Princess Of The Skulls - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

The training yard rang with the clash of steel as I drove my blade toward Master Dorian's throat with lethal precision. He deflected at the last possible moment, his weathered face showing approval at my aggression even as he countered with a strike that would have opened my ribs if I hadn't twisted away.
"Better," he said, stepping back to signal a pause. "Your anger is finally finding proper focus."
Three hours of intensive combat training had done little to quiet the storm raging in my mind since discovering the letters at my mother's tomb. Every revelation seemed to spawn a dozen new questions, each more disturbing than the last. But the physical exertion helped channel my fury into something useful— a deadly skill that I'd need in the days ahead.
"Again," I demanded, raising my sword despite the sweat streaming down my face. "The prince arrives tomorrow. I need to be ready."
"Ready for what, exactly?" Master Dorian's gray eyes studied me with uncomfortable intensity. "To kill your betrothed? To flee the kingdom? To start a war?"
"Ready for whatever comes." I attacked without warning, my blade seeking the gap between his ribs. He parried smoothly, but I followed through with a pommel strike that he barely avoided. "You've trained me to be a weapon, Master. Now let me be one."
"Weapons require direction, Princess. Blind rage makes for poor strategy." He disarmed me with a twist of his wrist that sent my sword spinning across the yard. "Tell me what you've learned."
I retrieved my blade, considering how much to reveal. Master Dorian had been my combat instructor for eight years, but loyalty to the crown didn't necessarily mean loyalty to me personally. Still, I needed allies, and his expertise would be invaluable in the coming conflict.
"The Thornfields killed my mother," I said simply. "Not bandits. Not random violence. They murdered her as part of a ritual to steal her power."
His expression didn't change, but something shifted in his stance—a subtle readiness that suggested my words weren't entirely surprising to him.
"And you learned this how?"
"Evidence. Hidden at her tomb." I didn't mention Kael's involvement; that secret was too dangerous to share yet. "Letters detailing their magical workings, proof that they've been planning this marriage for years."
"I see." He began cleaning his blade with methodical precision. "And what do you intend to do with this knowledge?"
"Stop them. Make them pay. Ensure they never use my power for their twisted purposes." The words came out harsh, final. "Whatever it takes."
"Even if 'whatever it takes' means starting a war between kingdoms? Even if it means innocent people dying for your revenge?"
The question hit like a physical blow. I'd been so focused on the personal betrayal, the violation of my mother's memory, that I hadn't fully considered the broader implications. A failed royal marriage could destabilize the entire region, especially if it involved accusations of magical murder and conspiracy.
"Justice isn't revenge," I said, though the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.
"Pretty words, Princess. But tell me—when you drive your blade through Lord Cassius's heart, will you be thinking about justice? Or will you be thinking about the woman who used to sing you lullabies?"
His insight was uncomfortably accurate. My motivations were deeply personal, driven by grief and rage rather than noble ideals. But that didn't make the Thornfields any less dangerous, or their crimes any less real.
"Does it matter?" I asked. "They're planning to use me as a conduit for stolen power. They've murdered who knows how many people for their rituals. Someone has to stop them."
"True enough." He sheathed his sword with a decisive motion. "But if you're going to wage war against the Thornfields, you'll need more than righteous anger and sword skills. You'll need intelligence, allies, and a plan that accounts for every possible complication."
"Then help me develop one."
"I already am." His smile was grim. "Why do you think I've been pushing your training so hard these past months? A princess learns court dancing and diplomatic protocol. A warrior learns to kill efficiently and survive impossible odds."
The implication hit me like a thunderbolt. "You knew. You've known about the conspiracy all along."
"I suspected. Your mother's death was too convenient, too perfectly timed to benefit certain political interests. But suspicion isn't proof, and accusations without evidence are just treason."
"So you've been preparing me to fight them."
"I've been preparing you to survive them. Fighting was always going to be your choice." He moved closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "But Princess—if you choose to fight, understand that there may be no path back to the life you knew. Once you draw steel against the Thornfields, you'll be committed to seeing it through to the end."
"I drew steel against them the moment I found my mother's pendant in that tomb." The weight of the silver charm against my chest felt heavier than any weapon I'd ever carried. "They made this choice for me ten years ago."
"Then we'd better make sure you're ready for what comes next." He gestured toward the armory. "Your current weapons are adequate for dueling and ceremonial combat. But if you're planning to face professional assassins and battle mages, you'll need something more authoritative."
I followed him into the castle's weapon storage, past racks of decorative swords and ceremonial armor, toward the deeper vaults where the truly dangerous implements were kept. Master Dorian produced a key I'd never seen before, unlocking a door marked with warning sigils.
"Your grandfather's private collection," he explained, lighting torches to illuminate the hidden armory.
"Weapons designed for war, not display."
The chamber beyond contained an arsenal that took my breath away. Swords forged from steel that seemed to drink light, armor inscribed with protective runes, crossbows that hummed with barely contained power. But it was the weapon mounted on the far wall that made my heart race.
A double-bladed staff, its dark metal etched with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe in the torchlight. The weapon radiated an aura of barely contained menace, as if it were eager to taste blood again.
"The Mourning Blade," Master Dorian said reverently. Forged specifically for those who commune with the dead. The metal contains fragments of meteorite that fell during a solar eclipse, making it particularly effective against both living and undead opponents."
I approached the weapon slowly, feeling an almost magnetic pull toward its dark promise. When my fingers closed around the grip, power surged through me like lightning—the accumulated death energy of every soul the blade had claimed over the centuries.
"It's magnificent," I whispered, testing the weapon's balance. Despite its size, it felt perfectly weighted, as if it had been made specifically for my hands.
"And dangerous beyond measure. That blade has claimed the lives of three previous wielders who couldn't control its hunger for destruction." His warning was serious and concerned. "Are you certain you're ready for such responsibility?"
Instead of answering with words, I began a practice form, letting the weapon guide my movements. The
Mourning Blade seemed to sing as it cut through the air, each strike flowing naturally into the next. This wasn't just a weapon—it was an extension of my will, a focus for the necromantic power I'd kept carefully contained for so long.
"I was born ready," I said, and for the first time since reading those damning letters, I felt truly prepared for the war ahead.
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted our weapon selection. Captain Aldwin appeared in the doorway, his expression grave.
"Princess, forgive the intrusion, but there's been a development. A messenger just arrived from the Prince
Aldric's party." He paused, clearly uncomfortable with whatever news he carried. "They've encountered difficulties on the road. The prince requests permission to arrive tonight rather than tomorrow."
Tonight. My carefully laid plans compressed even further, leaving me barely enough time to finish preparations. But perhaps that was for the best—less time to second-guess myself, less opportunity for fear to erode my resolve.
"What sort of difficulties?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
"Bandits, according to the message. Though the prince's description of their tactics suggests professional soldiers rather than common thieves." Captain Aldwin's military experience made him skeptical of convenient explanations. "Someone is actively trying to prevent his arrival, or create the impression that they are."
"Or testing our defenses by observing our response to a crisis," Master Dorian added grimly. "How many men are accompanying the prince now?"
"Twenty-five. Half his original escort, and several of those wounded according to the report."
The numbers kept getting more interesting. From two hundred to fifty to twenty-five—each reduction supposedly caused by external threats, but creating a progressively more manageable force for whatever the prince intended to accomplish.
"Grant permission for his immediate arrival," I decided. "But double the guard at all entrances and ensure every man in his party is thoroughly searched before entering the castle."
"Already done, Highness. Though I should mention, the prince specifically requested a private audience with you immediately upon arrival. He claims to have urgent information about the attacks."
Of course he did. The acceleration of events was pushing all the players toward earlier revelations than they'd originally planned. Prince Aldric was being forced to show his hand, just as I was being forced to show mine.
"Very well. I'll meet with him in the throne room once he arrives." I turned to Master Dorian. "How long will it take to prepare the other equipment I'll need?"
"Two hours, if you're not particular about cosmetic details."
"Function over form," I agreed. "Captain, I'll need you to select a dozen of your most trusted men for special duty tonight. Men whose loyalty is to the crown rather than to political convenience."
Captain Aldwin nodded grimly. "Expecting trouble, Princess?"
"Expecting revelation. Whether that leads to trouble depends on what truths get revealed."
As they left to make their preparations, I remained in the hidden armory, familiarizing myself with the
Mourning Blade's unique properties. The weapon seemed to respond to my emotional state, its dark metal growing warm when my anger peaked, cooling when I achieved the focused calm Master Dorian had taught me to cultivate.
This was it, then. The moment when pretense would finally be stripped away, when all the careful maneuvering and political dancing would give way to honest confrontation. Prince Aldric would arrive tonight carrying whatever truth he'd been hiding, and I would be ready to hear it.
Ready to judge whether he was an ally or an enemy.
Ready to kill him if necessary.
The Mourning Blade hummed with anticipation, and I found myself sharing its eagerness for the night ahead