Where Loyalties Lie

The entire palace was in a panic. Servants were rushing around, some yelling orders, some attempting to flee. Two young women in dark clothing ran against the crowd, towards the grand doors of the throne room. It was a struggle, pushing against the flow of people, yet they were successful. The taller woman held back the urge to yell at everyone who was attempting to flee, but held her tongue. Her princess needed their information now. 

Upon entering, the two young women were met by the sullen king and his only daughter, who was at his feet pleading. The king of their great lands, King Romanov, appeared tired and defeated. The skin under his eyes seemed to hang a darker color, and his beard seemed to turn silver in some places. He had three permanent black lines on his forehead and his eyebrows seemed glued into a furrowed position.

“Your Highness, My Lady,” the taller woman greeted, curtsying. The shorter woman followed suit. The young princess stood up. She had been kneeling for what seemed like hours, attempting to advise her father on the matter at hand. Now that her handmaidens were back, hopefully they would shed some light on the situation. 

“Don’t stand on formality, Cecily, Emery. What news do you bring?” The taller woman, Cecily, looked unsure. 

“It’s not good. We’re at our final defenses. The general fears we will be overrun soon.” The king looked ashen, his wrinkles deeper than they were before the war started. King Romanov was always known as a proud soldier, a conquerer. To be conquered would probably be one of his greatest humiliations. 

“It’s as I said, Father. The people will continue to suffer if we do not surrender-”

Her father immediately stopped her. “Surrender? Why should we surrender? And to those Vasil scum? I would rather die on my sword!”

Princess Ursa did not share this opinion. “Father, we are traditionally a peaceful people. The war, and even before then- our people have long been suffering due to your constant war campaigns. And now a greater war battle has been brought to us-”

“Silence! What do you know of any of this!” he bellowed. Pointing at Emery, he commanded, “You! Fetch me the Prime Minister!” Emery nodded and exited the room quickly, as if her feet could not take her out of the room faster. Ursa stood up, defeated by her father’s stubborn attitude. 

No, of course he would not listen to her, the leftover princess. She was just a tool to be married off, anyway. Ursa grew up with two older brothers and a younger one. She dearly loved her brothers, especially the youngest, who had always relied on Ursa. However they had all gone to war at the command of their father. They had all fallen in battle, and Ursa was his only heir. 

The Romanovs were at their most desperate hour. The King of the Vasils himself, Ivan Vasil was outside the city walls after a long campaign through the country. He had gained a reputation as a conqueror, and a War God.  

“It would do you some good to go get some rest, daughter. Do not concern yourself with these matters,” her father coldly dismissed her. Ursa stood up and gave a shallow bow before leaving the room, Cecily trailing after her. 

Moments later, the Prime Minister of the Romanov territory entered the room. He was a tall, gaunt man with tan skin and dark hair slicked back.The stern and overbearing king immediately changed his tune, hurrying to greet the Prime Minister. 

“Lord Volkov, thank you for coming so soon. What are we to do about the Vasils?” 

“The only thing to do is surrender, Your Highness.”

“Surrender? We cannot-”

“Calm down, Your Highness. It isn’t forever. We will compromise with that savage. You still have one last bargaining chip that may win over the Vasil King,” said Volkov. King Romanov gave him a perplexed look. Volkov hid his sneer, amazed at how dense this so-called king was. “Your only daughter, Ursa, is a renowned beauty and is on par with the top scholar of the Westlands. She would make anyone an excellent wife.” A look of realization dawned on King Romanov’s face, but it was quickly shaken off by a look of disgust. 

“I will not have my Romanov blood mixing with those Vasil bastards!” 

“Your Highness, it’s the only way to reclaim the Romanov state, and perhaps, receive something more,” Volkov persuaded. King Romanov appeared pensive, truly thinking hard about the consequences that would follow this line of thinking. However he was suddenly motivated by one thing: Power.

“Yes, I see what you mean. Yes. You there!” Romanov called to the guard stationed at the door. The guard’s back immediately straightened after being directly addressed by his sovereign. “Send word to the city walls to surrender, and to extend an invitation to those Vasils.”