The thunder of hooves echoed in the narrow streets of Shadaria Veila. The carriage, drawn by four black horses, moved slowly, as if fate itself were dragging out the moments. Inside, Astaron and Marquis Arkin sat opposite each other. Silence, like a suffocating shroud, filled the space.
Outside the window, dark silhouettes of buildings flickered, dilapidated by time and indifference. The streets were filled with people - some looked with disdain, some with indifference, and some with interest. There was something more than just curiosity in their gazes - it was anticipation. Anticipation of a spectacle.
Astaron sat upright, his hands resting on his knees, and his eyes, clear as clear water, were directed into the distance. His gray hair was neatly combed, and his face held a peaceful expression, as if he had already accepted the inevitable. His robe, once lush, seemed faded, but still retained the dignity that had been passed down from one generation of priests to the next.
Arkin watched him, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was as cold as the winter nights in the mountains of the Winter Alliance. The marquis was stately, but his face showed neither joy nor sadness. The dark green robe with gold patterns that symbolized his rank framed his shoulders, and the long dagger hanging from his belt looked more decorative than combat-ready.
"One last chance, Astaron," Arkin spoke quietly, his voice like a whisper on the wind. "You may yet say something that will convince me of your rightness. Perhaps I am wrong, but why were you so eager to give this people hope?" After all, it complicates management, weakens discipline.
Astaron smiled slightly, but did not look at his interlocutor.
- Hope is what distinguishes us from animals. Without it, people turn into a faceless mass, living only for the sake of survival. Irfan understood this, although he did not always show it.
Arkin grinned and shook his head.
- Irfan? The same Irfan I knew? A bloody killer, capable of sacrificing entire cities for the sake of victory? Are you saying that he strove for hope?
Now Astaron looked at Arkin. His gaze was penetrating, but there was no anger in it.
- We have seen different Irfans, Marquis. The one you knew was a warrior ready to sacrifice. But I saw in him a man who wanted more - peace, even through blood. Victoria is his continuation. She can become the one who will change the fate of Demonia.
The Marquis looked at him for a long moment, then looked away.
"Words… Just words, Astaron. But I will see what this girl will do. If she proves her strength, I will support her. If not, I will be the first to bring her head to the people."
Astaron smiled, but this time his smile was sad.
The rumble of the carriage wheels gave way to the sounds of childhood. Astaron remembered the day when Victoria was only six years old. She, small, with shining eyes and a slight smile, ran to him asking him to help the maids. Her silver-black hair was fluttering, and her dress was dirty – she had just been playing in the garden.
- Mister Astaron, please help! They won't make it!
He remembered how her small hands held his fingers tightly, pulling him toward the warehouse. There, the maids, exhausted, were carrying sacks of provisions. Victoria, without waiting for him to begin, grabbed one of the sacks, which turned out to be almost bigger than herself, and, panting, dragged it along the ground. The maids tried to stop her, but she only laughed.
- It's okay! I have to help, I'm part of this house too!
Her words then struck Astaron. A sense of responsibility was already emerging in the small child, which you usually don't see even in adults.
He remembered another day - she was nine, when she climbed a tall tree in the garden to save a kitten. She, covered in dust and leaves, held him in her arms while tears of happiness flowed down her cheeks. Then she fell, badly hurt, but did not cry. She only clutched the kitten tighter and said:
"The main thing is that he is okay."
Astaron watched her grow up, how she became stronger. He remembered how Irfan trained with her, not sparing her. The heavy wooden sword left bruises and abrasions, but she always got up.
"If you cannot withstand me, Victoria, how will you withstand the enemy?" Irfan said when his blows knocked her off her feet.
She rose again and again until her hands trembled and her breathing became ragged. Even then, she did not beg for mercy. Her determination was iron.
Marquis Arkin's voice brought him back to the present.
"We have arrived."
The crowd around the square was huge. The people looked with curiosity at the platform where the guillotine stood, its blade glittering in the dim sunlight. Astaron took a deep breath, as if this air could give him his last strength.
The priest began to read a prayer:
"Atariel, bless this act. Morinfael, take his soul into your depths. Entropiel, grant him an end in balance."
Astaron raised his eyes to the sky. His thoughts were with Victoria. "You are strong. You can do it. You must."
The guillotine fell. The crowd froze in an eerie silence.
The crowd, as if a single organism, held its breath. The heads of the spectators, as if on command, bowed to the platform. The falling blade did not simply cut the air, it left a deep wound in the very fabric of time for everyone who witnessed this moment. Victoria, standing to the side, next to Morgana, felt her heart squeeze. She looked away, but the sound, that terrible, metallic crack, haunted her.
The guillotine still glistened with fresh blood, and the priest continued his dark litany, as if trying to justify this spectacle to the gods.
- Such is the will of heaven. Such is the fate of sinners. Such is the truth of Demonia.
The crowd, emboldened, began to whisper. Some were quietly crying, some were watching everything with satisfaction. But for Victoria, this moment was like a red-hot brand burned into her soul.
Her gaze met Marquis Arkin, who was waiting. His cold gaze expressed nothing but a demand. He gave a sign, and two soldiers lifted the basket with Astaron's head. Victoria felt the world around her shrinking, as if the walls of this city had decided to close in on her. But step by step she came out onto the platform.
"Your crown, your choice, your people," the Marquis's whisper was barely audible, but it kindled a fire in her chest.
She looked at Astaron's head. His face, even in death, was peaceful. She felt her fingers tremble as she reached out to take the basket.
Whispers were heard among the crowd:
"She… she takes this?"
"Perhaps she is against him?"
These words hurt her more than any sword. Victoria straightened up, holding the basket in front of her and looked at the assembled people.
"Look, people of Demonia, at those who undermine the unity of our state. This is an example for all who dare to think that their personal goals are above the goal of the entire nation!" Her voice was firm, but she felt each word tearing her apart from within.
She took a step forward, then another. Now the crowd could see her clearly. Victoria felt the cold wind play with her hair, as if Morinfael herself was illuminating her with her presence.
"This is not just an act of justice. It is a reminder that each of us must serve the country. Each of us must remember that in our hands is not just our fate, but the fate of all of Demonia. Even me."
She raised Astaron's head higher, as if it were a crown that had just been handed to her.
"I, Victoria de Luna, Queen of Demonia, swear that such mistakes will not happen again. Traitors, corrupt officials, those who choose personal wealth and power over caring for our people, will answer to me." Her steely eyes looked straight into the souls of each person present. "Here and now I proclaim: Demonia will be united, or it will not exist at all."
The crowd watched, holding their breath. No one dared to whisper or move. Victoria glanced at Marquis Arkin. His face had not changed, but she caught a slight movement at the corners of his lips, an almost imperceptible shadow of approval.
She returned the basket to the soldiers and, turning to the crowd, took the last step.
"Remember this day. Remember this face. He was my friend. And yet he fell because he broke the oath that each of us gave to Demonia. Do not force me to choose between you and the country any longer. You will be faithful, or you will become part of its history."
Her words, like arrows, struck the very heart of everyone who heard them. The nobles standing closer to the stage stood motionless. Even Dreydus, with a cynical grin on his lips, was silent.
Victoria descended from the platform. Her steps were precise and confident, but inside she felt broken. Marquis Arkin approached her, leaned over and whispered:
"You have passed, Your Majesty. I am with you now."
But Victoria did not answer. She knew that she had spoken not only the words of a queen, but also words that she had yet to prove. The time of mercy was over. Now the era that she herself had just proclaimed was beginning.
She looked up at the crimson sky, as if searching for something there. Perhaps forgiveness. Perhaps strength.
But she found nothing.
After the square gradually emptied and the crowd dispersed, Dreydus gathered everyone in the council chamber. The faces of ministers, nobles and military commanders expressed a mixture of fatigue, tension and fear. Astaron's execution had left an indelible mark on everyone.
Victoria entered the hall later than anyone else. Her gaze was cold, but the storm was still raging inside. Her footsteps sounded like hammer blows, breaking the silence that had fallen over the hall. She took her place at the head of the table, and Morgana took her place by the door, not taking her eyes off the assembled group.
"Your Majesty," Dreydus began, his voice sounding almost condescending. "Today marks a new stage in the history of our country. However, there are problems that require immediate solutions. Astaron, as you know, enjoyed great influence among the people. His ideas penetrated deep into the minds, especially among the lower classes. We cannot allow these sentiments to continue to spread."
"What do you propose?" Her voice was even, almost icy.
Dreydus leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling.
"I propose that surveillance of all meetings and public speeches be strengthened." Any suspicion of sympathy for Astaron's ideas must be suppressed immediately. Moreover, we must appoint a new royal advisor to replace him. Such a person must be completely loyal and ready to support you, Your Majesty.
Victoria turned her gaze to the ministers. They were silent, avoiding her gaze. Her eyes settled on Arkin, who, with his arms folded, was watching each of them carefully.
"I am ready to accept this position," the marquis said calmly. "I think my knowledge and experience will be useful to you, Your Majesty."
Dreydus nodded, approving the proposal.
"Marquis Arkin is a worthy candidate. His experience in politics and military affairs speaks for itself. Moreover, his devotion to the cause of Demonia is beyond doubt."
Victoria, remembering Arkin's gaze on the square, his words, cold and calculating, thought for a moment. This was a man who was clearly playing his own game. But it was precisely such a player who could become a valuable ally in her situation.
"I agree," she said, meeting the Marquis's eyes. "You will take the place of the royal advisor. But remember, Arkin, I will not tolerate duplicity or betrayal."
"You will find, Your Majesty, that I can be of great use."
The council ended, and the assembled began to disperse. Victoria was left alone in the hall, sitting at the head of the table. Her hands gripped the edge of the chair, and her eyes were fixed on the emptiness.
Late in the evening, when the palace was plunged into silence, Dreydus approached Victoria with an offer.
"Your Majesty, on this momentous day, I want to give you a gift. I invite you to my estate. I am sure that what I show you will become a symbol of our joint work for the good of Demonia."
Victoria agreed, but her heart was on guard. She knew that trusting Dreydus was dangerous. Their carriage ride began in complete silence. The streets of Shadaria Veila, usually bustling and bustling, now seemed dark and empty.
Eyes from the palace watched their movements. Arkin stood on the balcony, a glass of wine in his hand. His gaze was focused, and his mind was spinning.
"Well, Victoria, now you enter the den of snakes," he said quietly. "The web is already being spun, but the question is, will you choose to let it wrap around you or burn it all to the ground. This is your moment of truth. Either you will become a queen to be feared, or another pawn on the board, ready to fall at the first blow.
He took a sip and continued, as if speaking to himself:
"The world loves to watch tragedies, but who said that tragedy cannot be triumph? I will see you play this game, Victoria."
His voice dissolved into the night, and the carriage disappeared over the horizon.
The carriage rocked slowly, passing through the dark streets of the capital. Victoria, sitting opposite Dreydus, maintained an expression of complete calm. Inside, her thoughts splashed like waves in a storm, crashing against the rocks of doubt.
Dreydus, sitting comfortably, as if he were the master of the situation, folded his hands in his lap. His thin lips curved into a barely noticeable smile.
"You know, Your Majesty," he began with deliberate casualness, "when I learned of your ascension to the throne, I was, frankly,... disappointed.
Victoria did not flinch, though the words pierced her like a sharp dagger. Her voice remained even, almost cold.
"And why is that, Dreydus?"
"Because I saw weakness," he continued without hesitation. "Weakness in you, in your father. Irfan was a great warrior, but a bad leader. He allowed himself to think about such trifles as hope, concern for the weak. Such ideas are worthless in a world where strength decides."
He paused, letting the words settle in the air. Victoria, without betraying her emotions, studied his gaze. Dreydus's eyes sparkled with predatory confidence.
"You must understand that a state, in order to prosper, does not need to care for the old and the crippled, or feed the poor. It needs strength – an army, discipline, and territorial conquests. All the rest is just ballast that slows down development.
— Are you saying that the people are just a tool? — Victoria asked reservedly.
— Exactly. Only those who contribute to the power of the state are worthy of attention. This is a simple truth. Excess resources cannot be wasted on those who cannot bring benefit. Isn't that logical?
Victoria did not answer right away. Her gaze was directed to the carriage window. Streets, gloomy facades of houses and shadows that seemed to be the living spirits of the past flashed past the glass. Dreydus's words caused a strange feeling in her: a mixture of disgust and understanding. After all the events — the execution of Astaron, ridicule and doubts about her rule — she began to see the logic in his words. Perhaps he was right: only harsh measures could save Demonia in the event of a world war.
— You want to create a country where weakness has no place, — she said quietly, looking into his eyes. — And you think that this is the only way?
— Not just the only way, but the right one, — he answered passionately. — Your father did not understand this, and look where it led him. Your task is not to repeat his mistakes.
These words fell on her like an avalanche. Her father, Irfan, in her memory was a man who strove for balance, for the protection of his people. But now, sitting across from Dreydus, she began to wonder if this path was really the right one. What if her father was wrong, and strength was the only truth in this world?
Dreydus, seeing that his words found an echo, continued:
— I am not saying that you should give up everything that is dear to you. But you must be realistic. Dreams of universal well-being are utopian. Demonia cannot afford to be weak. Only a strong state has the right to exist.
Victoria nodded reservedly. Her face remained calm, but inside she was struggling with a whirlwind of thoughts. She understood that Dreydus was telling part of the truth. The question was, at what price was she willing to achieve this.
— Your opinion... is worth considering, — she finally answered. — But remember, Dreydus, power without wisdom is the path to destruction. I am ready to listen to you, but I will make my own decisions.
— Of course, Your Majesty, — he said with a slight bow. — That is why I am here — to help you see the truth.
The carriage slowed, and Victoria looked out the window again. They were passing the central square. At its edge stood the guillotine, still stained with blood. Victoria felt something cold squeezing her chest. It was a terrible reminder of the past, that the price of power is blood, pain, and suffering.
In the distance, beyond the square, there was a hill. Astaron had once stood on it. His figure, surrounded by a crowd, seemed a symbol of hope. Victoria always noticed how attentively people listened to him, how his words seemed to pierce the hearts of everyone present. She felt warmth radiating from the scene, as if his words were reaching her too.
"An incredible man, isn't he?" Dreydus said suddenly, noticing her gaze. "And now he's gone. And what's left? Only you, Victoria. Only you can decide what your Demonia will be."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She tore her gaze away from the window, concentrating on her inner struggle. Her heart and mind were fighting each other, each pulling her in different directions.
The carriage stopped. Victoria exhaled and turned to Dreydus.
"I thank you for your candor, Lord Dreydus. Now I must see your gift."
"Oh, believe me, Your Majesty, it will not disappoint you."
He smiled, and his smile was predatory, like a wolf that senses it has cornered its prey.
The carriage stopped at a massive gate guarded by a pair of black-armored soldiers. They silently let the carriage pass, opening the doors, and Victoria caught her first glimpse of Dreydus's estate. The huge mansion rose from the gloomy landscape, its spires reaching up to the sky like sharp claws trying to grab the stars. Around it lay a dark garden, the trees like living creatures, bowing their gnarled branches in a painful bow.
"Welcome, Your Majesty, to my humble refuge," Dreydus said with a slight bow, opening the carriage door.
Victoria stepped out, her dress brushing softly against the stone pavement. The wind, catching strands of her hair, brought with it the scent of something ancient and sinister, as if the place itself was steeped in a history of secrets and conspiracies.
"Come, I will show you what will become the symbol of our new alliance," Dreydus continued, leading her through carved doors decorated with demonic symbols.
The interior of the estate was opulent, but it was a luxury that was unsettling. Mirrors with misty reflections, walls paneled in dark wood from which shadows seemed to ooze, and paintings depicting scenes of war, pain, and triumph.
Dreydus stopped at a massive door, locked with a lock decorated with the symbols of the ancient Demonis clan. He took out a key - curved, with a handle made in the shape of a skull. The lock opened with a soft click, and the door slowly swung open.
A hall opened before Victoria, in the center of which stood a pedestal surrounded by dark light. On the pedestal lay an object that immediately caught her attention: a dagger carved from black obsidian, its hilt adorned with rubies that glowed like the eyes of a demon.
"This is the Blade of Demonis," Dreydus said, his voice solemn. "An artifact that has belonged to my line for centuries. It was forged in the blood of the first demons, and its power can bend any will. This is my offering to you, Queen Victoria."
Victoria slowly approached the pedestal. Her gaze slid over the dagger, she felt a warm, almost living glow emanating from it. A thought crept into her head: "A tool of power or a mark of shackles?"
She extended her hand, but stopped, her gaze meeting Dreydus's.
"Why are you giving me this?" — She asked, her voice quiet but steely.
Dreydus smiled, his smile full of hidden meaning.
— Because I believe you can use it. The blade is not just a weapon — it is a symbol. A symbol of strength and determination. That is what our kingdom needs. And you are the queen who can lead it to greatness.
Victoria hesitated, her fingers hovering a millimeter from the hilt. She felt the dark power of the dagger seeping into her consciousness, whispering promises of power she had never known. But at the same time, something inside her resisted. She knew that every promise had a price.
— Sometimes power is not what you take, but what you give, — she whispered to herself.
She lifted the dagger, its weight unexpectedly light, as if it wanted to be in her hand.
— I accept your gift, Dreydus. But remember, I will decide how to use it.
His eyes flashed, and he stepped back, bowing slightly.
— As I had hoped, Your Majesty. Now, allow me to show you the rest of the estate.
But at that moment there was a knock on the hall door, and one of the guards entered.
— Lord Dreydus, representatives of the Winter Alliance have arrived. They request an immediate audience.
Dreydus frowned, but quickly composed himself.
— Victoria, if you will excuse me, this will only take a few minutes. Please, make yourself comfortable.
He walked out, leaving her alone in the dark hall, where the light from the rubies on the blade seemed brighter than ever. Victoria looked down at the dagger and whispered,
"Are you a tool or a curse?"
There was no answer, only the whisper of the wind outside the window.
Victoria remained standing in the center of the hall. The whisper of the wind outside the window reminded her of the storm that was now boiling in her heart. She clutched the blade in her hand, its cold metal seemed to pierce her through and through. Each ruby on the hilt reflected a faint light, as if a captive soul was beating within it.
Her thoughts returned to the conversation in the carriage. Dreydus's words, his philosophy, his cruelty - all this was part of a larger puzzle. Perhaps he was right, and the country needed such ruthless logic to survive in a world where weakness could cost lives. But wouldn't ruling by force make her people fear her rather than respect her?
"The world is a chain of sacrifices, but the question is whose blood are you willing to shed to make it better," she thought, looking at the blade. Her father spoke of hope, Astaron believed in people, and Dreydus offered harsh realism. Who was right? Or should she find her own way?
The sound of heels broke the silence of the hall. Morgana entered, her figure, stern and confident as always, reflecting inner strength. Her ruby gaze fell on Victoria.
"Your Majesty, are you alright?"
Victoria looked up and smiled slightly. Morgana, as always, was here at the right moment. Even her presence seemed to embody fortitude.
"Morgana, what do you think of power? Of strength?" — Victoria suddenly asked, hiding the blade behind her back.
The knight thought for a moment before answering.
— Power is a responsibility, Your Majesty. Strength is a tool. They do not define a ruler, but only emphasize his essence. You have already shown that your essence is caring for the people, and this is your true strength.
These words seemed to awaken Victoria. She placed the dagger back on the pedestal, as if making a decision.
— I will not let this blade rule me, Morgana. It is I who will decide how to use power, and not the other way around.
Morgana nodded, her face remained inscrutable, but Victoria knew that the knight approved of her decision.
At that moment, Dreydus returned, his face expressing irritation.
— Your Majesty, forgive the delay. Things with the Winter Alliance have proven more complicated than I expected. But now I am ready to continue our conversation.
Victoria turned to him, her face filled with confidence.
"I think we have discussed power and authority enough, Dreydus. It is time to act. If you wish to be part of my rule, you must understand that in my Demonia, power will serve the people, and not the other way around."
Dreydus paused for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. His eyes flashed, and he bowed slightly.
"As you wish, Your Majesty. But remember, true rule is the art of compromise."
"Exactly," she replied with a slight smile. "And I intend to become skilled in this art."
The night outside grew darker, but a glimmer of light began to appear in Victoria's soul. She took a step forward, ready to follow her own path, despite the obstacles and shadows that awaited her ahead.
Victoria left the hall, leaving Dreydus behind. His words still echoed in her thoughts, but she knew that neither he nor anyone else would determine her fate. She crossed the long hallway of the estate, the walls of which were decorated with massive tapestries depicting scenes of battles and demonic rituals.
Morgana followed her silently, her ruby gaze seeming to guard the queen's every move. Victoria stopped at a large window overlooking a gloomy garden. The moon, almost hidden behind clouds, faintly illuminated the broken silhouettes of the trees.
"Your Majesty, are you sure of your decision?" Morgana asked, choosing her words carefully.
"Yes, Morgana," Victoria replied, looking into the darkness. "But my path will not be easy. Every decision, every step will turn against me if I am not strong enough."
She turned to the knight, her eyes glittering in the dim light.
"Tell me, what do you see when you look at me?"
Morgana thought for a moment before answering.
"I see a queen who knows what pain is. A queen who learns to accept her weaknesses and turn them into strength."
These words seemed to strengthen Victoria. She sighed and, gathering her thoughts, headed for her chambers. The night was ahead, but she knew that her true fight had only just begun.
Later, standing on the balcony of her chambers, Victoria looked out at the distant lights of Shadaria Veila. The city was asleep, but she knew that life went on beneath the cover of night. Secret deals, crimes, prayers and hopes - all of this was part of her kingdom.
Her fingers clutched the railing as if she were holding on to something elusive. Thoughts of the past mingled with thoughts of the future. Astaron, his sacrifice, Dreidus' words, that damned dagger - all of this was part of the puzzle she had to piece together.
I will not let this night consume me, she thought. I will be the one to lead Demonia out of the darkness. But to do that, I will have to become stronger than I ever imagined."
Her gaze rose to the stars. Somewhere beyond those lights were other lands, other destinies. Luminaria, the Flame Empire, the Winter Alliance—each a threat, but also an opportunity. She knew she would have to face these challenges soon.
"Your Majesty," Morgana's voice came from behind her. "You must rest. Tomorrow will be a new trial."
Victoria nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the night.
"Morgana, have you ever doubted your path?" she asked.
The knight approached, her face serious.
"Doubt is the privilege of kings, Your Majesty. But warriors cannot afford it. I follow you, and that is all I need to know."
Victoria felt a kind of encouragement in those words. She turned to the knight and smiled slightly.
- Thank you, Morgana. Go, I'll go to bed soon.
After the knight left, Victoria stood on the balcony for a long time, looking at the city. The night was getting darker, but something new was beginning to emerge in her soul - not just determination, but the realization that her place in this world had yet to be won.
And she was ready for it.
Victoria left the balcony only in the early morning, when the first rays of the sun began to break through the thick veil of clouds covering Shadaria Veila. Dreidus' words still sounded in her head, but they no longer weighed on her as before. These thoughts became a challenge for her, awakening in her a readiness to confront not only external threats, but also internal shadows.
When Victoria returned to her chambers, a new day awaited her, filled with the promise of difficulties and decisions. She knew the world wouldn't change overnight, but she was ready to take the first step, no matter how difficult it might be.
"Strength, faith, sacrifice," she repeated to herself as she put on her robe. "I am a queen. And this is my duty."