A princess lies in her bed, sickly and pale. Her thick red curtains are drawn and the room is in a crimson darkness. The room is hot, too hot for most people, but for her it is cold. It is always cold for her. She lies in her bed shivering all through the night and day. Her disease wracking her body with pain and cold. She has always been like this, stricken with one disease or another, trapped beneath her warm blankets. She has rarely felt the sun on her face, rarely played with or even met with children her own age. She is older than she looks, her maturity warped by her infections.

She has a father, the king, an old and doddering fool who struggles to keep their small kingdom together. Her mother is not much better, she is younger, but seemingly just as unstable, prone to long periods of silence and confinement. The princess has two brothers, both younger than her. One, Thambor, is in his fourth year and spends much of his time playing with his soldiers. The other, Benyard, is a squire and dreams of one day becoming a famous and dashing knight. Her family rarely see her.

She has a guard who sees her often, Ursul. He is a towering warrior of few words who hails from the east. He is not a knight and therefore does not hold a position in the kingdom’s small army, instead being relegated to guarding the king’s sickly daughter. He does not mind though, the princess reads a lot, trapped in her room, and can talk to him for hours of the things she has learned. Her other visitor is an old woman who has always lived in the castle and helped look after the children. They call her Willow but no one is sure what her name is, or where she came from, she has simply always been there. She will often come into the room of the princess and read to her or tell her stories of the world beyond. Her stories are often dark and sinister, of monsters and magic, but the princess does not mind, she thrives on stories such as this. Willow also makes various poultices that help with her sickness and sometimes allow her to leave her room and see the world outside. This rarely lasts long though and she always returns to her bed sooner or later.

The princess is called Nathalie and this is her story.

Ursul walks into her room and tells her of the happenings in the kingdom in his slow and blunt way. “Wyrous is bold,” he says in his deep voice. “His people take towns and farms in east. He does not stop them. Wyrous is bold.” Wyrous is a powerful duke who has taken control of the various bandits and tribes to the east. He has united them and now has armies big enough to crush their small kingdom. The kingdom is worried.

“What does the my father say?” Nathalie asks.

“King is not concerned. “Ursul replies. “King says if Wyrous attacks the Rently’s will save us. King is not concerned.” The Rently’s are another large kingdom that has good relations with them. They have not heard from them for a while.

“Thank you Ursul,” Nathalie replies. “Now I am tired, I will sleep.”

Ursul nods and walks from the stifling room leaving Nathalie to lie and ponder. She is weak and frail but she is wise unlike the rest of her family and she worries what they will do without her to help them. Their kingdom is old, very old and steeped in tradition. The old traditions may have worked well for them in the past but now they’re kingdom is declining and the traditions are not helping to keep it alive. Many of them naively believe that Wyrous will not attack them, that he is some barbarian bandit lord and wouldn’t dare assault such an old and respected house as theirs. These people are the same ones being forced from their homes, or raped and killed in the east. She wishes, not for the first time, that she was strong and able enough to do something. To leave her bed and speak to her family, to tell them what they have to do and to make them listen. But her sickness has been bad lately and it is only Willow’s poultices that allow her to remain conscious and not slip into one of her too constant feverish nightmares. She knows her family will not listen to her, she just hopes they will listen to the cries of their subjects fleeing their homes.

Next to visit her is Benyard, her oldest brother but still several years younger than her. He does not visit her very often and she knows he does not like to see someone so weak and feeble as her. She understands this and it makes her sad.

“Nathalie,” he says as he enters the room. “I am entering in the squire’s melee. Sir Altham has finally let me compete. Will you be well enough to watch?”

Nathalie shakes her head sadly, she knows she will not be well enough to watch before then. “I’m sorry brother, I wish I could watch and I hope you do well.”

Benyard nods sadly, he suspected as much.

Then Nathalie continues. “Brother you must talk to father, we can’t let Wyrous keep attacking us like this. We must talk to him, come to an agreement, a peace.”

Benyard shakes his head. “Sister the eastern tribes have been attacking our borders for years, they have never posed a threat to us before. Wyrous rules over hordes of disorganised bandits, were he to actually make open war our knights would drive him away, and we mustn't forget the Rently’s, they have helped us in the past. You are locked up in this room and I understand how frustrating it must be for you to try and follow the happenings of the world. Leave it to us, we will take care of the kingdom.” With that he stands up and leaves before she can say anything else. He is right about some things of course but not others. Ursul is from an eastern tribe and he knows much more about them than anyone else but no one will listen to a barbarian such as him. Willow seems to know far too many things but she is also dismissed by the king and his lords as being an old lady who cares for the children. The eastern tribes were once disparate bandits and barbarians but under Wyrous they have become a force to be reckoned with. Against knights, bound by chivalry and tradition, their superior numbers would overwhelm their small kingdom and all of its history and traditions would be gone. Nathalie does not sleep and thinks long and hard into the night.

The next morning Thambor chokes on his breakfast. He desperately struggles to breathe and claws at the air as various maids rush to his aid. His mother looks on blankly, sent into a state of shock by her son’s distress. The maids cluster around him and yell frantically at each other. They do not know what to do and before they can do anything the prince is dead. The tragedy is felt across the kingdom. A funeral is held on the river that runs alongside the castle. His body is laid to rest on a raft covered with white flowers and he is sent westward, towards the great lake. Nathalie is too sick to attend and instead weeps to herself in her room. She did not know her younger brother well but she knew him well enough. She forces herself to the window and peeps through the curtain to watch his body drift along the river.

Willow comes to talk to her after this happens and they speak of things unrelated to her brother. “How old are you Willow?” Nathalie asks. “No one seems to remember a time when you weren’t around.”

“Well that’s a big question little princess and it needs a big answer. The old tree in the courtyard, the one all the children play on with all the knots and twisted branches. I was old when it was planted. The crown the king wears, not the fancy one, the other one, the real one. I was old when it was made. The eastern wing of the castle, with all its old dusty rooms and ancient spiderwebs. I was old when it was built. The old woman who totters about the castle telling strange stories to the children. I was but a young girl when she was born.”

Nathalie smiled. Willow was good at getting her to do that. “And how is it that you’ve managed to live so long?”

“Well I just keep tottering about the castle and telling strange stories to the children. I just seem to keep on staying alive, it’s quite convenient.”

“And all the poultices you give me, do you take one yourself to help with staying alive?”

“I have a great many poultices princess, many of them are quite useful for staying alive.”

“Would you have one that could fix me? At least long enough to watch Benyard at the melee?”

“Well that’s a right big question isn’t it princess. See these poultices don’t work like that, I can fight the disease that’s in you but it’ll fight you as well. You’ll live, I’ll see to that, but after you’ve seen the melee you’ll be a right mess for a long while afterwards. There are other ways to do it you know.”

“He’s my brother, the only one of my family who ever comes to see me.” Nathalie replies. “I want to watch.”

“Very well,” Willow agrees. “You may think differently later.” She leaves to fetch another poultice.

The day for the melee is sunny and bright with many nobles and peasants crowding around in preparation for the first battle which will just be the squires. Nathalie feels better than she has in a long time and despite still feeling sickly and frail is enjoying walking through the colourful markets and crowds with Ursul behind her. Many of the people do not recognise her but those that do call out in greeting and she smiles and waves back. The loud noises and bright sunlight are not what she is used to and she avoids them as much as is possible, but she never wishes to be back in her prison. She wishes she could spend every day like this.

She finds her brother in Sir Altham’s tent nervously polishing his armour. When he sees her his face lights up in a smile and he hugs her, carefully. She smiles as well and hugs him back. Then she talks to him about the event. He is so excited she can barely say anything as he lists off all the knights attending. He shows her the tent and the various armour and weapons they have and she smiles and laughs at his excitement and is glad she can be there for him on his big day. Eventually his other squire friends arrive and he leaves with them to go and discuss the melee leaving her and Ursul alone in the tent.

The melee begins several hours after that and she sits with her parents. Her mother stares blankly at the arena and her father talks to her about meaningless things but she laughs and smiles at him all the same. Their seat is in shade and she is thankful for that as the sun is becoming unbearable for her and she pities the squires who now have to fight in armour. They emerge onto the sandy arena and the horn blows for them to begin. They are all clad in armour and steel and she can not tell any of them apart. They charge at each other hitting one another with their blunted swords but they barely seem to use the swords and instead start wrestling and grappling one another. It is very clumsy and disorientating as the young knights crash all over the arena. Trying as best they can to remain on their feet as swords hammer down on their bodies.

Nathalie tries to watch but the sun is blinding and she feels her weakness and pain begin to reemerge. Willow warned her of this and she tries to sit through the whole thing but the pain and cold grows to much. She is shivering and shaking and gasping lungfuls of air. The shade is too cold and the sun is too bright and she longs to return to her warm safe prison. She makes herself sit there though, she is looking at the ground, not at the battle but she wants to be there. Wants to see the end. But she can’t. The pain gets worse, worse than it has been for a long time, worse than she can bear. Her parents don’t notice, too occupied with the battle. But Ursul notices and he picks her shaking and trembling form up and takes her back to her room. Her frail and spindly body easy to carry in his strong arms.

She returns to her bed and waits out the rest of the event growing worse and worse. The event does not last long. Benyard is struck by a freak blow to the neck and does not survive, causing the event to be cut short and mourning to begin. The funeral this time is even worse. The people sympathise with the king and queen, who, having just lost one son, lose another, leaving them with no viable heir apart from their sickly daughter. Nathalie cannot make it to the funeral and is not lucid when it happens. Her sickness overcoming her. Willow and Ursul have to force feed her the poultices that she needs to keep her alive and maids constantly change the sheets and bedding through her hysteria.

The kingdom is in a deep state of grief when a rider rides to the castle. He is a tall and gaunt man with an unclean beard and a savage and unruly horse the stablehands cannot control. He seeks an audience with the king and bears a letter bearing the seal of Wyrous. The king knows full well that Wyrous is a duke and has no seal. He knows that this man is a barbarian and a marauder. He almost turns the man away, thinking to send him back to his barbarian lord, when Willow, his trusted nanny, convinces him otherwise.

He reads the letter but makes it clear he does not accept Wyrous’s seal and that he finds it deeply offensive that someone such as him would create one. The man does not care, he simply asks that his letter be read and a response given to him. The king devises a response over the next few days and in that day Nathalie’s terrible hysteria slowly subsides. She is still far too weak to move from her bed and finds talking to anyone difficult, but she does it anyway. Ursul tells her of the man and his request and Willow tells her of the king’s response.

“He says Wyrous is a terrible man, a cruel barbarian,” she says. “The letter asks for peace where he submits to Wyrous, it’s a right big question but he’ll give a right small answer.”

“He should agree,” Nathalie says softly. “Or Wyrous will attack.”

“That’s what the letter says right enough. He won’t agree though, he says the Rently’s will help us.”

“Has he wrote to them?”

“Every day for the past few months. He’s received no replies.”

“Can you make him agree to Wyrous’s terms?” Nathalie asks.

“That’s a right small question that one.” Willow replies. “There ain’t no one in this kingdom that can make him agree to those terms.” Willow stands up. “Get some rest princess, you’ve had a tough few days.” She walks toward the door.

“Willow,” Nathalie says softly and the old woman stops. “Should I have gone to the melee? Was it the right thing to do? There were other ways like you said and if I hadn’t maybe I’d be better enough to try and talk to the king.”

Willow looks back sadly and sighs. Then she leaves the room.

The king writes his response and gives it to the man with the savage horse and sends him on his way. He starts raving about Wyrous and the horrible things he will do to him, the savage and barbaric nature of his people and the evil and monstrous creature that he is. He begins to marshal his small army. Calling in troops from across the land who gradually begin to leave their homes and walk to his banner. The queen sits in her chambers looking out across the river that has claimed two of her sons, she doesn’t speak to anyone, nor does she listen. Whispers and rumours ripple through the kingdom. Fights and strife break out across it as people begin to fear what the future holds. The few knights in the kingdom mill about at the castle, taking up residence in the dusty east wing and Nathalie listens to their many horses in the courtyard and their loud voices in the feast hall. She hears them joking about how they will defeat Wyrous and his barbarians with or without the Rently’s, how they will fight for the memory of Thambor and Benyard, how they will win honour and glory for themselves and their families. She cries for she knows they will do none of that.

In the midst of this the man with the savage horse arrives again bearing a second letter. He receives many jeers and slurs from the many knights now living in the castle but he does not mind. He simply seeks another audience with the king and takes a room at the inn. The king agrees, planning to disagree to anything he reads in the letter and send this man back with a message of fear and menace to Wyrous. That night he dreams of menacing words and ominous threats. He does not sleep very much and is very much awake when a tall, gaunt barbarian walks into his room with an axe. He screams but his screams are cut off by the axe. His wife is killed next and then the man makes his escape. The knights who rush through the castle catch no pursuer, only his figure as he escapes them. In the morning the savage horse is gone as is its rider. The king and queen are dead and only one member of the royal family remains.

Nathalie is crowned in the castle and struggles from her bed to receive the crown. The ceremony is short and sad, few can believe that their fate now rests in the hands of such a young and sickly girl, many of whom have never even seen her. She feebly stands through the ceremony, occasionally requiring assistance from Ursul. Then she sits on the ceremonial throne and is crowned. Then she speaks to the assembled crowd.

“My people,” she says, struggling hard to make her voice loud enough to be heard. “Wyrous rules an army many times our size, with hardened bandits trained with years of marauding and raiding. Our knights may fight and kill a thousand of them, but there will be another thousand. Our squires may fight and kill a thousand of them, but there will be another thousand. Our peasants may fight and kill a thousand of them, but there will be another thousand. We are a proud people who have lived in these lands for centuries. We have battled through all the storms and wars of the world and have never given up, and have never given in. If we fight now we will lose, you all know this. The Rently’s are not coming, they have abandoned us to our fate. If we fight now we will all die and our kingdom will pass into history. As your queen I will not allow this to happen. I am a sickly and frail queen who most of you wish was not your ruler, but I am. I cannot draw a sword, I cannot lead an army, most times I cannot travel outside. But there is something I can do to protect my people and I am going to do it. I will offer a marriage alliance to Wyrous, he will gain my hand in marriage and the title he has so long craved. This is something he has been working toward his entire life and with this offer I will be able to demand the best treatment for you, my people. We will not be slaughtered, we will not fade into history, we will ally with these people who have so long been our enemies, and in doing so remain who we are. In doing so remain alive. Many of you will disagree with this plan, many will seek to prevent it, do not try, this is the only way to survive as who we are and I will go ahead with it no matter the opposition you put against me. Because I will put the safety of my people before anything else and if you do not understand that you will learn. Thank you.”

They cheer for her. She did not expect that but they do it. Many do not, many despise this idea and despise her as well. But some of them cheer for her and that makes her smile.

Miles away across hill and river, were no safe road traverses, there sits the castle of the Rently’s and in it are six old women whispering around a cauldron. Hanging from the ceiling are bones, the bones of kings and queens, the blood still on them. The best ingredient for the foulest of magics.