Epitome of a Hero

Princess Damian Hope

There is a certain point of life when you’ll need the taste of silence more than any other time. For me, this time is it. I stared at the portrait of the Queen inside my room, hanging by the walls made of brick, wondering how my life could have been if she was still alive. As I did, the coldness of the air that made its way from my window touches my skin, instilling its way into my very soul, making the moment drearier than ever.

Maybe if I hadn’t been born, she would still be alive and the King would never be a bitter man as he is now. My heart breaks little by little as I dwell more on that fact. All this time, ever since the day I had my first consciousness of the world, I carried it all alone.

I stood up and placed my hand on the painting of my mother—she looked very beautiful. As I traced the rough texture of the portrait, my lips formed a smile. I wish you are still here, Mother. I closed my eyes shut, feeling the pain that radiates from my heart, crawling its way out of my eyes. I never cry because vulnerability makes me look weak and I can’t be weak. 

I exhaled an amount of air from my mouth and composed myself so I could start the day.

I was the only child of the dear King and Queen of Cyprus--- but right after the day I was bred upon this world, my mother’s life was taken away. The King was left alone to raise a daughter and because of the pain I had brought on him, he never treated me like one.

There are so many reasons why my father hated me. First, he wanted a son, instead, I was the one born—second and foremost, I was the reason why his wife died too. So, when he stripped me the life of being a princess and ordered me to be a page, I never had any objections—but I would like to make him proud, despite of his cruelty.

So at the young age of eight, I became a page, serving under a knight, cleaning the place, grooming the horses and offering more assistance. No one dared to talk back at the King for what he made his daughter become, but most people are kind to this young girl out of pity, I hated it.

But becoming acquainted with the knights made me discover my own capabilities--- because, from the very first time I held a sword, I felt destined for something more.

So every time the knights trained, I watched them—the grin on my face never fading away as I watched their very movements, as I hear every swing of the blades that cut through the thin air, I was astounded.

Every beat of my heart gets even louder as the scrunches of the grasses from every of their step filled my ears and I felt like I am also swaying my body as I watch the grace of their movements whenever they dance the art of war by the field. 

This is my calling.

So I trained on my own every night, replicating the movements I’ve learned. Swinging the sword as if it was the extension of my own arm, gripping it like it was not the first time.

Then on one spectacular night, as I danced with my blade, the Commendatore (It is known as the Knight Commander, the highest rank of the knights) appeared from the dark, clapping his hands. He also praised me for his so-called fire that he said I emitted. Knight Lumiere was the King’s brother and he was my uncle—and he was the figure of a father that I never thought I’d have.

He kept me in his care, trained me in advance until a day of the tournament came, he opted for me to be his champion.

The King was one of the audiences and that was the time for me to make him proud, or so I thought.

Many knights laughed at me, for being a woman. They mocked me even before the tournament began, yet they never shook my feet and the fire that was burning inside of me rekindled with my goal even more. How dare they question my being a knight, just because I am a woman. 

Uncle Lumiere didn’t pay any heed to their complaints but the bravado smile written across his face made me even prouder of myself. All the mockery fell aloof when I beat each and every one of them by the field, and I myself felt even bewildered when I was announced as the champion.

Despite all my efforts, my father never paid me any notice, instead took away my celebration by announcing that he will be remarried to his woman, to the new Queen. I was hurt, but I cannot complain. I am willing to pay for my sin until the day I die since I know it was my fault.  

When rebels started to form, north of the palace, I was 14 years old—but I was already an honorary knight since my rank increased due to my fulfilled duties to the accord of the Chivalrous code. That is the day when I heard Uncle Lumiere and the King in an argument. The King wanted to send me to the war to fight the opposition but my Uncle was against it. It was clear to me, that my own father wanted me dead, but I won’t die just yet, that’s why I, myself agreed.

I marched with our soldiers and as I glanced at them, uncertainty is written across their faces. When you are at war, you will think of the family that you left behind, you’ll think of the tears that will be shed by the ones you love if you die. Without any warning, those thoughts will inflict fear inside you and it will sprawl their way to chill your very bones until your doubt and worries march with you in the battle.

I envy them—because I’ve got nothing to think about since I have nobody else but me and my sword. My determination was the only to walk with me and it did stay deep within me as the war began.

When I was there, I was hesitant to take a life, but the circumstance won’t snap you out of reality—so I had to kill the enemy who would kill me first if I don’t make the first move. When the enemy’s warm blood splattered on my face, I felt like a monster, it was the very first time that I killed someone. 

I was rattled but I have no other choice but to slay the next one coming at me so I did—I won’t die today. I fought and fought, until I seized to feel anything, until my shaking hand became numb even though my grip was too tight, until the blood that tainted my sword became a normal stain for me to look at, until the war was finished with my eyes opened wide and still.

“Princess Damian.”

The voice of a man behind the door pulled my mind from dwelling in the occurrence of my past and I realized that I was seated by my bed, holding onto the sheath of my sword. I stood up and opened it, seeing a knight in his armor smiling at me.

 It’s Duke Bronte.

He is the Cavalier knight who was also trained by my Uncle. He had his long dark hair tied behind his back, and his eyes were chocolate brown. He is ranked next to me since now I am already the Commendatore, Uncle Lumiere entrusted his position to me after what has happened... My heart cracked for a bit but I dismissed the frustration that I was beginning to feel.

“What is it?” I replied dryly.

“So cold.” His grin widened and I just stared at him, without any clue of why he is acting like a jolly old fool whenever he is talking with me.

I clutched on the handle of my sword and he chuckled, “You really don’t know the word fun, don’t you?” I rolled my eyes off him and just left the door open, it’s his choice if he wants to come in or not. I grabbed the clean cloth by the chair and sat down by the bed again then unsheathed my sword. I glanced at Duke and he closed the door behind him before leaning on it. There is something wrong.

“The King is planning to execute all the rebels in the North, tomorrow.” What? I stopped wiping the blade and looked at him.

“But the soldiers aren’t ready,” I argued and Duke just stared blankly ahead.

“The only ones he is planning to send are your troops and mine.”

“Against?” My grip on the cloth tightened and I feel anxious. Mine and Duke’s knights combined is only in the number of 16, and the rebels will surely be more. How long will his torture continue?

“Hundred…”

Silence befell us after he spoke. My reflection was caught in my shiny blade, seeing my brassy hair and gray eyes looking back at me as my mind rumbled the possibilities of the upcoming war.