The pride of a fallen king

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Shitz about to get crazy

Submitted: August 21, 2013

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Submitted: August 21, 2013



The Pride of a Fallen King.

The wind blew, lightning struck. The wind picked up more, and the knight’s horses and men shuffled wearily. The king barked orders, screaming his husky voice above the howling wind. Tree’s bent and buckled around him, branches groaning and cracking. As his orders finished, the wind came to an eerie halt. The moon was bright above them, and the king looked around. “Fight, fight hard men. Do me proud!” With the final order, suddenly war cries broke out around them, surrounding the line of men and horses. Shouting and yelling, everybody drew their swords on the surprised attackers. The king swung his katana around, slicing through merciless cries of flesh. Fights were breaking out everywhere, horses and men falling to the wet muddy ground. Bodies lay around, from both sides of the battle, encasing the tiny makeshift battlefield. What the king lost sight of, was the fact he was the main target. He spun his horse in a tight circle, and as he swung his head around he was met with the sharp point of a sword. It got driven straight through his neck, and when he fell to the ground, he bled to death. Painfully, gasping for breath and he groped weakly at his injury.  The disturbing laugh of his attacker, and the victorious cries of the winning sides men. The king’s fighters were outnumbered, there was no point fighting any longer. Hands bound, horses tied to another horse, the former kings men bowed their heads in disbelief and the raw feeling of death fresh in their minds. Following the attacker and his procession, the body of the king was tied by the leg and dragged through the forest floor.


Arriving at the kingdom, the self -proclaimed new king, Pier LeMormoso, gathered his men, and in a toast they all raised their flasks, drinking the tangy burn of brandy. “Tonight, we stay here. We shall celebrate and tell the kings subjects of his death, and I shall claim the kingdom and the land all around. Tomorrow, we will drag and burn the kinds body in the city centre, the after I invite you to bring your wives, your daughters, your families! We will have a ball, with drinking, dancing and celebration!” Grinning broadly, the barbarian threw his arm into the air, glorifying in the cries and shouts of the men surrounding him.

Cecelia woke abruptly, hearing the shouts of men down below her, but then smiled to herself, believing her father to have been victorious in the midnight fight. She softly lay her head back onto her pillow, ready to allow sleep to embrace her once again. But the sound of an unfamiliar voice pierced through her mind, and she froze, clenched her jaw and opened her eyes wide. For what was a whole hour, she lay there, crying with every disgusting word used as she learned of her father’s death. Her emotions quaked through her body, but her cries were so silent that if one were to walk in they would not realise the emotion ripping through her. Her heart beat so heavily against her side, that it felt like her body was being bounced against her bed. What was she going to do, when these intruders discovered her existence? Was she too, going to be killed? Would she be spared of her life, or perhaps she would be banished? Not a wink more of sleep was succumbed to that night, and in the morning she felt confused as to what to do. Hiding, her huge woven blanket tombed her body as she buried herself as deep as she could into the hard base. Footsteps, she heard footsteps. Getting closer and closer, her breathing weakened and shallowed. Her mouth felt so dry, that licking her lips she felt no relief from the dry tongue that swiped them. She dared not move, her fear greatly increasing, pain in her chest tugged at her insides, and she held her eyes so tightly shut that they ached all the way up to her brow. The door opened, and she felt the familiar voice of her maid, Jeanette. “Awaken yourself now Cecelia.” When she failed to move, Jeanette’s usually calm soothing voice, rose with struggle and annoyance. “Get out of your bed immediately princess, right this moment, it’s urgent.”
Cecelia sat up slowly, eyes Jeanette up and down. She was still in her night clothes, and her hair was un- brushed and roughly thrown on top of her head.
“Jeanette, last night I had a nightmare, my father had been killed in the battle, and outsiders had invaded our palace.”

  “Cecelia, that in fact was not a dream. Attackers are in the guest wing, and very early this morning I was informed that I was now ruled by them. Darling, this is a crisis.”  Jeanette’s weary face looked down at her, her brow was creased with worry and dark bags encircled her eyes.


Without even a cleansing wash, Cecelia was ordered to put on her best dress and corset, and prepare herself to meet her new fiancé.  Fiancé? She was shocked, and utterly horrified that marriage was forced upon her, to marry the killer of her father, the killer of the King. This man, in Cecelia’s mind, was the equivalent of the devil. Evil, dark souled, cold hearted man. Surely God would punish him for this, for the terrible crimes he had committed. With a sucked in breath and one last pull, Cecelia had her lace up back done up on her floor length dress. Jeanette barely shared a word with her, and her breathing was shallow and quick. Together, they walked outside of her bedroom door, and were escorted to the guest wing of the palace. So many thoughts were running through Cecelia’s mind. The grief of her father’s death, and then now this?

 “No, no, I will not do this! “ Cecelia exclaimed suddenly, stopping mid stride to stamp her foot into the smooth wooden floor.

“Move it little girl, the king is waiting!” The escorting guard whispered menacingly into her ear. He grabbed her by the side of the neck, and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“If you disobey orders, you will never see the light of day again, understood? “

“Yes, sir.” Cecelia bowed her head in fear and lightly moved off again without a fuss.



The door of the main rom in the guest wing was already open. Pier and three of his best men were seated, all in a straight row, sipping beverages and having a jolly chat. Upon the arrival of Cecelia and Jeanette’s presence, the room was completely silent. The sun from outside seemed through a crack in the window shade and burned Cecelia’s eyes. She tried to glare at him, but the pain made her wince and bow her head.


“Somebody, anybody, remove the peasant to the kitchen, I want breakfast started, and leave the girl.”
Jeanette shifted uneasily as two men approached her, snatched an elbow each and practically dragged her out of the room. Cecelia stared at Pier, ignoring the cry of pain inside her mind, from a direct stare into the strong sunlight.


“Welcome, Cecelia. As you can tell, this kingdom has a new ruler, yours truly” He flashed a wide grin at her, and in return she scowled back at him.
“Now now, your father was never going to rule this place properly, and even if he had, leaving it to a silly motherless girl like yourself? I don’t think so. Somebody had to step in and save the land, before you and he ruined it beyond great repair. I have in fact done this place a huge favour, and as a repayment, you shall be my wife.”
“I will not marry you, you filthy disgusting swine! You belong outside in the mud, to be hung up and bled out for a Christmas feast.  I hate you with all my being, and you shall never lay a hand on me!” Cecelia was screaming each word, slowly and angrily. He rose himself out of his chair, and his eyes narrowed furiously. She stared back with the same equal anger, never looking away from his steely glare.  Never in her life had she been so mad, and her revenge she was determined to seek.


Later, in the kitchen, Cecelia was sitting next to her fiancé, sipping lavish beverages and tucking into her tiny meal. Looking over at Pier, she flittered her long, dark eyelashes, and gushed yet another apology for her earlier behaviour. The punishment for her actions was turned over, and if she was to repeat her tantrum, she would face a slow, poison filled painful death.
“Here you go dearest, have another brandy.” Cecelia stood from the table to pour him a drink, but beckoned Jeanette to get her another decanter of alcohol. Putting on a much too forced smile, to lowered herself down to the table again.
“Gentlemen, all of you are to drink, drink some lovely brandy before we go out and burn my father’s body, burn it to nothing,”
Pier looked at her oddly, and then heartily laughed.
“Seems as though trauma has driven you mad, but if you say so, we shall all drink up!”

Jeanette returned, and drinks were all poured. Watching the liquid swim down the glass into the men’s greedy throats made her smile, smile as they slowly lost body function, and fell to the floor, now as lifeless dead bodies.

© Copyright 2019 JessJackson. All rights reserved.

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