, would he? He'd never missed a training session before, and despite his rough exterior, he'd always been kind in his own way.

When she finally left the training ground, defeated, eyes cast downward, she entered the castle to a fury of movement. Servants carrying bags and trunks, and the Salvatore family nowhere to be seen.

It was Jeremy she found first, her brother and the crown prince—though he hardly took the title seriously, not that she could pass judgment.

"What's going on?" Elena asked, eyes shifting around the palace corridor, trying to find either of the Salvatore brothers' eyes or their parents in the crowd.

"You haven't heard?" Jeremy asked, voice low. He pulled her by the arm into a nook where they couldn't be heard. "Stefan was poisoned last night."


TEN YEARS LATER: PRESENT DAY

Elena road astride a chestnut horse in a rusted silver breastplate—old and used and altogether loved, with dings and dents from fights long since past like scars she would never forget. Her horse, a striking brown thoroughbred with white spots and a dark nearly black mane. She rode hard and fast toward the ruins of her kingdom. It had been nearly ten years since the night she'd left. The night her family had narrowly escaped from an unexpected ambush.

After the death of Stefan Salvatore in the middle of the night, his father, King Giuseppe of Zicon, had ordered a full strike on her castle—the only place she'd ever called home. Zicon and Miria, Savlatore and Gilbert, had long since lived in harmony beside one another. They'd fought in wars together, signed many a treaty, and established solid trade routes. Everything crumbled with Stefan's death, leaving questions unanswered.

The princess, with no kingdom, had made it her mission to unearth the truth of what had happened that night. Although her parents and Jeremy had escaped the initial attack, they'd been picked off one by one in the last ten years. Her mother first, then her father, and only a few months prior, Jeremy. But to Elena, none of it made sense. Her family had denied involvement in Stefan's poisoning until their deathbed. But there was no other obvious answer and their king—once Giuseppe and now Damon—was dead-set on revenge. Death chased her, followed her around every corner.

But still, she did not understand. Who would have killed Stefan and why? And why had the Salvatores been so quick to blame the Gilberts? A family they had deep connections to? None of it added up, and no answers had come about in the long years she'd spent in hiding.

As her horse stopped in front of a small tavern a few miles north of her kingdom, she took a deep breath and released it unevenly. Dismounting the horse, she pulled her hood up over her head, covering her hair and shading her eyes. It was time to finally figure out what happened that fateful night ten years ago.

Chapter Text

Being back in the kingdom she'd once wished to defend with her life tarnished something deep in her chest, a piece of her heart that hadn't gone completely cold just yet. Stepping into the tavern, Elena felt more out of place than ever before. Before that night, she'd only left Miria a handful of times. For the most part, she'd stayed at the palace, only to leave on visits to see the Salvatores in Zicon. But as a child, she'd never gotten the chance to actually explore her kingdom. Not that it was even her kingdom anymore. It'd been absorbed into Zicon. Still, it felt unfamiliar, this tavern she'd never been in, in a place that she'd once called home.

No one turned to look at her. The tavern was a large octagonal shape, with a bar that mirrored the walls in the very center. Booths lined the walls, with tables and chairs scattered around in any empty space available. Patrons focused on their drinks and their friends. Some customers sat face down with their arms on the table. One even had a steady stream of drool pooling on the wood next to their mouth next to an empty glass.

Overall, the tavern, whose name wasn't displayed anywhere, had an undercurrent of misery. Darkness had never shifted away from Miria. Ten years had not been long enough for the people to heal. But if she asked, would they still call this place Miria, or would they refer to it by its new name, Zicon? Elena couldn't stand the idea of hearing her home's name washed away too. It was a great regret of the former princess, that she hadn't been able to help the citizens. Running away was not very knightly of her, but at the time it had been the only option—her parents' decision, and one she'd had no choice but to follow.

Elena took a seat at the bar, cloak pulled tight around her body. Despite her slight frame, she still had an ominous aura about her. But the tavern itself felt ominous in nature, so she didn't quite stand out, either.

A large, burly man approached her from behind the bar. Leaning over one elbow, he asked, "What can I get for you?" with a twang in his voice that reminded her of home. The man had a wide chest and strong, corded arms. He probably could have lifted a barrel of beer over his head without issue. This was not a man whose bad side she wanted to be on.

"Whatever's cheap," Elena said, keeping her lips tight. Showing emotion did not benefit her cause, nor the persona that had originally been a costume and now was a necessity. A mask she could not take off.

The barkeep nodded and grabbed a large metal mug, just as dinged as the armor she wore, and held it under the nozzle as he pulled the handle downward. She watched the stream of ale, trying to focus on the words of nearby patrons.

Just as he placed the mug in front of her, a figure sat down on the stool next to her, and the bartender began pouring another mug of beer. She didn't dare glance to the right, but she could feel their presence like a looming darkness. Taking a sip of beer helped, but didn't completely cure the stirring feeling in her chest. A combination of anger and sadness that she couldn't quite place or understand. Returning home should have brought her joy, should have warmed the place in her heart that had felt empty for ten long years. Instead, returning home to a place she was not welcome only carved that hole in her chest wider, taking chunks that fell away like they hadn't been properly affixed in the first place.

A piece of paper slid in front of her, guided by a black-gloved hand that her eyes lingered on until it pulled away.

The princess did not reach for the slip of paper immediately. She stared at it. Knowing that fate lay within that folded parchment made her reel, taking another long sip of the cold ale. As to not lose the chance placed in front of her, literally and metaphorically, she took the message and unfolded it.

King Salvatore is not available to meet at this time.

Her fingers clenched into a fist and it took everything in her being not to slam that fist against the bar top. Not only had he destroyed decades of political alliances, caused a blight to spread throughout the continent, had her family killed, and ruined her life in its entirety, but now he would not even deign to meet her face to face. Not only did he send a messenger to reject her, but the letter was in a plain script with no signature or seal. Had he even known that she asked after him? Would that change anything?

Turning to question the messenger, her anger only grew at the sight of an empty stool. Hope was a dangerous thing. She should have known better than to have any at all, especially when it came to a man who'd done much harm to people more important than she was. The King and the Queen. The Crown Prince—though he hadn't had a kingdom to inherit by the time Damon's people had gotten to him. Why they chose to spare her, she did not know. Being in hiding hadn't saved her brother, and she'd been far less careful than him. She wanted so badly to hope, to pray that maybe it was because there was still a man behind the killer, the kid who'd taught her how to hold a sword. But with each betrayal, that hope faded more and more until she was just a bitter false princess white-knuckling a pint of beer at a bar in a country that no longer belonged to her in any sense of the word.

Tears had not helped ten years ago, and they would not help now, either. It took a long time for her to move from the bar, to convince her legs and her mind to carry on. After two more ales that brought warmth to her cheeks, she tossed a few silver pieces onto the counter and stood.

Of course, it would have been too easy to speak to the king directly. Her brother likely would have called her a fool for even trying to get into contact with him, especially after all the work they'd done to stay off his radar. Maybe it was that same rotten hope mixed with a desperate desire to find answers no matter the cost. Because what was the worst that would happen to her? Death? It didn't seem such a cruel fate anymore, alone as she was.

The Mirian Princess coming out of hiding would have been at least a point of conversation five years prior. But they'd waited too long. While she still held a thread of misplaced hope, her kingdom and its people had lost the last of theirs years prior.


TEN YEARS AGO

Elena stared at her brother with mouth agape, which was not helpful given the situation and the flurry of movement around both of them. But the words did not register, not at first. "Stefan was poisoned?" she repeated the words, as if speaking them aloud made doubting the truth more difficult. Words caught in her throat and she stuttered, "Is he alright?" Her adolescent brain could not wrap around the fact that death was even a possibility. Poison could cause mild sickness too, right? Her friend could have easily been just fine. But Jeremy's eyes turned sympathetic, and she knew that was not the case. "Who?" she asked, courtiers and servants still rushing by them.

Jeremy's hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "We don't know, but—"

The young girl's impatience got the best of her, and she interrupted him before he could say anything more. "But what?" Her words were laced with anger and sadness. They'd just danced together the previous night, how could this be possible? If she just went to his chambers, certainly he'd still be there.

But Jeremy's eyes did not change, and the sympathy with which he looked at her only made her heart break more. Only a few years her elder, he'd always known exactly what to say to make her feel better. But that had been in times when her greatest pain was a fight with her Mother or an argument with Stefan. He stumbled over words that could fix the growing grief.

"The Salvatores are leaving. Immediately," Jeremy said, a calmness in his tone befitting of a future king.

Still, she looked at him with that same confusion. "Where are they?" she asked, hoping to speak with Damon before they left. She could at least express her shared grief, and extend her condolences. That was the right thing for a lady to do, was it not?

Jeremy looked briefly uncomfortable. He let out a long sigh, a breath he must have been holding. "You can't," he said, "speak to them."

Her brows furrowed together in a way her mother had often times told her did not fit a princess. She could barely think about that, now. Now, her mind was half grief, half confusion. There was no chance to answer the many questions stirring around in her brain, however. For Jeremy's lips pressed into a tight smile and he said, "Our parents are looking for us. They'll have more answers. We should go."

Even though she knew the castle like the back of her hand, or perhaps even better, she let Jeremy lead her back through the halls to the room where her father held council. The Gilbert's had never been at war before, so this room saw little action. King Grayson had spent many hours showing an even younger Elena maps of the region, their small continent dissected into eight smaller kingdoms, including both Miria and Zicon on the Southern border, facing the ocean. When they slipped into the council room now, however, it was more packed than ever. The King and Queen sat at the head of a long rectangular table full of solemn faces.

The Queen glanced up the moment they entered and gestured for them to join the table. There were two seats free on either side of them. Jeremy took the one next to their father, and Elena next to their mother. But both were locked in conversation with those around them, explaining plans for their next steps. Underneath the table, Queen Miranda covered Elena's hand with her own and squeezed. For the first time, she felt as if tears might escape from her eyes. Unfortunately, that was not a proper look for a princess in the middle of an important meeting, so she chewed on the inside of her bottom lip instead.

The council of Miria was made up of noble representatives from the surrounding areas in the kingdom. Small towns surrounding the city, many of which Elena had never even heard of, let alone traveled to. One of the nobles, a man in a creamy white button up shirt and a deep green velvet coat, spoke to the king directly. "If you say the Gilberts had nothing to do with this assassination of the Salvatore prince, we believe you. We stand with you, of course." Down the line of different nobles, all dressed in similar finery, echoed the same sentiment.

At the last endorsement, the king stood up and took in the room, eyes downcast in his own grief. He said, "As we said, we were not involved in the assassination of Prince Stefan Salvatore. We regarded him as one of our own. The ties between our kingdoms have been strong for decades, and we do not seek to do anything to jeopardize that. We do, however, take responsibility for not providing proper security and safety for the prince and his family while they were visitors in our palace. We will be taking proper measures to ensure any future visitors are safe here." There was a pause, where his gaze dropped to his wife, and then briefly to Elena. She smiled, if only slightly, to say I'm okay. I'm here, in the same reassuring way he would do when she needed it. It made her feel grown up in a way that she did not quite like.

He returned her sad smile and then looked at his audience once more. "Unfortunately, after meeting with King Giuseppe," he paused, letting out a sigh. "He believes that we were, in fact, responsible for the attack. The Salvatores have left the castle and are journeying back home to Zicon as we speak. I cannot say for sure what this means for our alliance, for the treaties we have in place—but I hope for the sake of our kingdom and theirs, that they are willing to hear us out once the dust settles."

This statement caused quite a bit of chatter amongst the nobles. Elena turned to look at her mother and would have said something if it wasn't for the stern look she immediately received.

The rest of the meeting droned on in the background as Elena replayed her final conversation with Stefan over and over again in her head. He hadn't known that it would be his last. No one had. She couldn't imagine what his final moments must have been like. Had he been in pain? Had he been alone? A single tear slipped down her cheek without permission, but she did not lift a hand to wipe it away.

At the meeting's end, the king continued to speak with many of the nobles in the hallway, leaving the queen behind with her children. She turned to Elena first, reaching out to hold her hand once more. "My sweet girl," she said, brushing a piece of hair behind Elena's ear with her free hand. The moment she did, Elena stood from her seat and lurched forward into her mother's arms. Her mother continued to stroke her hair, holding onto her so tight. "Everything is going to be alright," she said in a reassuring tone.

Though Elena knew the words were meant to be calming, she couldn't help the few tears that slipped out of her eyes. Maybe everything would be alright. They would be alright for her and her family, perhaps. But for Stefan, things were decidedly not alright.

Pulling away from her mother, she wiped her cheeks furiously, sniffling. She sorted through her thoughts, everything so jumbled and loud, the grief overpowering and of the intelligent thoughts she had on the matter. She hadn't skipped all of her lessons, she knew (deep down) how she was supposed to react in these sorts of situations, what she was supposed to say. Unfortunately, it felt impossible to compose herself in that moment. When she finally swallowed some of her grief, she sniffled again and said, "They don't believe us, do they? They think it was us? That we killed him?"

The queen nodded, a sadness in her eyes that mirrored Elena's, although tears did not fall. "They do. Giuseppe," she said, using the king's first name. That was how close they were, how close they ought to be in this moment, too. "Giuseppe especially, would not listen to reason."

"What does that mean?" she asked, some of her duty coming back to her in that moment.

The queen's lips turned downward into a frown for a split second. She shook her head. "I don't know."

Chapter Text

Leaving the tavern and mounting her horse once more devastated the former princess. If only the king had understood her plight, had cared enough to respond. But it was difficult to forget, even in ten years time, that the man on Zicon's throne was not the same boy she'd danced with on that very last night. No, this was a man who held a throne through fear alone, who proudly let the crown rest on his head while doling out more and more damage to the continent. This was not the person she'd had a crush on years ago, the person she'd wanted more than anything to be seen by. This was a monster. And perhaps it was a good thing that he didn't wish to see her. It dampened that last hope deep in her chest, the last spark that thought, just maybe, she could save him.

She sat atop her horse, stroking his mane for a few moments, lost in thought, before she finally urged him forward, into the heart of Miria. The kingdom looked nothing like it had ages ago, and although she'd heard the stories, it was something else entirely to see it in person.

Very few buildings remained completely intact. Some were missing entire sections of stone and others had large holes in their roofs. The ones that still stood whole had scorched walls and broken windows. War had come through this town ten years ago, and the people had never recovered. The village she rode through was silent aside from the sound of her horse's hooves hitting cobblestone. Windows were empty of light, and moss grew thick over the roads in patches. No carts or wagons passed through anymore.

Elena hadn't gotten out of the castle much before everything happened. She stayed mostly inside the palace walls. Most of the time when she left, it was with her entire family and their guard in tow, to visit the Salvatores. Trips to town to speak with the common folk were few and far better, but even in passing she knew the towns had never looked like this. At one point, they'd been bustling and active, with merchant stands lining the road and lantern light in the windows. Now they were only cold and empty and aching, akin to her heart.

Sentimentality, however, would not help with this journey. Thinking about all that had been lost only drove her forward. For if Damon refused to speak with her on principle, he would have to turn her down in person.

A flicker of light from atop a half-fallen tower caught her attention and an arrow wreathed in flame flew toward her before she had the chance to recognize it for what it was. At the last second, she tugged on the horse's reigns, pulling him to one side, narrowly missing the attack. The next, coming from a building on the opposite side of the street, landed deep in her shoulder just to the left of her breastplate, sending her toppling off the horse. She hit the dirt heavy and hard with a grunt and considered staying there and letting Damon's men—because they couldn't have been anyone else—finish her off.

But if she'd learned anything over the past ten years, its that hiding got her absolutely no where. She was out in the streets on a mission, and that meant taking fights head on. Hiding and letting Damon and his men strike, well, it had only ever gotten her loved ones killed. It was time for a new strategy.

In one quick motion, Elena jumped to her feet with her bow drawn. She scanned the rooftops, waiting for someone to expose themselves. With eyes narrowed, she caught a flurry of movement to her right, and let the arrow fly. Grabbing another out of the sheath on her back, she released it toward the archer on the left who'd struck her. She couldn't hear the bodies fall, but no more arrows were sent in her direction. The overwhelming pain of the arrow in her shoulder nearly cowed her then, but she had no choice but to keep going.

She placed a hand at the base of the arrow, holding it firm where split her skin. Removing it was not an option. The blood was staunched now but would flow freely once opened. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped both hands around the shaft of the arrow, keeping the hand closest to her skin as steady as possible while she snapped off the end with her other hand. The arrow shifted, but she stifled the yelp that crept up her throat.

Silence fell over the village, and Elena took the opportunity to lead her horse between too buildings, tying him to a post. She left him there to skirt around the back of the building, bow on her back once more, fingers itching for the daggers holstered on her thigh. At the base she'd hidden away at on the Northern side of the continent, there had been nothing but time. Time Elena had almost exclusively used to train. Jeremy hadn't allowed her to step foot out of hiding, but she knew there would come a time in her life much like this one, and now? She was grateful for all those moments spent sparring with the guards behind Jeremy's back.

Real combat differed from her training, as she'd quickly learned by the thumping of her heart, rattling as it tried to escape the confines of her chest. Elena put her hands on the cold stone wall behind her, attempting to steady herself. Why were Damon's people still trying to kill her, still trying to extinguish any fraction of the Gilbert name? She had no power left, no ability to lead a kingdom with no one behind her, no soldiers to form an army, no authority to command the people. She was not a threat, but perhaps that was what made her one.

But without a plan, without anyone to help her? One perfectly placed arrow would be the end of her, the end of the Gilberts finally and for good. That thought alone kept her back pressed to the stone for longer than she'd ever admit—if she ever had anyone to admit anything to ever again. Perhaps the horse. He was a good listener, after all.

Her deep breaths were cut off at the sound of rattling armor and heavy footfalls. A battalion, but how many soldiers within she could not guess. It only made her heart beat faster and she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a second more, letting out a shaky deep breath before she pushed off the wall and kept moving.

She came to a half-fallen stone wall at the back of one of the houses and snuck inside. The inside horrified her more than the outside had. Scorch marks on the interior walls and piles of ashes all around. They had taken not only to the streets but to the kitchens, the bedrooms, the nurseries. But why? Had all of this been to find her family? Or had it been in punishment, for supporting them in the first place?

Walking through the debris, she pulled back a half-shredded curtain marred with burn marks to look through the cloudy window. A battalion of at least fifty soldiers walked in rows through the street. Some atop horses but most by foot, all clad in shining golden armor, new and expensive. Did they seek her out? Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight braid and pinned to the crown of her head, the heavy cloak's hood still pulled up over it, shielding much of her face. Had the archers identified her, or had they been instructed to shoot anyone who walked through the streets? How had they known to look for her, if so, and how had they known it was her? There were many questions left unanswered, none of which made her feel comfortable standing in the grave of a family who'd fallen for hers.

Shuffling footsteps and a small voice whispering, "Psst," tore the princess away from the window. She turned but saw no one. The voice whispered again, and with a slight movement to her left, Elena finally saw a pair of eyes peering through a crack in the wall.

Elena walked over to her as slowly as possible, trying to keep her own armor from rattling and giving them both away.

"I can help you," the voice said, a small feminine voice whose eyes were deep set and golden, her cheeks coated in charcoal or dirt, Elena could not tell.

Elena nodded. Getting out of the small village now would be an issue, to say the least. Certainly, her horse had already been found, and if they really took an interest in her specifically, how long would it be before they started combing through the buildings looking for the person who'd gotten away after maiming or killing two of their archers?

The small voice continued. "You'll have to go back outside. The way you came. Knock three times at the back door so I know it's you. Like this," she said, then knocked on the stone between them twice, left a beat of silence, and then knocked once more. "Got it?"

"Got it," Elena said, nodding firmly. If Jeremy were still alive, he'd certainly have made some comment about her reckless behavior and how no one else outside their family could have been trusted in times like these. But she had no choice. Either she made a move now and got herself killed, or she waited out the soldiers and got herself killed when they started looking for the horseback rider. Or even worse, she'd bleed out from the wound that still stung. The only option was to hope, which thankfully, Elena was good at.

When she slipped out of the half-destroyed building, she waited for a moment at the edge of the alley before crossing quick and careful. Unseen. There was no sight of the girl who had spoken to her through the cracks, only an empty alleyway and the sounds of soldiers in the streets. At the door, she knocked twice, left a beat of silence, and then knocked a third time. A key turned in the lock on the other side, and the door opened inward to reveal an equally devastating home. While the interior didn't face the same destruction as the house next door, this one was overgrown with moss and mushrooms.

"Over here," the girl said, and Elena turned her head to see a small child behind the open door. She couldn't have been any older than ten, with dark hair tied back and dirtied clothes. After closing the door, the girl walked across the room and pulled back an absolutely filthy rug. Below it was a hatch, which she opened to reveal a wooden ladder that descended into darkness. Horrifying, but the only option as the soldiers encroached.


TEN YEARS AGO

For hours Elena sat in her chamber alone, dispatched from the meeting with her parents and the other nobles to await further news. Bonnie and Caroline say at a table in the center of the room playing a card game Elena had never quite figured out, while she stood at the foot of her bed, throwing daggers into the headboard. Thunk, one sank into the wood just off-center. Her lids fluttered closed for a second, releasing a long deep breath. There was something absurdly satisfying about ruining the perfect painted wood of the headboard, so clean and white with a sparkling silver dagger embedded in it. Her fingers twitched with nerves. Waiting had never been her strong suit. She'd wished more than anything to be amongst the king's guard investigating the previous night's occurrence. What good was a princess when she was relegated to her room, anyway?

She threw another dagger, but this one clanged uselessly off the stone behind the headboard, clattering to the ground. Elena stalked across the room, picking up the fallen dagger and pulling the one out of the center of the headboard. Pacing back to the foot of the bed, she readied her form, remembering everything that Damon had taught her.

"You're going to split that thing right down the middle," Bonnie said, not bothering to look up from the cards.

Caroline shot a sharp glance at the other lady's maid, and with a hushed tone that was not all that hushed said, "Her friend just died. Let her destroy the headboard if she really wants to."

"She wants to," Elena muttered, readying her arm to throw another dagger. A split second before releasing the dagger, the castle walls shook, sending her off balance. The dagger went wide, sinking into the top of a side table.

"What was that?" Caroline asked, turning to look at Elena, who shook her head. Before anyone could take a breath, someone pounded on the door to her chambers. The three girls jumped up and exited her bedroom to file into the common room. Caroline pulled open the door.

The princess' royal guard stood firmly in front of the door, flanked by two other guards in full plate armor, ready for something, the likes of which she could hardly comprehend. "Your Highness," her guard addressed her, bowing only slightly—which truly signified the urgency of the matter. "The castle is under siege, you are to be escorted to a safe room at once."

Elena, in a dressing gown with a dagger strapped to her thigh, looked behind her at the shocked faces of her lady's maids, then back to the guard before her, who'd protected her for as long as she could remember. "What about them?" she asked, always thinking about someone else before herself.

"Their families are here. Safe rooms are available for them, as well. But we must go now, your highness."

"Okay," Elena said, nodding fervently and trying not to let the fear betray her calm exterior. She stepped out of the room and beckoned her ladies to follow. The six of them, and more guards behind, made a quick path to the lower levels of the castle where the stone smelled of must and moss, with a dampness in the air that made the young princess wish to cover her nose.

"Over this way, Your Highness," Elena's royal guard said, motioning her to follow as one of the other guards broke off to lead her maids in another direction. She looked back at them for a moment, offering a brave smile. Unable to find the words, she turned back toward her guard and nodded, ready to be led away from her friends, with hope she would see them soon enough.

The safe room was a small stone room a level underneath the castle with a heavy metal door and reinforced stone bricks. There were two stacked beds on each side of the room, and a few places to sit scattered here and there. Rations in plain wooden crates crowded the room even more. The queen crossed the small room immediately, cupping Elena's face in her hands. "You're alright?" she asked, checking her daughter over for injury.

"Yes," Elena nodded. "What happened?" She looked from her mother's worried face to her father's concerned one and Jeremy's absent one—they were all safe, at least.

Her mother looked at her with soft, kind eyes, and a look Elena was all too familiar with that said, I'm not sure how to explain this to a child. From behind, the king rose and said, "King Giuseppe's army has ambushed the castle."

Her brows furrowed. "How?" This all seemed much too fast for an invasion. Stefan had only died the previous night and the trip between their castles took at least a week. Their army must have been lying in wait, but why?

The king shook his head. He'd been turning the same dilemma over in his mind for much time, it seemed. Giuseppe was his oldest friend. For a moment, she wondered if maybe her father had betrayed them, if his men had killed Stefan—but she knew her father. She knew his kindness, and she'd seen the sadness in his eyes when speaking about Stefan's death. They all mourned him as a part of their family. So why could Giuseppe not see that they were innocent?

King Grayson, because he was more king than her father in that moment, said, "We were set up."