Darkness has shrouded the Kingdom of Alvion, the wicked Serpent Queen, Malva Alderton, rules the kingdom with an iron fist of tyranny and oppression.
After the murder of her brother, King William Alderton, the Serpent Queen claimed the throne illegitimately from the King's daughter, Princess Cecilia Alderton, and immediately had the young princess jailed under false pretenses of plotting against the Queen.

The young Princess Cecilia has spent the last five years locked away in the dungeon of Proud Spire Castle, a prisoner in her own home, where she awaits the day of her execution, on her twentieth birthday.

For so long she has rotted away like a common criminal as the days and months turned to years, her young life passing her by in a dungeon. All while her cruel, scheming aunt has ruled and sat on a throne that was promised to Cecilia as a swaddling babe by her father as he looked upon her, eyes tearful.

And now the day has come, as the sun rises on a new day, it heralds the twentieth birthday of Princess Cecilia Alderton, the day she was born, and the day she will die by the headsman's axe.



It was the early days of summer, and yet the dungeon of Proud Spire Castle was still haunted by an unfriendly chill. The cold, wet, dank prison had held criminal elements of all sorts through the past decades; thieves, assassins, bandit leaders, corrupt politicians, spies, and so forth. This was the first time in recent memory had the stone belly of the prison held a princess of the noble Alderton bloodline, the rulers of Alvion for over two centuries now.

For five years now, Princess Cecilia Alderton had been locked away in a gloomy cell the size of a small bedroom. It had a small bed that resembled a large trough, which was filled with hay and ragged cloth. A large bucket sat near the window, a crude and unsanitary latrine. Then there was the window, covered by four thick iron bars. The quaint window looked out into the prison yard, where the Princess Cecilia would be executed in several hours, at noon exactly. The whole of the castle and all of Dalhorst city would be flocked around and about the prison yard to watch as the daughter of the late King William was publicly beheaded for treason against Queen Malva Alderton, her aunt, the Serpent Queen. A truly gruesome and tragic sight for many to behold.

One under serving for one such as Princess Cecilia, a young girl, trapped in the schemes of her power hungry aunt.

Cecilia was awake when the first light of morning broke through the window of her cell. She hadn’t slept the night before. There would be plenty of time to sleep when she was dead.

It was a morbid thought to have at the young age of twenty, but the princess had accepted her fate a long time ago. Her father was dead, and she was the stupid little girl who had allowed her aunt to put her in such a position. She should have known better. She should have seen the signs... the warnings.

But those were all things that she had laid awake at night thinking of years ago. The months leading up to her execution were not quite as thoughtful. Five years in a cell could do that to a person. Now she just wondered what death would feel like. She had seen an execution before (not that she particularly enjoyed them, but it was her duty to attend such events when her father was alive), and it appeared to her that it was a painless process. No screaming or crying. It seemed to be the way to go. Definitely better than how her father had perished... grasping at his throat and panicking while the poison did its wicked work.

As the sun beams cast long bars of light on the floor, Cecilia laid on her crude bed, blue eyes trained on the corner of the room where a spider weaved her web. She didn’t dislike spiders. They were a common fixture in the garden. She decided that was what she would miss the most about living: the garden. Her hands in the dirt and the smell of flowers and herbs all around her. So much better than the dank, stale smell of her cell.

It was probably perverse that Cecilia was actually sort of excited for noon to come. She had not felt the warmth of the sun or breathed truly fresh air in years. While the spider tied intricate knots in her web with her little feet, the princess began to ready herself for the big day. This would be a public appearance, after all, and she would not have it said that the daughter of King William Alderton was not prepared to face her subjects.

Brushing through her hair was a task. While once a lovely light brown that brushed her shoulders in soft waves, her hair was now long and limp. It was weighed down from years of neglect and lack of proper washing. The princess winced as she dragged her fingers carefully through the knots and matted areas at the back of her head, making sure to pick out the hay that had imbedded itself inside. She wouldn’t be able to wear it down, that much was certain. She opted instead to braid it to the best of her ability and crudely pin it back away from her face and neck. Her fingers brushed absently over the back of her neck. Easy access for the executioner. How generous of her.

With her morning routine complete, Cecilia had nothing left to do but wait. She stood on her toes to peer through the barred window and into the yard. Servants were already setting up the area, preparing for her death. Frowning, she turned her attention back to the spider instead. She had finished her web and was now lying in wait for the poor creature that would wander into her trap.

Cecilia lifted her dirty, too-short skirt to kneel before the spider. Tentatively, she reached out and swiped her finger through a corner of the web, collapsing one half of it. The spider scurried to where the princess had destroyed her hard work and immediately went back to weaving.

“No reason why both of us should be bored,” Cecilia said softly.

A sound suddenly echoed down the long prison hallway, the sound of of an iron door opening and closing; the latch turning, the door squeaking open, and the iron door slamming shut. One might say it was more of a brief chorus of sounds rather than a single sound. The opening and closing of the prison door was immediately followed by the clopping sound of boots on the stone floor, walking at a rather quick pace.

Cecelia was the only prisoner in her block currently, and the time of morning and the fact it was only one person approaching her cell indicated it was the jailer, more than likely bringing her food for the morning. But no, it was not he. As the footsteps drew near, a familiar yet unwelcome voice called out, the words echoing in the prison hallway.

"Good morning, little cousin."

No sooner had these words been spoken than the man behind the voice revealed himself, now standing before the iron door that sealed Princess Cecilia within her cell. It was Cecilia's cruel and twisted cousin, Malcolm Alderton, her aunts son, fathered by her late husband Ambrose, who perished when Malcolm was only two by the bite of a snake that had somehow entered the bed chambers of he and wife Malva. The snake mysteriously ignoring the now Queen and biting only her husband.

Malcolm stood before the imprisoned Cecilia arrogantly, as he had many times in the last five years, gloating and taunting her and mocking her misfortune.
He wore a simple red tunic with red and white striped sleeves, brown formal trousers, and shiny black boots with prominent gold buckles. At his side hung his sword, which was more of a decoration than a weapon, as he had never used or even practiced with it, using it as nothing more than a tool to cruelly stick into servants or peasants that got in his way.
His hair was combed over and neatly rested on his head. He smiled at Cecilia with that wretched, arrogant close-mouthed smile, one eyebrow arched dramatically and his cheeks riveted by deep dimples.

He spoke again,"Oh, and I nearly forgot; happy birthday as well."

Cecilia's entire body stiffened at the sound of her cousin's voice. While at one point in her early days in the prison she had longed for visitors and human contact, Malcolm had ruined that notion for her a very long time ago. He seemed to only visit when he was bored of his prostitutes and seeking someone to torture in a different way.

"Good morning, Malcolm," Cecilia said properly, standing to greet him as he stood at her cell. Even though she dreaded Malcolm's visits, she was always civil towards him. She was a lady, after all. Her stubbornness and pride may have played a part in that as well.

It would be almost impossible to tell that the two were so closely related, seeing them there. Malcolm with his impeccable hair and luxurious clothes, while Cecilia wore a dress that amounted to no more than tattered rags and reeked of mildew. She was pale from living in the cell for so long, and her cheekbones were almost too sharp to be attractive from a lack of proper nutrition. Even in that state, she held herself like the proper heir of Alvion. Shoulders back, chin up, eyes level. Her hands were placed primly at her front, as if her dirty dress were one of the ball gowns from her previous life.

"Thank you," she responded. She had not forgotten that it was her twentieth birthday. It was the day that everyone had been waiting for, and she was no exception. "What brings you down here so early in the morning?" Her tone was conversational, but her expression was blank. There was no sign of emotion behind those blue eyes, and her lips were closed into a firm line. She had an excellent poker face.

Malcolm's smug smile widened slightly into a narrow grin, the dimples aside his mouth deepening as he leered at his cousin, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well," he said,"I came to bid my farewell to you, as I won't have the chance come this afternoon. Mother is looking to have your execution proceed swiftly and without unnecessary ceremony. I'm told it'll be a simple process, you'll walk to the block, hear your final sentence before the entire public of Dalhorst, and then, well..."

He made a downward hacking motion with his left hand, his cruel grin holding true as he did so. He raised his hand back upward, crossing his arms again as he gazed upon his cousin. The young girl whom he once envied as the heir to the throne of Alvion, whom he regularly bullied and tormented, mainly out of self-denied jealousy and bitterness, now stood behind bars before him. So many times he had looked upon her here in the dungeon, malnourished and frail, ragged and unwashed, and each time the vindictive joy seemed to grow within Malcolm, and today, it was at it's peak. Oh how he would savor watching her head roll across the block, an absolutely delicious sight to come.

"I must say Cecilia," Malcolm said,"in the end, everything will work out for the best. My mother will rule unchallenged as the rightful and deserving Queen of Alvion, and I will inherit from her a mighty nation, rivaled by none and respected by all. And as for you, you will get to join your father in The Void, as a plaything of Baraxis for all of eternity."

Malcolm snickered cruelly and obnoxiously before continuing,"I'm not sure where they'll bury you. As a dishonored member of the Alderton bloodline, probably in the lower depths of the royal crypt. Personally, I think they should grind you into chow for the royal hounds, but that's not my call."

Keeping a neutral expression through Malcolm's rambling was a true test of the princess' patience, but she pulled it off marvelously. She nodded where appropriate, though her lip twitched ever so slightly at the notion of her father residing in The Void. He was a good man and a great king, and for a pompous ass like her cousin to suggest otherwise was more than enough to set Cecilia over the edge. However, this was not a day for fighting. This was a day for dying, and she planned on doing just that. She wouldn't allow the likes of Malcolm to spoil her last day in this realm. She was looking on the bright side. Today, she would leave the cell that had housed her for five years. Today, she would step out into the sun and face her subjects again. It was going to be a good day.

Well, it would be a good day once Malcolm left her alone.

"I think I'd rather be fed to the hounds than buried in the crypt, anyway," Cecilia said as she lifted her shoulders into a small shrug. "I think I've spent quite enough time in a stone box beneath the ground for one existence." Her eyes flickered about the cold, damp cell to prove her point. "Besides, they have been looking rather thin lately. Perhaps you'll ensure that they're fed better once you are the King."

She had learned some time ago that the best way to bore Malcolm was to simply agree with him. He'd surely lose interest shortly if she refused to bite at his torment.

Hmph, thought Malcolm,someone's rather resilient today.

Malcolm was rather disappointed at Cecilia's currently neutral disposition. He had hoped to get one final rouse out of her before her execution and passing on from this world. Over time, Cecilia had conditioned herself to withstand his bullying and wicked sense of humor, which had grown to annoy him in the later years. How he missed the way in days past that she would become fitful and angry, and even tearful at times, over some of his devious and sinister antics. Malcolm didn't let his disappointment show, he would not give her that final satisfaction of besting him in the end, of rising above his treatment of her.

Still, Malcolm knew there was no point in further pushing Cecilia. He had played his trump card too early it seemed, which was mocking her father. She undoubtedly knew that he was just seeking a reaction from her, and he saw little point in "hammering the wall" as the commoners said.

Still, might as well get in another jab or two before my departure. He thought.

"You know Cecilia," he began,"I do regret in a sense that you must die today. Notice that I said 'in a sense'. True, you are a treacherous, smug, homely, thrice-cursed harpy, conceived by union of a foolish codger and a shriveled strumpet of a woman. But, little cousin, I do think I'll miss you at times.
I'll miss pissing in your bathwater, beaning you with rocks, and burning your favorite books, just to name a few. Oh, the times we had, you overacting to my jokes and whining to your knock-kneed father, begging him to make your auntie thrash me when we were children. So many memories."

Satisfied with his final assault, Malcolm held back from departing, standing still, arms still crossed, grinning smugly as he awaited a reaction from Cecilia.

Despite her best efforts, Cecilia felt her cheeks flush pink with anger at the insulting words he had for her parents. Though she had never known her mother, she had been raised on stories of her grace and beauty. Like her father was a good man, her mother was an equally good woman.

Her neutral expression faltered momentarily as she pressed her lips together in an effort to keep her from screaming and crying at him like she had done as a child. She was the rightful heir of Alvion, and she would not spend her last day among the living whining and stomping her foot like a petulant child, no matter how badly she wanted to.

Her hands balled into fists at the front of her dress, her nails digging into her palms through the dirty fabric.

“Yes,” she agreed stiffly, once she was sure that she would not give him the reaction that he was seeking. “So many memories.”

The princess loosened her fists and her hands returned to laying flat against her skirt. “I am sure we’ll be reunited again some day, dear cousin,” she continued, in spite of her previous promise to herself that she wouldn’t play his game. “It will be so good to see you and Her Grace once we are all together again in The Void.” Even when implying that Malva was a wicked bitch who would spend eternity in The Void, Cecilia used the proper title for the Queen.

She turned her head to glance over her shoulder and towards the barred window. It was much brighter outside now. The execution was drawing closer.

“Perhaps you should be heading to the prison yard,” Cecilia suggested. “It would be rather unbecoming for the future King to be late for such an important event.”

"Hmph," Malcolm grunted with a smirk,"your right, I suppose."

Malcolm had noticed the slight wavers in Cecilia's mostly stony expression, though for the most part she remained composed. And he was growing bored, to his slight disappointment, having wanted to see her crack just once more for him. Though he hadn't gotten the red-faced fit of a reaction that he desired, he knew he had somewhat cut her to the quick. He also knew that the forced composure was rather trying on her as well, which he could settle for.

Might as well head on up, he thought, I'll grant her a parting gift of a little peace prior to her death.

Malcolm uncrossed his arms and shuffled his feet slightly. With a slight though mocking nod and a partial bow, he said,"Well Cousin Cecilia, disgraced and former Princess of Alvion, I cannot say it has been a pleasure. May the headsman's axe be dull and jagged, and may you forever burn in the black fires of The Void. Farewell."

He turned to leave but caught himself just before leaving the view of the cell door,"Oh, by the way, the castle chef wished to serve you a final luncheon before your death. A grand feast of a variety of foods, sweet pastries, and fine wine. I of course denied his request. No sense in wasting good food on the dead, much less a traitor."

With a cold smile, Malcolm departed from Cecilia's presence, his fine boots clicking on the stone floor as he left. What sounded like a short chuckling could be heard as his footsteps faded away.

Cecilia remained with her back straight and her head high until the sound of Malcolm’s footsteps and his cruel laughter disappeared. Even then, she waited another beat of silence before she relaxed her shoulders and exhaled. Now she was free to let her face flush red without Malcolm seeing. Her vision nearly blurred with the rush of blood to her head as she turned on her heel and stomped towards the window.

“May the headman’s axe be dull and jagged,” she repeated, dropping her voice to mock his tone. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She hated how easily he could get a reaction out of her. “Though I wish he hadn’t denied me breakfast,” she added under her breath, returning to her usual tone. Her stomach grumbled in protest at the thought of the feast. So the cook had wanted to serve her a final meal... a proper one instead of the slop that she had been living off of these past five years. Of course Malcolm would have a say about that.

Real food would have been nice. Turning away from the window, Cecilia caught sight of her spider friend wrapping up a small insect that had been unfortunate enough to land on her web. Well, at least one of them would get a feast that day.

Sighing, she returned to her “bed”. It wouldn’t be long now before the guards would come to fetch her and lead her to her death. She hoped they would at least bring some proper clothes for her. No one should have to die dressed in rags... especially not a princess.

And so the morning passed. The sun cruised through the clear, blue sky above as every hour passed by, the time for the execution drawing near. The prison yard outside became busier throughout the morning. The guards began assembling throughout the yard and lining the castle walls above, their red tunics and silvery armor shining in the burning light of the sun. The people of Dalhorst began fluctuating into the crowded yard, peasant and commoner alike, all here to witness the former heir of Alvion, Princess Cecilia Alderton, beheaded for treason. A sort of temporary grandstand along the far right well had been constructed for the noble class, with a canopy for shade and wooden chairs, while the common-folk were forced to stand in the open yard, the golden sun above blazing down rays of heat, making many of them uncomfortably hot.

The chopping block had been placed on the large gallows at the far end of the yard, yet the headsman was yet to be seen. By an hour till noon, the normally desolate prison yard was bustling with people, rather overcrowded in fact. Voices filled the air, some loud and boisterous, some quiet and somber. The crowd held a mixed multitude of feelings regarding the execution to come. Where some saw it as a traitor's punishment and justice, others saw it as villainous and treachery in itself. Not all supported the ruling of Malva Alderton, the Serpent Queen of Alvion.

The silence of the dungeon was once more split by the clicking of boots on the stone floor. But these were not the polished fine leather boots of Malcolm Alderton, but rather the worn brown leather boots of a guardsman.

An Alvionish soldier rounded the corner and stood before the door of the Princess's cell. He was adorned in the standard uniform and equipment of Alvionish soldiers; a suit of linked chainmail armor, a blood red tunic worn over it, the front of which was emblazoned with a golden dragon breathing a spout of flame into the sky, the Alvionish coat-of-arms. He wore worn leather boots, hide bracers on his forearms, and on his head sat a dome shaped open faced helmet. He was an older man in his early forties roughly. A grizzly black beard on his face, skin already wrinkled with age and tanned by the sun.

No sooner had he arrived than he raised a small key from his left hand and inserted it into the rusty door lock. After a scraping rattle, the lock turned and the man opened the door wide, holding it open with his left hand.

"It's time, Your Majesty, let's go." The rugged soldier said, his voice deep and powerful.

Just as she had done when she heard Malcolm approaching that morning, Cecilia lifted herself from her bed to stand at attention for when her guest arrived. By the time solider reached her cell, she was waiting for him in the center of the room, hands clasped at the front of her skirt.

With a quick nod, she stepped towards the open door. She hesitated in the doorway, looking almost uncertain before she took a tentative step out of her cell and into the hallway of the dungeon. Her heart fluttered excitedly. This was the first step that she had taken outside of the cell in five long years.

It was a shame that her time on the outside would only be brief.

"Are you sure you're allowed to call me that?" Cecilia asked conversationally as she followed the weathered soldier through the dungeon. "'Your Majesty', that is." The cold edge that had crept into her tone when she spoke with Malcolm was gone. This man had not harmed her, and she had been raised to treat her subjects with respect. "I would think that Her Grace would not approve of such formalities."

The soldier reached out and gripped Cecilia's upper arm firmly, yet not harshly, as they advanced through the dungeon together. He smiled thinly at her questioning of him before turning to look at her with ocean blue eyes.

"Young lady," he said hoarsely, leaning toward her slightly as they walked,"betwixt you and I, I don't give a damned what that bitch likes."

He guided Cecilia on through to the end of the dungeon into the jailer's office, where prisoner's were logged and "admitted" into the dungeon.
The office was empty. Near the door that lead to the cells was a small desk, littered with papers, ledgers, and other oddities. On the far wall hung sets of shackles from a line of hooks. The office had three separate doors, one was the iron bar door that Cecilia and her escort passed through into the office, which the soldier was now closing and locking behind them. To the left of them stood a heavy wooden door that led out into the noisy prison yard outside. Directly ahead of them was another heavy wooden door liked with iron that lead to the castle's first floor.

After locking the door into the cell area, the soldier once more grasped Cecilia by her arm and lead her forward, past the door to the prison yard and through the door that lead to the castle's first floor. Before them lay a winding staircase that lead up into the castle itself. Without a word, the soldier pulled the door shut behind them and began guiding Cecilia up the stone staircase before them.

The princess was unable to keep her eyebrows from shooting up at the soldier's blatant disrespect for the Queen. She would have laughed, had she not been so shocked by his brashness. From the corner of her eye, she regarded him curiously, a small frown tugging at her lips. She kept silent as he led her through the dungeon, immediately intrigued by this man. It had been a long time since something had piqued Cecilia's curiosity.

Her curiosity only grew when he led her away from the prison yard and up the staircase into the castle.

There were a thousand questions bubbling up inside of her, and it had been such a long time since she had been this close to another human being that was not the jailer or Malcolm. She was due to be executed. Prisoners were taken directly to the prison yard from the dungeons. The jailer had told her so himself, just the other day. Why was he taking her to the castle? Halfway up the stairs, she was unable to take it anymore.

"Sir, where are you taking me?" she blurted out. Even though she was unable to contain the question, her voice was a mere whisper as they climbed the stone steps. She had a distinct feeling that this was a time for whispering.

The man hesitated at her question, stopping for a mere second before continuing to steadily pull her behind him up the steps, though not ignoring her question.

"To the royal stables," he said softly and flatly,"there's a carriage waiting for you there."

They climbed the fourth and final flight of stairs and came to yet another oversized door, it's edges rimmed with heavy iron. The soldier pushed the door open slowly, peeking around it as he did, and pulled Cecilia through behind him and closed the door gently. They stood in a long and rather bland hallway. The stone floor and walls held no decoration of any sort, only lonesome tinder lanterns which hung down the length of the gray hallway on both sides. A single door stood at the hallway's end, a door of iron bars like those of the dungeon cells. This door led into the northeast section of the North Wing of the castle, the stables were just outside of the East Wing.

The man escorting Cecilia suddenly muffled a curse from his mouth as he saw a guard standing on the opposite side of the door, facing away from them fortunately.

Cecilia's escort released her and lowered into a half-crouching position, looking around to her with a finger over his lips, indicating silence.
He slowly and precisely crept down the hall, taking each step as carefully as possible, motioning for Cecilia to follow and do as he did.
He continued to stealthily approach the door, the oblivious guard never turning around.

As he finally close in, without hesitation nor warning, the man with Cecilia leapt forward and reached through the bars, wrapping his arms around the red-clad guards' neck and pulling him back hard against the iron door, rattling it slightly. The guard gagged and thrashed wildly, trying to break free from the grizzly soldier's iron grip.
Slowly he stopped his struggle, a ragged wheeze escaping from his mouth as he went limp in the arms of Cecilia's rescuer, who released him and let him drop to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud.

He then craned his neck through the bars and, after ensuring the hallway empty, turned the handle and oushed the door open, shoving the unconscious guardsman away from the door.

"Sorry lad," he mumbled,"wrong place wrong time."

If it were possible, Cecilia would have paled at the mention of the stables. She hated horses. Everything about them, really. Their size, their smell... their heavy hooves that could break bones. She hated the way they stomped their feet and the sound that they made clopping across the dirt roads and cobblestone streets. Quite frankly, she was terrified of them.

But if she had to take her chances with some horses to avoid having her head roll across the prison yard, she would just have to face her fears. She chose not to mention her distaste for the stables, fearing that the soldier who seemed to be rescuing her would march her straight back to the dungeons where she belonged. Instead, she focused on the path that he was leading her on. She had known the castle quite well at one point in her life, but these halls were unfamiliar. She had never spent any amount of time visiting the dungeons before her own captivity, so there was no reason why she would know this route. She followed the soldier blindly.

When they spotted the guard, Cecilia froze. Obediently, she crept behind the soldier on bare, silent feet. However, when her escort grabbed the other man, she had to force her hand over her own mouth to stifle the gasp that escaped.

"Is he dead?" Cecilia whispered in horror as they stepped past his unconscious form and through the door. She could not keep from staring at the man's slumped body, her eyes wide.

"No," responded her rescuer,"just out cold for a while. Hopefully by the time he comes to we'll be long gone."

The man slowly closed the door behind them and looked down the hallway which they now stood in.



Both ways more or less looked the same, a large door at the far end.
Fortunately, the man knew which way to go, which was to the right. Mentally, he had their escape route mapped out perfectly. They would proceed through the door before them into another hallway, which had two directions from their point of advance, which was a right turn and a hallway directly ahead. They would proceed directly down the hallway down the length of the North Wing and exit the castle on the east side. From there, they would slip through the decorative hedge garden which ended just short of the stables, separated by a small wall with an accessible gate. They would proceed through the gate and into the stables. From that point, it was all about getting the carriage through the city and out into the countryside before the entire capital was put on high alert.

The man headed to the right, motioning for Cecilia to follow yet again, stepping past thd unconscious guard before them. He lead her through the great door into the adjacent hallway, which fortunately was empty. The hallway was elaborately decorated, unlike the prior hall. Decorative golden candle holders lines the wall which burned with yellow flame, a red silk rug extended the length of the long hall to the far door. Busts and small statues sat perfectly placed within small spaces in the walls on either side, crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling.

They proceeded at a cautious pace down the hall, the man slowing as he came to the right-side hallway they had to pass. He indicated for Cecilia to stop as he backed against the wall and peeked around the corner. A single guardsman patrolled that hallway, a tall man with a bulky wooden shield and a long sword at his left hip. Luckily, he was headed down the opposite direction, his back to them as he strolled along casually. Without hesitation, Cecilia's escort dropped low and darted past the hallway to the far side, quickly yet quietly.
Once he was clear, he looked back, still crouched, and motioned for her to follow suit.

Just as the man instructed, Cecilia followed his lead. She pressed her back to the wall, her breath caught in her chest, and peered around the corner to see that the guard still had his back to the hall. Cautiously, she dashed towards her rescuer. Her eyes were wide as she looked back over her shoulder. The guard had no idea.

She nodded to the soldier and they continued their trek. By the time they reached the North Wing, Cecilia was unable to keep her attention on the task before them. Her head was on a swivel, taking in all of the once familiar sights around her. They headed wordlessly down a hallway that she had chased cats down as a young girl. A tapestry hung along a corridor that she had once attempted to climb, only to learn the cruel effects of gravity and sprain her wrist when it let go and sent her falling to the floor.

The walk through memory lane distracted her until she noticed that they were nearing the east side of the castle. They were almost at the stables.

All at once, she was snapped back to their escape. Her stomach twisted anxiously. All of the temporarily forgotten questions came flooding back. Where was the carriage going to take her? Who was this man?

She decided on only one question as the east exit came into view. “Why are you doing this?” Cecilia whispered. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but there were a lot of things that had yet to be answered. “If the Queen finds out...” She trailed off, not wanting to think too much about what exactly the Queen would do. If the princess had been thrown in a cell for five years, there was no telling what she would do to the people who rescued a traitor from her execution.

The man looked at Cecilia, his face betraying no thought or emotion, holding a somewhat neutral expression. He sighed lightly and quietly said in his low voice,"I'm doing this because it's high time that true justice be delivered and what is right comes to be. Malva Alderton has no place on the throne.
You, Lady Cecilia, are the rightful Queen of Alvion. The tyranny of Malva the Serpent Queen must come to an end."

The man looked back down the hallway for assurance and quickly returned his attention to Cecilia, saying,"We haven't time for explanations right now, M'Lady, right now we must get out of here. All will be revealed once your to safety."

The man lead Cecilia out of the castle, through the wooden double door. The hedge garden lay before them, not so much a maze as a simple aligning of large well-trimmed hedge bushes that reverted back and forth between horizontal and vertical patterns. Nearby, just outside of the door, sat several wooden chairs and tables, casually placed around the open area just before the edge of the hedges. This area was more or less an area for casual outdoor relaxation.
Up above, the sun burned brightly down onto the earth, it's golden rays of summer warmth toasting the world below. It was nearly noon. The call for Cecilia's actual removal from her cell would be within the next several minutes, which meant there was little time left to spare. Within minutes of discovering her gone, the alarm would be raised, and the entire castle would be on high alert. It would take a short while after that for the city gates to be sealed. While not in total danger for time, they had to hurry and get to the stables.

"Let's go." The man said, rushing past the sitting area and turning right, walking at a very brisk pace, constantly looking around and back to Cecilia.
They soon had walked down the full outside perimeter of the hedge garden, avoiding passing through it, as it wasn't necessary to reach the gate.
Just as they reached the corner of the final hedge bush, the grizzled soldier muttered another curse and came to a ragged halt, extended his right hand backwards, indicating for Cecilia to stop.

Just around the corner of the hedge the gate could be seen, a small oak wood gate built into a large white limestone wall, which encircled the entire hedge garden. There was a guard milling around the inside of the gate, a wooden shield was strapped to his left arm and he carried a long spear in his right hand. He hadn't seen them yet, but there was too much distance between the hedge and where the guard now stood, he would see an attack coming easily.
They didn't have time to wait and see if he would move, time was against them.

The man with Cecilia reached back into the hedge bush with his right hand and began rapidly shaking a thick branch within the bush, causing the entire hedge to rustle loudly and shake uncontrollably behind them, he did this for several seconds before stopping. The guard heard it as intended, and began to quickly approach from his position, curious to the event. No sooner had he arrived at the hedge corner than to meet a powerful strike to his face, so hard it bloodied his nose with a sharp crack and sent his dome-like helmet tumbling from his head down onto the ground with a metal clattering. Cecilia's rescuer had nailed him with the point of his left elbow. No sooner had he dropped his spear and spear to grab his nose in pain before the grizzled soldier kneed him in the gut, bending him over, and then waylaying him over the head with his right fist, knocking him out.

The princess watched curiously as her rescuer shook the hedge. Again, she was distracted by her surroundings as they made their escape. While this was not the garden that she had spent her days working on, it was an area that she remembered fondly. Her father would walk her through her sometimes when she was young, and she played hide and seek with some of the advisers' children on sunny days. Another part of her life that had been ripped away from her by the wicked Queen.

She held her breath as the guard approached. When the soldier struck him, she made a small, shocked noise at the sight of blood. Perhaps being alone for so long had made her overly sensitive to this sort of violence, but then again... she had never liked such behavior. She looked down at the unconscious, bloody man and whispered a soft "I'm sorry" to him before taking off through the gate. They did not have the benefit of time to waste on proper apologies.

Cecilia brought up solid in her path when they slipped through the gate and she found herself face to face with four massive horses, all staring her down with those beady eyes of theirs. The large one at the front stomped its foot and she flinched involuntarily at the sound. It took several moments of her rooted to the spot to swallow back her fears and take a step towards the carriage, at the careful beckoning of her new soldier friend.

She lifted her filthy skirts properly as she was helped into the carriage, where she slid across the bench seat. She watched the solider curiously, waiting for his next instruction. What now?

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. She was just full of questions today. If there had been a carriage prepared, they must be in for a long journey. Especially if they thought that four horses would be needed for such a trek. A part of her wondered if this was all just a cruel trick by Malcolm. Perhaps this carriage would just take her straight to the prison yard to be executed. All of this was some elaborate ruse to get her hopes up. Her stomach twisted anxiously at the thought.