The Fallen Princess

The stench of decay coiled through the air like something alive—thick, wet, rancid—forcing its way into Zaria’s lungs until her stomach lurched in protest. She gagged, lifting an unsteady hand to her mouth as bile burned the back of her throat. She knew this place. She always did. It never changed... only the way it ended. Her breath caught half-formed, and a tremor climbed her spine as she realized, slowly and horribly, that she wasn’t standing on earth at all. The ground shifted beneath her, soft and uneven. Zaria looked down. Bodies. Dozens—no, hundreds—piled upon one another in pale heaps, faces twisted in final terror. Limbs tangled. Armor cracked and split. Eyes glassy, mouths frozen open as if they’d died mid-scream and the world had simply… moved on without them. A shuddering breath tore from her chest as she stumbled back, heel catching on the broken hilt of a sword. Metal bit into her boot. She lurched, arms windmilling, and managed not to fall only because there was nowhere safe to fall, no clear ground, no clean place to put her weight. Every step pressed into death. She swallowed a sharp gasp. The sound vanished into the heavy silence. Then... clink. Metal on metal. A soft echo, unnervingly distant, and yet unmistakable. Zaria’s head snapped up. Through the dense fog hanging over the valley of corpses, she glimpsed a lone figure—hazy at first, then sharpening into something vaguely human as it moved. Hope fluttered in her chest, fragile and frantic, and before she could think she was pushing forward, stumbling over armor plates, slipping on slick grass that wasn’t grass at all, hands out like she could reach someone and be saved. “T-there’s someone here…” Her voice cracked. Tears blurred her vision, turning the world into a smear of shadow and pale flesh. She pressed a shaking hand over her mouth, trying—failing—to block the sickening odor that clung to everything, the kind of rot that didn’t just sit in the air, but sank into skin. She blinked. The world shifted. The river of corpses vanished as if it had never existed, and Zaria stood on a grassy hillside instead, blades of green swaying around her ankles in a gentle breeze that brushed her cheek like a lie. Beside her stood a tall man clad in thick, ornate gold armor. The plates gleamed like captured sunlight. He turned toward her. His eyes—radiant, deep, molten gold—locked onto hers, and the warmth of that gaze hit her like a hand closing around her heart. He leaned close, lowering his face near her ear as if he didn’t want the hill itself to overhear. “Run,” he whispered. Soft, but threaded with a command that made her pulse stutter. Zaria stepped back instinctively, confusion knotting her brow. That was when she noticed them—shapes spilling out of the darkness beyond the hill, emerging one by one. Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Red eyes glowing like embers in smoke. Beasts—huge, twisted, hungry—moving with a single-minded purpose that made the air feel thinner. And leading them... a monstrous, bear-like creature, hulking and scarred, a jagged mark carving down the right side of its face. One cloudy gray eye gleamed with malice, fixed on her like it had been searching for her across lifetimes. Zaria staggered back, breath hitching. The creature roared and charged. The armored man lunged, shoving her behind him with the force of a battering ram. She hit the grass hard, palms stinging, and when she looked up he was already raising his sword—broad, bright, its edge blazing with golden light. “Run! Now, Zaria!” His shout ripped across the hill. Her heart clenched. She had lived this nightmare too many times. She knew how it ended: she would flee, she would watch him die, and she would wake just as the beast reached her—always too late, always helpless, always punished for breathing. But something changed. For the first time since the dreams began… he had spoken her name. Her breath froze. Her legs trembled. And she didn’t turn. Instead, she pushed herself up and stumbled toward him, because something in her snapped into place—stubborn, furious, utterly unwilling to play her role again. “Zaria, no!” The knight’s voice cracked as she reached his side. His armor was drenched in blood. Most of it not his, but some of it certainly was. He turned his head toward her, golden eyes wide with a fear that wasn’t for himself. A fear for her. The beast’s massive paw rose. A killing strike. “No.” His whisper trembled, like prayer and warning tangled together. “Enough!” Zaria cried. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached deep within herself, clawing at the last scrap of strength she carried, digging past pain and dread and the helplessness this dream demanded of her. Light answered. Brilliant white erupted from her chest, flooding the world... sweeping across hill and valley, swallowing the red-eyed shadows, burning through fog and fear until everything became brightness. Her vision blurred. Her ears rang violently. Her body crumpled as the light drained her like a burst dam. But strong arms caught her. She looked up one last time at those luminous golden eyes—soft, relieved, unbearably sad— and then the dream cracked apart. Zaria shot upright with a choked gasp, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her skin like a second, sticky layer. The room around her—stone walls, old musty drapes, the faint glow of candlelight—wavered in and out of focus as if the dream still had one hand on her throat. “Princess… are you alright?” Cecil hurried to her side with a cloth dipped in cool water, pressing it gently to Zaria’s brow. Concern tightened the maid’s expression, her hands moving with practiced care that bordered on motherly. Zaria forced a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m well, Cecil.” Her body slumped back into the pillows anyway. Dizziness swirled through her mind, and her limbs felt heavy, as if part of her had never truly left that hillside. “I tried waking you several times,” Cecil murmured, wringing the cloth like it had offended her. “It has been a week since the nightmares returned… and tonight was the worst.” Her voice softened. “Is something weighing heavily on you, Princess?” Zaria placed a gentle hand over Cecil’s, offering comfort she didn’t feel. Then she pushed herself upright despite Cecil’s worried protest. “There is always something to worry over.” A soft, humorless laugh slipped out. “We live in a castle filled with schemes, conspiracies, and death.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and crossed to the basin waiting in the corner, filled faithfully each dawn. The water’s surface trembled when she set her fingers against it, as if even it could sense the storm in her. “Allow me, Your Highness,” Cecil offered, rising from the vigil chair. “It’s alright.” Zaria’s voice stayed quiet, controlled. “I prefer to do it myself.” Cecil nodded, long accustomed to the princess’s resolve. Zaria caught her reflection in the old, faded mirror above the basin. Icy blue eyes stared back—too bright, almost ethereal in the early light. The features she’d inherited from her elven mother were unmistakable: dark brows and lashes against pale skin and white hair, a face praised in songs and used like currency in court. Today, it looked like a ghost wearing her. Cecil hovered behind her. “Would you like a bit of makeup to hide the shadows, Princess?” “Yes.” Zaria exhaled. “Just enough to look less like a wraith.” Cecil set to work, easing her from nightclothes and into the vivid attire the king preferred; colors meant to be seen from across a hall. A sweeping embroidered skirt. A cropped blouse that bared her waist. A thin, draped scarf that shimmered faintly. He liked his daughters to look like offerings. Luxurious, yes. But not herself. “Shall I bring your jewelry box?” Cecil asked, dabbing powder beneath Zaria’s eyes. “No.” Zaria adjusted the fabric at her shoulder, careful not to let her hands shake. “I’ve given most of it away, and I’d rather not draw the attention of the king’s guests.” Her mouth tightened. “Let my sisters captivate them and warm their beds instead.” A knock sounded at the door before Cecil could respond. “I’ll get it,” Cecil breathed, moving to unlatch the heavy wood. When she opened it, her expression softened. “Good morning, Prince Zakai.” Zakai stepped inside with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good morning, Cecil. You look lovely today.” Zaria rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “I was wondering when you’d come escort me, my dear brother.” Zakai’s icy eyes, pale skin, and white hair matched hers perfectly, twins in all but his height and broad shoulders. The only sibling she shared a mother with. The only one whose affection was not conditional. He looked her up and down and groaned. “How are you not ready? I came late on purpose so you’d have extra time.” Cecil hesitated, then admitted softly, “She woke late… another nightmare.” Zaria shot her a warning look, but it was too late. Zakai’s expression darkened. He moved closer, leaning against the stone wall directly in front of her so she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. “You told me they’d stopped.” His voice dropped, steady with anger. “Were you lying?” “I just need my hair braided.” Zaria lowered herself into the chair with stubborn precision, presenting her back to Cecil as if that could end the conversation. Zakai’s jaw tightened. “Don’t make me resort to watching you sleep just to learn the truth. It would be uncomfortable for us both.” She tipped her head, grin quick and sharp. “For you, it would be uncomfortable. I quite enjoy slumber parties.” He nudged her chair with his boot. “Zaria.” She sighed, the sound thin. “Fine. Yes. They returned a few nights ago.” Zakai dragged a hand through his hair, frustration cracking through his control. “And I’m only hearing about it now?” His gaze flicked, accusing, toward Cecil. “Don’t look at her,” Zaria snapped. “She’s my maid, not yours.” “If I had a maid, I’d send them here to watch you day and night,” he countered. “Then maybe you’d stop hiding things.” Zaria rolled her eyes, but the motion didn’t hide the tremor in her breath. Zakai’s features softened. He crouched in front of her and placed a gentle hand on her knee, grounding, steady. “Zaria… you can’t pretend this away.” His voice lowered, protective. “The two people you trust most, the two who love you most, are here. Lean on us.” He rose, returning to the wall as if he needed the stone at his back. “Now,” he murmured, the steadiness returning, “tell us about the dream.” His eyes held hers, sharp with the kind of fear that came from believing warnings. “Because if this is another omen… we need to know.”