2.

Kingdom of Sargas, The Royal Palace;

A wine goblet almost smacked Atarah on the forehead. She ducked in time as it smashed against the glass door behind her. “Henry, control your liquor.” She yelled towards the table on the far right, just a foot away from the throne. Atarah walked down the aisle, her hair a tangled mess and her face covered in mud. The red cape was back in its place, as her rifle was nowhere to be seen. She stopped before the diamond steps leading to the throne and went on her knee. “Your Majesty,” she said, looking at the floor.

A middle-aged man, with a diamond crusted gold crown on his bald head, occupied the grand chair. He was holding a goblet in his hand and stood up when Atarah bowed to him. “Quiet down everyone.” He yelled in the hall, his cracked voice reaching every corner of the walls. Atarah straightened up and felt the room suddenly turning over. It was quiet, all eyes on her, all ears on the king. “Today, we sow our sorrows in the lands of Gliala. Today, my dear niece and your princess return victorious from yet another war. “He stopped, waiting for the court to erupt in a harmonious cheer. And so they did.

He raised his goblet towards the chandelier, and the court hushed again. “TODAY, WE FEAST ON OUR REVENGE AGAINST ANTARES.” This time, his voice bounced back from the corners, and the hall erupted again. The king took his chair and drank until the last drop. “Congratulations, niece. You have made us all proud. Enjoy.” He said with a toothy smile. Atarah noticed the chip in his front teeth and wondered if he ever forgave her for that. “Thank you, Your Majesty. “She bowed deep and turned around, leaving the hall. Her robe flailing behind her, the scenes from the war playing on a loop, the bruises on her limbs hurting, and the stab wound on her shoulder stinging.

                                                         ^^^^^^^^

Her room was the same as she had left three days ago. Messy. Atarah had ordered the servants not to enter her room while she was away. She hated when she couldn’t find things on time. She hated when they made it a cleaner room, removing all traces of human life. She unhooked the robe, and it slid down on the marble floor. Astara was still on the battlefield, helping the soldiers with the dead. Stripping, she hopped inside the warm shower, draining out the images of the farmers laughing around the harvested crops. She wondered if the vision was a dream or a reality. A time when Gliala was a livable haven for everyone, including the Elvi.

Elvi was the witches, born with the Sun’s magic. They were the healers and helpers. The builders and bakers. They helped the kingdom progress a lot faster, but after the Great War, the Elvi were killed or forced out of Gliala, seeking shelter in Antares and Sargas, the Diamond kingdom. The Lura, evil witches, ravaged Gliala 22 years ago, screaming for revenge while trampling on humans. Lura was responsible for her parent's death. The Lura was the one revenge Atarah had never taken, the one revenge she planned every night before sleep.

Her thoughts were interpreted when someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Yes?” Atarah yelled over the sound of the shower. “Your highness, Delroy is here to see you.” Elaxai’s muffled voice came from behind the door. What does he want? Atarah thought, annoyance creeping in her mind at the mention of his name. “I’ll be right out.” She answered and turned off the shower.

Delroy, the king’s advisor and the most annoying person on earth, was gazing out the circular window. His hands behind his back, his light blue robes were old-fashioned, just as he likes. Over-sized sleeves and a long gown, hiding his shape. Atarah sometimes wondered what he hid underneath the robes. His weirdly shaped eyebrows always creeped her out.

Delroy turned around when he heard the bathroom door closing. Atarah was in her bathrobe, a white towel wrapped on her head. “My apologies, your highness. I know you must be exhausted from the battle. I only wish for a word with you.” He walked slowly towards the desk and took the velvet chair. Atarah sat at the head of the desk and let him continue.

“As you know, the memorial service is coming up, and with the crown prince’s sudden demise, you are the heir to the throne. There is talk among the court about the king remarrying, and- “

“If it just talks, leave it at that.” Atarah cut him off. She knew where he was going with this. Delroy was the longest-serving advisor of this kingdom. He had been serving her grandfather and now her uncle. She always wondered, for a man with vast knowledge, he had never taken a step towards the throne.

“You realize the king is marrying for an heir. I promised your father to look after you. I promised him your birthright.” He looked serious,

Atarah folded her arms and stared at the man who has served two kings. “Tell me, Delroy. Do you have greed for the throne?” Atarah asked bluntly, knowing it was treason to even bring up a coup as a subject. She wanted to see how he reacts, she wanted to know why her father trusted him and why she couldn’t.

“That is absurd. My loyalty is to the throne, no matter who sits upon it.” He got up, scraping the chair, hurrying for the door. Atarah smirked behind his back, getting the answer. Before he could exit her room, Atarah stopped him.

“Let me make this clear. The battleground is my kingdom. The King can keep his throne.”