"Heart´s Sacrifice" by K. Anne Snell

            She rode across the field before the city gates like some sort of celestial being, cloaked in royal blue and flanked by at least a dozen soldiers and advisors. Shafts of sunlight broke through the broiling storm clouds, setting her silver crown ablaze. To the weary foot soldiers crowded behind Prince Alan ar’Maergin, she seemed like a heavenly messenger, come to end their struggle and send them home, either in this world or the next.

            To Alan, Queen Divira an’Dinian’s splendid trappings only added to his spite for this one improbably stubborn barrier between him and his prize. Gritting his teeth in anger, he wished for a lightning bolt to shoot from the sky and exterminate her where she rode. It seemed the only way to be rid of the nineteen-year-old nominal monarch of Sabaal, the stubborn teenager who inherited the throne upon her father’s death and who lacked both the competency to rule well and the brains to surrender the crown to the man who deserved it, whose family had coveted it for generations. For centuries Alan’s ancestors had ruled over Sabaal, until the impregnable Dinian tribe invaded from the north two hundred years ago, pushing the Maergini out and usurping the crown. For two hundred years Alan’s family fought to regain the kingdom they had lost, but until now had lacked the manpower. Only Alan’s father, a trained mage, had been able to impress the unorganized tribes of the west enough to gather an army able to march on the fortressed capital of Sabaal. When his father died suddenly of a brain tumor two months ago – using their powers on others leaves mages with little defense against attacks on their own bodies – 23-year-old Alan had assumed his title of Crown Prince of Sabaal, a title held unfulfilled by his sires for two centuries.

            And now, after a month-long siege that had left both sides taxed of men and resources, Alan would at last come face to face with the girl who refused to give up what was rightfully his.

            “Is she truly only nineteen?” questioned Captain Maarkas, reigning his horse to a halt next to Alan’s. His father’s oldest advisor shook his head as he watched Divira and her men approach. “You’d think it was her manifest destiny to be queen, the way she carries herself.”

            Alan’s jaw twitched in annoyance at Maarkas’s blatant admiration. “She wouldn’t look so impressive without her high horse and armed minions,” he muttered in return. “I called this parley to get her to surrender, not to admire her façade of royalty.”

            “Of course, your highness,” Maarkas acceded with a bow of the head. Alan spurred his horse forward, followed by Maarkas and two other advisors who had been close to his father. They met Divira and her men in the middle of the field. The young queen flashed a confident smile as she met Alan’s hard glare.

            “Welcome to Sabaal, Lord Alan,” she greeted, without a hint of weariness in her face or voice. Maarkas was right; she had the appearance of a monarch well beyond her years.

            “Prince Alan,” he corrected her sharply. “And I didn’t call a cease-fire to play at formalities with you.”

            “Very well, then,” she replied, still smiling. “What is it you wish to discuss?”      

            “I want you and your army out of Sabaal by sunrise tomorrow, or I’ll tear down these gates and let my men do as they will while I impale your head on a pike.”

            Divira raised an eyebrow. Alan certainly didn’t mince words. She looked pointedly over his shoulder to inspect what remained of his army, battered and exhausted from weeks of running against impenetrable walls. Undaunted by his threat, her gray eyes sparkled in amusement, a reflection of the sun-kissed storm clouds receding towards the horizon. “I would love to see you try, my lord.”

            “If you had the courage to show your face outside the city keep more often, perhaps you would,” Alan shot back.

            “Your highness…” Captain Maarkas placed a warning hand on the younger man’s arm, wary of the armed men surrounding the young queen, but Divira only laughed. The sing-song burst of her clear voice sent shivers down Alan’s spine, and for a second he had the sense that something he had been grasping for all his life was suddenly just within reach.

            “Touché,” Divira responded. The ache in Alan’s chest vanished, replaced by cold hatred and the desire to wring her skinny white neck. Her confident smile only grew with the knowledge that she was getting the better of him.

            “Sacrifice as many men as will satisfy you, your highness,” she said, tugging on her horse’s reigns to retreat, “but I will not surrender my kingdom.”

            The hard resolve of her final words rang in Alan’s ears as Divira and her men galloped back towards the city gates. He didn’t move until the door swung shut behind the last of them before spinning his horse around to face Maarkas. “If she won’t agree to compromise, I’ll wear her down personally until she has no choice but to surrender.”

            Maarkas frowned. “Your highness?”

            “The royal chambers are at the base of the keep, near the south wall of the city,” Alan said, recalling the old city plans his father had made him study since he was a child. “There’s a hidden passage running from one of the bedchambers to a cave in the hills just beyond the wall – unless it’s been filled in the last two hundred years, which it shouldn’t have been; it’s the only way out of the keep besides the main door. I want our two best spies to use this passage to enter the keep and capture that witch. I want her in camp – alive – by morning.”

            “I thought you wanted to end this war, Alan,” Maarkas replied wearily.

            “It won’t end until she agrees to my terms, which she’ll never do surrounded by city walls and twenty armed men.”

            “And why not just use this hidden passage to assassinate her and be done with it?”
            “I don’t want her dead,” Alan growled, turning to gallop back towards camp. “I want her to crawl.”

            Maarkas shook his head as he watched the prince go. “Alan,” he muttered, “this pride will be the end of you, my boy.”

***

            Divira woke to find herself lying on a hard dirt floor, the back of her head throbbing in pain. With a groan she tried to raise a hand to feel the bump, only to discover that her wrists were bound tightly together. Blinking the tears from her eyes, the young queen stretched her aching neck to take in her surroundings.

            She lay, wearing only her blue dressing gown, on the floor of an unfurnished shack with no windows. A crack of pale sunlight shone through under the door, but the chilly air caused her to shiver. Divira flexed her fingers and toes to get the blood moving, then dragged herself to a sitting position. Still too dizzy to stand, she shuffled on her knees to the door, which was predictably locked. She pounded her fists against it, hoping to get someone’s attention, but the hard reverberations only increased the pounding in her head. The room began to spin, and she toppled down onto her backside.

            How graceful, the queen reprimanded herself. She considered passing out again when the door was flung open. Divira squinted in the sudden invasion of light, which framed the faceless profile of a man. Hating to be seen in such a distressful state, Divira struggled to her feet and squared her shoulders proudly. The man in the doorway moved forward, and the pain in Divira’s head was forgotten as she recognized the stern face of Alan ar’Maergin. Rage replaced embarrassment as she glared up at her enemy.

            “Good morning, your Majesty,” he greeted with a mocking grin. “I hope you slept well, though I’m afraid we aren’t as privileged in our accommodations as some.” Not that it seemed to have made a difference to her. Despite her bound hands and disheveled appearance, the young queen stood with as much confidence as she had the day before. Alan’s smile faded. Perhaps she would be harder to break than he expected.

            “Do what you want with me, Alan,” she countered, surprised at how easily his name came to her lips, “but I will never surrender what is mine.”

            Alan took another step forward. “Don’t flatter yourself, Divira,” the prince said. “I want nothing from you but an agreement – on paper, preferably - to surrender the crown and never show your face in Sabaal again.”

            Divira remained stone-faced, unembarrassed by the subtle remark and nowhere closer to considering his words.

            “Very well, then,” Alan said. “I hope you enjoy the darkness, because it’s all you’ll be seeing until you agree to leave Sabaal.” He spun around to leave.

            “Why don’t you just kill me and be done with it?” Divira questioned with indifferent curiosity.

            “Oh, I could do that.” Alan grinned slyly before swinging the door shut. “But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.” He bolted the door and nodded to the guard he had posted in front of the old hunter’s shack before stalking back to his tent, wondering at how her name had sounded on his tongue.

***

            Her stomach was growling like an insulted god when Alan returned late after sunset. In one hand he held a lantern; in the other was a loaf of brown bread which he held out to her. Divira resisted the urge to rush forward and grab it from his hand. Their eyes met in mutual expectancy, neither willing to make the first move. After five minutes of silence Alan finally gave in.

            “I’m not going to stand here all night,” he muttered. Sitting down on the floor across from her, he tore the bread in two and tossed one piece to Divira. She watched as he ripped at the bread with his teeth before breaking off a piece with her fingers – as best as she could with her hands still bound - and placing it slowly in her mouth.

            “You don’t have to be so dainty,” Alan remarked. “There’s nothing wrong with being hungry.”

            Divira stopped chewing and looked up at him, surprised at his meager attempt at a half-generous comment. Alan watched her closely, amazed at her ability to keep up the proud façade, even after such a long day without food or sunlight. He had never before met such a stoic woman – especially one so young. She could have been his own mother, for all the experience her grey eyes claimed. Alan wondered how much of it was real and how much was for show.

            Aware that she was watching his every move, Alan’s eyes drifted over her face before going on to inspect the rest of her. Her copper hair was matted and dull in the dim lantern light, and her royal blue gown was smeared with dirt. Only her eyes still shone bright with fierce pride and unforgiving life. For an instant Alan was overcome with the guilty feeling that he had caged a wild eagle. Pulling a short dagger from his boot, he moved over and grabbed her hands before she had time to react. He sawed at her bindings with the dull blade until they snapped, then unwound the rope and retreated back to his side of the room. “You not going to move,” he said. It was more of an observation than a command.

            They sat in what, at any other time or place, would have been companionable silence. “So,” Alan continued, aware of the awkward situation. “Exactly how long is this going to take you?”

            Divira looked at him, confused. “What?”

            “To surrender. Because you’re nothing to me, locked up in this shack. My men have access to fresh water and game from the forest. Meanwhile the city has been blockaded, and the people can only survive so long without fresh provisions. I could forget about you and all of this, but you have a duty, Queen Divira. It’s your choice.”

            “If I’m nothing to you, then why are you still sitting in the dirt with me?” Alan glared at her, knowing he had been one-upped, and hating that she knew it. “I won’t give in,” she declared.

            “Very well, then.” Alan stood and moved towards the door, taking the lantern with him. Before leaving he turned to throw the remains of his bread to Divira. “You might want to save that,” he said.

            “Is that it, then?” she asked. “Are we to both rot here while your men desert you and the people of Sabaal starve to death? Will that be your victory?”

            “Or you could surrender,” Alan replied lightly. With a sweeping bow he backed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Releasing a silent scream of frustration into the darkness, Divira hurled the bread against the wall and buried her head in her arms.

***

            Alan returned every night for the next two weeks, each visit ending up much the same as the first. Divira gave in eventually and began eating the food he brought to her, but she refused to surrender anything more than that. Alan, however, stayed with her longer and spoke less with each passing day. She tried to make conversation, if only to provoke a response so that she’d feel less like a specimen being observed by a scientist.

            “Your men must be starting to talk,” she joked on her fifteenth day in captivity. “With all the time you’ve been spending here, they’ll think you’ve taken on a mistress.”

            It was those words which finally set him off. “How dare you make such a suggestion,” he barked, jumping to his feet. Surprised at such a reaction to what she thought was an innocent remark, Divira rose as well. The lantern light cast deep shadows in the frown lines around his mouth. He looked at her with the expression of an injured giant – whimpering, but still strong enough to do serious damage. Gazing into her eyes, which were wide with surprise - and, surprisingly, sincere remorse - Alan felt his heart swell, not for the first time since he’d met her. Overcome, he moved towards her.

            Afraid he would hit her, Divira put her arms up in defense. Instead he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forward to kiss her full on the lips. For a moment she stood in shock, grasping the front of his tunic in her fists as an unfamiliar warmth began to spread through her, before shoving him away furiously. With a scream of rage she picked up the lantern and launched it at Alan, who barely managed to duck out of the way. The light smashed against the wall, leaving them in complete darkness. The sudden commotion sent the guard outside knocking at the door.

            “Is everything all right, your highness?” the man implored.

            “Fine,” Alan shouted back. The guard didn’t speak again. Alan could hear the sound of heavy breathing from where Divira stood on the other side of the room. He didn’t approach her again, but carefully made his way to the door, opening it to allow the full moon to illuminate the scene. He shooed the guard away with a wave of his hand and turned back to find Divira’s trembling form backed against the far wall. After a few moments the tension left the queen’s body, and she collapsed to her knees on the dirt floor. He face was pale and scared in the moonlight, eyes darting back and forth like a lost child trying to find her way in a crowd. Her proud façade of royalty melted away before his eyes, and for the first time she looked like the nineteen-year-old girl that she was, shoulders bowed with the weight of a kingdom, terrified of her own human emotion. Alan suddenly wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and tell her that everything would be alright, that they would get through this together.

            But they wouldn’t.

            They couldn’t.

            “I’m not giving up,” he declared resolutely, though he wondered vaguely which one of them he was trying to convince. Divira kept her eyes turned away. Without another word Alan bowed out of the shack, closing the door gently behind him.

***

            He didn’t talk to her again after that. For the next week he remained in the shack only long enough to deliver her food. Divira remained seated against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest, although the cramped quarters and lack of sunlight were beginning to drive her mad. It was only the memory of his warm embrace, which filled her dreams every night, that kept her from losing her head completely. Throughout the endless days she thought of Sabaal’s people, how they had cheered at her coronation. She thought of her father. “This kingdom is a blessing for us,” he always told her. “Honor the gods who gave it to us by ruling well. You must do what is best for the people. Keep your head, but always follow your heart, and you will not fail them.”

            “I’ll never be the ruler you were, Papa,” she whispered. The image in her mind of her father’s proud face was suddenly replaced by Alan’s. “But I will follow my heart.”

***

            Alan opened the door the next day to find Divira sitting cross-legged at his feet. Before he could react she reached out and grabbed his ankle.

            “I’ve decided,” she said, staring at his foot.

            He stood in silence, staring down at the top of her filthy head. Unable to stand his scrutiny, she looked up at him. The pain in her eyes broke his heart. Alan lowered himself to kneel in the doorway, face to face with the young queen. “Are you sure?” he asked, almost reluctantly.

            “Yes,” she said, and the tears of all of history’s lovers were in her voice.

***

            On a late autumn afternoon, without fanfare or ceremony, the kingdom of Sabaal passed from the hands of Queen Divira an’Dinian to Crown Prince Alan ar’Maergin. The transition was sealed with the queen’s signature on a single sheet of paper, recognizing her agreement to withdraw her troops from the capitol and never enter the kingdom again. Alan watched her sign the agreement, as proud and stoic as ever, with a lump in his throat. He said nothing, however.

            “I only ask one thing of you,” Divira entreated, her voice hollow. “Don’t make me go back into the city. Let the people think what they will; let them move on. My soldiers will leave without any dispute if I’m dead.” Her words worried him, but he only nodded in agreement. It seemed the least he could do for her.

            She smiled her thanks and made her way to the door of the small hut, where they stood together for the last time. In some bizarre way it almost felt like leaving home. Her shoulder brushed against the front of his shirt as she moved past him, and the sensation brought goose bumps to his skin. Without another word or glance she walked freely from the shack and vanished like a ghost among the trees.

***

            Alan retired alone to his bedchamber after the crowning ceremony, hoping to finally have a moment’s peace before the coronation ball later that night. The last week had been a hurricane of nonstop action: announcing to the people Queen Divira’s surrender, removing her army from the city, and establishing himself as Sabaal’s new monarch. The people expressed no joy, only vast relief that the attack was over and their lives could return to relative normality. There was also little joy for Alan in the knowledge that he had restored to his family the right they had lost two hundred years ago. He couldn’t erase from his mind the look in Divira’s eyes the day she had surrendered, or the sense that she had sacrificed so much more than a title for him. The only thing that kept him from completely succumbing to guilt was the fact that he had restored his family’s rightful title and accomplished what he had been trained for since the day he was born.

            And yet…why did he suddenly feel like he only wore half the crown?

            His thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door. He opened it to a harried Captain Maarkas.

            “Your Majesty,” the soldier greeted with a bow of the head. “I’m sorry to disturb you on such a joyous night with such news…” He waited for the king’s nod of approval before continuing. “I’ve just been informed that a miller who lives some fifteen miles downriver of the city discovered the body of Queen Divira washed up against the riverbank this morning. From her condition, we believe she’s been dead for nearly a week.”

            The well-lit room slid away as shock flooded Alan’s mind. He felt his heart go cold. Somewhere in the distance he could still hear Maarkas talking. “The miller still has the body, your Majesty. He thought you might want to give her a proper funeral.”

            He saw her face on the day they first met, strong and proud. A week later, huddled in the dark but with the same determination on her face. But she had softened with each day, and it wasn’t just from the darkness. She never realized it, he knew, but Alan had been fascinated with her; the tone of her voice, the curve of her cheek, the eternal gleam in her weary eyes. She would always be beautiful to him, even as a filthy prisoner in a windowless hut. Even as a corpse.

            “Don’t bring her back into the city,” Alan said, speaking loudly to conceal the building emotion. As he said it, her last request became clear to him. “Sabaal is no longer hers.” She gave it to me. “Have the miller burn the body, and pay him whatever is necessary to keep him quiet.” She sacrificed her pride -  herself. For me.

            He closed the door on Maarkas. Once alone, the professional stoicism melted from his face. Overcome with grief and the magnitude of what Divira had done, King Alan slid to the floor and wept.