The Fallen Princess

One

The stench of decay coiled through the air like a living thing, thick and rancid, forcing its way into the young princess’s lungs. Zaria gagged, lifting an unsteady hand to her mouth. Her breath caught half-formed, and a tremor swept up her spine as she realized... slowly, painfully... that she was not standing on earth at all.

The ground shifted beneath her, soft and uneven. She looked down. Bodies. Dozens, no hundreds, piled upon one another; pale faces twisted in their final terror. Limbs tangled. Armor cracked open. Eyes glassy and hollow.

A shuddering breath tore from her chest as she stumbled back, heel catching on the broken hilt of a sword. There was no clear ground, no safe place to step. Every direction was the same suffocating field of death.

A thin, sharp gasp escaped her, swallowed quickly by the heavy silence. Then... clink.

Metal striking metal. A soft echo, unnervingly distant yet unmistakable.

Her 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. Hope fluttered inside her chest, fragile and frantic. Before she could think, her feet were moving, pushing through the dead, slipping on armor, tripping over limbs.

“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 and failing, to block the sickening odor that clung to everything.

She blinked. The world shifted. The river of corpses vanished. Zaria now stood on a grassy hillside, blades of green swaying gently around her feet as if nothing dark had ever touched this place. A breeze brushed her cheek. And beside her stood a tall man clad in thick, ornate gold armor, the plates gleaming like captured sunlight.

He turned toward her. His eyes a radiant, molten gold, locked onto hers. She felt their warmth like a hand closing around her heart. He leaned close.

“Run,” he whispered, his voice soft but carrying a command that made her pulse stutter. She stepped back instinctively, confusion knotting her brow. That was when she noticed them... shapes in the darkness beyond the hill, emerging one by one.

Dozens at first. Then hundreds. Their red eyes glowed like embers in a field of smoke.

Beasts. Every one of them huge, twisted, and hungry. And leading them was a monstrous, bear-like creature with a hulking frame and a deep, jagged scar carving down the right side of its face. Its cloudy gray eye gleamed with malice.

Zaria staggered backward, breath hitching. The creature roared and charged. The armored man lunged forward, pushing her behind him with the force of a battering ram. She fell hard onto the grass.

“Run! Now, Zaria!” he shouted, raising his broad sword, its edge blazing with golden light.

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.

But something changed. For the first time since the dreams began… he had spoken her name.

Her breath froze. Her legs trembled but she did not turn away.

Instead, she pushed herself up, stumbling toward him. She had no power, not really. Not the sort that could save him. But determination surged through her veins like wildfire. “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 most certainly was. He turned his head toward her, golden eyes wide with fear. A fear for her. The beast’s massive paw rose. A killing strike. “No.” His whisper trembled.

“Enough!” Zaria cried. Her eyes squeezed shut as she reached deep within herself, clawing at the last scrap of strength she carried. A brilliant white light erupted from her, flooding the world, sweeping across hill and valley and every creeping shadow.

Her vision blurred. Her ears rang violently. Her body crumpled, the light draining 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 before the dream cracked apart. And she woke.

Zaria shot upright with a choked gasp, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her skin like a second, sticky layer. The room around her, her familiar chamber of stone, old musty drapes, and soft candlelight, wavered in and out of focus.

“Princess... are you alright?” Cecil, her loyal handmaid, hurried to her side with a cloth dipped in cool water. She pressed it gently to Zaria’s brow, her expression knotted with concern.

Zaria forced a thin smile. “I’m well, Cecil.” But her body slumped back into the pillows as dizziness swirled through her mind. Her limbs felt heavy, as if she were still lost in the dream.

“I tried waking you several times,” Cecil murmured, wringing the cloth nervously. “It has been a week since the nightmares returned… and tonight was the worst. Is something weighing heavily on you, Princess?”

Zaria placed a gentle hand over hers, offering what comfort she could. She pushed herself upright despite Cecil’s worried protest. “There is always something to worry over,” Zaria said with a soft, humorless laugh. “We live in a beautiful castle filled with schemes, conspiracies, and death.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and drifted toward the corner of the room where a basin of water awaited her. Filled faithfully each dawn by Cecil, whose devotion bordered on motherly.

“Allow me, Your Highness,” Cecil said, rising from her vigil chair. “It’s alright,” Zaria answered quietly. “I prefer to do it myself.” Cecil nodded, well accustomed to the princess’s resolve.

She caught her reflection in the old, faded mirror above the basin. Her icy blue eyes stared back, too bright, almost ethereal in the morning light. The features she had inherited from her elven mother were unmistakable: dark brows and lashes contrasting sharply with her pale skin and white hair.

A beauty praised in songs, admired by suitors, claimed by kings. But today, she only saw exhaustion. Cecil hovered behind her. “Would you like a bit of makeup to hide the shadows, Princess?”

“Yes,” Zaria sighed. “Just enough to look less like a ghost.” The maid got to work, easing the princess from her nightclothes and dressing her in the vivid attire the king preferred. A sweeping embroidered skirt. A cropped blouse that bared her waist. A thin, draped scarf that shimmered faintly.

Luxurious, yes. But not her. “Shall I bring your jewelry box?” Cecil asked, dabbing powder beneath her eyes. “No,” Zaria replied, adjusting the fabric at her shoulder. “I’ve given most of it away, and I’d rather not draw the attention of the king’s guests. Let my sisters captivate them and warm their beds instead.”

A knock sounded at the door before Cecil could respond. “I’ll get it,” she said, moving to unlatch the heavy wood. When she opened it, her expression softened. “Good morning, Prince Zakai.”

Zakai stepped inside with an easy smile. “Good morning, Cecil. You look lovely today.”

Zaria rose onto her toes to kiss 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 broad shoulders and height. The only sibling she shared a mother with. The only one whose affection was not conditional.

“How are you not ready?” he groaned. “I came late on purpose so you’d have extra time.”

“She woke late… another nightmare,” Cecil admitted softly. Zaria shot her a warning look, but it was too late.

Zakai’s expression darkened. “You told me they’d stopped. Were you lying?” He moved closer, leaning against the stone wall directly in front of her so she couldn’t look away.

“I just need my hair braided,” she said stubbornly, lowering herself into the chair. “Don’t make me resort to watching you sleep just to learn the truth,” he warned. “We’re not children anymore. It would be uncomfortable for both of us.”

“For you,” she shot back with a grin. “I quite enjoy slumber parties.” He nudged her chair with his boot. “Zaria.” She sighed. “Fine. Yes. They returned a few nights ago.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And I’m only hearing about it now?” His gaze flicked accusingly to Cecil, who flinched.

“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 lying and causing trouble.” Zaria rolled her eyes.

Zakai’s features softened. He crouched before her, placing a gentle hand on her knee. “Zaria… you can’t pretend this away. The two people you trust most and who love you most are here. Lean on us.”

He rose, returning to his place against the wall. “Now,” he said quietly, his voice steady and protective, “tell us about this dream.”