Underneath the midnight sky devoid of moonlight, a king clad in his golden robe stood by the windowsill of his chambers to admire the pitch-black sky with inexplicable joy.
"Marcus," he said, "Have you heard of the lunar eclipse and its lore?"
"I'm afraid your subject is too ignorant to know this lore you speak of, Your Majesty."
"Well..." the king said, "For eternity, the Sun and the Moon had been blessing the Earth with light. The three celestial bodies spun in perfect harmony for what seemed like forever... until the Earth succumbed to greed and wanted the Sun's light all to itself. As it came between the two celestial bodies, it shoved the moon to its shadows, and in return, the moon deprived its night of light. What do you think of this lore?"
The subject bowed. "I think it warns you about betrayals, Your Majesty."
"That's right. Everyone's vulnerable to betrayals. So what do I do to prevent such treachery from burning me?" The king smiled like the devil, "I uproot its seed before it even sprouts!"
His lips curved with evil intents that were illuminated by the red flames in the fireplace. Tonight, he'd be rid of his worries. He took a sip, and imagined that by now, his cousin, the rightful heiress to the throne, would already be in the hands of the men he'd sent. She'd be begging for her life, and for the unborn child in her womb's salvation but the assassins won't show her mercy because the he already paid heaps of gold for every conscience in their bodies.
"Your Majesty!" A herald marched inside his royal chamber in a hurry.
"Calm down, Demetrius," the king smiled. "Deliver your news slow and steady. I want to savor every word of this night's success."
"I'm afraid that might not be the case, Your Majesty!" the herald went down on his knees. "The assassination... The assassination didn't go as planned!"
The sound of glass breaking echoed around the room and droplets of blood painted the floor red.
"My lord! Your hand--"
"Tell me what? Now?"
The king slowly turned his body and the herald bowed his head to the ground, too afraid to face his master's wrath. Heavy footsteps pounded his chest as they approached closer to him.
"You must be mistaken," the king said, trying to fool himself, "I've been planning this evening for months... just to fail? I replaced all the guards in their mansion with mine and a coerced a maid to to open the doors so those fools should have had an easy time entering their mansion. What could have possibly gone wrong?!"
"They managed to enter the chambers without struggle," the herald cried. "But the quee—I mean, Lady Genevieve was nowhere to be found, my lord!"
"Ridiculous! Where else could she possibly be if not her chambers on this moonless night?!" He turned to the sky in alliteration. "Damn you, Genevieve!"
***
Genevieve sneezed.
Hundreds of meters from the ground, the cold evening reminded her of the nastiest welcome drink she'd tasted from an infamous inn she'd rather not call out. Rotten eggs seasoned with coffee grinds and raisins—that was her palate's guess of what it might have been. The gooey, red-brown shot tasted as ominous as it looked. Unwelcoming. Like the kingdom of Grendella.
As she hovered above their territory, the chills on her skin became a reminder of how Grendellans loathed her. No ones willing to name even their dogs with hers. Not after what she'd done.
Two years ago, a decade-old royal engagement was set to tighten the bond between Grendella and it's neighboring kingdom, Leighnia. Out of everyone's expectation, the bond was cut instead, and the enthronement for the Grendellan Crown Prince never happened because the Crown Princess of Leighnia ditched their royal wedding. That princess was Genevieve.
Ever since then, Grendellans condemned Genevieve for causing their royalties great humiliation. Worse, not only did they name her a traitor but the entire kingdom of Leighnia and its people of altogether.
Have a Leighnian shop on the markets of Grendella be asked by a smiling vendor where he's from, and if he replies with an honest "I'm from Leighnia," the same friendly face will reveal its fangs, and egg trays will be emptied on his body before he gets to finish his intro. With tattered clothes barely intact from the riot, he'd come home to his family dressed in a week's worth of breakfast, and a lifetime of trauma inside his basket when his wife asked for vegetables
On the other hand, Leighnians had their conclusions as well. There was no way for Princess Genevieve, whom they'd always known for her sensibility, to flee from her wedding for no reason. The problem had to be the Grendellan Crown Prince. Perhaps, he looked too gruesome for their princess to bear.
"How dare they let our beloved princess marry an ugly prince! The Grendellans are shameless!"
Like cats and dogs, the two kingdoms had been on each other's neck ever since. And if it weren't for her greatest friend's condition, Genevieve wouldn't find herself entering this place ever again.
"I'm a bird, please pay me no mind," she said while passing through the borders, hoping the guards on duty would point at her aircraft and marvel to themselves how big of a bird it was, not a biplane. She maneuvered the yoke to land on a clearing just behind the castle of Grendella—the last thing any soul would expect her to step into. It was no easy feat to land an aircraft on a moonless night but she pulled it off.
"Hang in there, Beatrice," she murmured, "I'm on my way."
But before the grass could prick her boots, a hand grabbed her by the arm.
"What—"