Queen of Cruelty

Elysia had never wanted this life.

From the time she could walk, she had been handed a sword; she had learned to balance its weight in her hands; she had learned how to fight—where to strike, how deep to cut. 

A princess must be strong, her father would say. A princess must be the strongest fighter in her kingdom.

But Elysia had never wanted to fight. She had never wanted to kill.

She was ten when she took her first life. She remembered how easily the blade had pierced through that soldier’s body, cutting straight through his heart as though it were made of butter. How she had stumbled back in shock, and then terror, slipping on the growing pool of blood, knees crashing against the cold marble floor. How she had been dragged, kicking and screaming, back to her chambers; how she had locked herself away and hurled her guts up until she was choking on nothing but air, cried until her eyes were dry and red and stinging and she had no tears left to cry.

How easy it had been to steal another’s life.

Her father had found her there later that night, curled up tight on her side, skin caked with dried blood, eyes frozen wide-open. She was shaking, every inch of her trembling in pure horror. Her father had simply drawn the bath, letting the warm water soothe her as he scrubbed, ever-so-gently, the blood from her hands.

“Someday, my princess,” the king said, voice cold, steady, unfazed. “Someday, you may rule this kingdom. And there are many things you have left to learn.”

But Elysia had never wanted to learn them.

-

The sound of swords clashing rang in Elysia’s ears like music, a symphony all on its own.

She was eighteen now, and she had taken many lives since then. Each time, it tore away another piece of her; each time, it got a little easier. Her sword had become her friend, the battle had become her home, and the clashing of swords, this was her song.

But today… today was different. Her opponent was different.

Lucian.

Her brother.

Her best friend.

The boy she was supposed to kill.

She swung her sword at him, their blades slamming against each other, then spun around to strike again. Swing, strike, block, duck, again and again, a whirling dance of gleaming silver.

On one side, a princess with a heart of gold. On the other, a prince with a heart of steel. Between them, eighteen years of history. She could remember being chased down castle hallways, hiding behind the castle curtains. Hand in hand, racing around castle courtyards, eavesdropping on lords and ladies.

Their father had pulled them aside with a grip of solid iron and a sharp glint in his eyes.

“One day,” he told them. “One day, one of you will be my heir.” He had taken each of their hands in one of his own, meeting each of their gazes with a long, heavy stare. Elysia couldn’t help but squirm under the full force of it, in the ominous silence and dim lighting of a king’s office. “The other will die.”

Elysia and Lucian flinched in shock, eyes widening in fear as the full weight of the words hit them, but they kept their eyes fixed intently on their father.



“It is a long tradition of this kingdom,” the king had continued, standing to move around his office, stopping behind his desk to run his fingers along the tapestry that stretched from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Elysia and Lucian could only stare, frozen, mesmerized by the beauty of it—centuries of history woven into a work of art. “Only the strongest may rule our kingdom. Our ancestors learned that lesson the hard way, many generations ago. That our children must be strong, and that to be strong, they must learn that strength. True strength. Cruelty—the cruelty to do what must be done, even when every inch of your being screams in rebellion against yourself.”

The king’s gaze softened at the pure terror in his children’s eyes. “There is no room for a soft hear within these castle walls, my Elysia. My Lucian. You have many years to learn. Use them wisely.”

Elysia spun around, twisting away from Lucian’s blade, raising her own at the last second to block the next deadly strike. She was on the defense now, each move a desperate shot at survival.

Lucian was better than her. Stronger. Crueler.

She could see it in his eyes, hard and empty, merciless. He had learned their father’s lessons well. She knew it. He knew it. The whole kingdom knew it.

They all expected her to die today.

And she would die. Would bleed out on the same cold marble floor where she had taken so many lives herself. Lucian would be the king, and he would be hard and cold and cruel. How had this happened? She had done what was asked of her. She had learned to fight, dedicated her life to it, practicing relentlessly even on days when every inch of her body was covered in scrapes and bruises, when she could barely stand on her own two feet, until she could not even tell where she ended and the sword began. And she had killed, she had fought and killed who they told her to fight and kill because that was cruelty and cruelty was strength and Elysia had to be strong if she wanted to survive, and Elysia did not want to die.

That was the difference between her and her brother, the reason he would be king and she would be dead. Elysia did what she had to do to survive. Lucian…

Lucian did what he had to do because he didn’t care.

“Give it up, Elysia,” Lucian had said just a few hours ago. “We both know how this ends.”

“And how does this end?” Elysia had asked. But Elysia knew how this ended. Lucian knew it, too.

“You’re too good.” He turned to her with pity shining in those cold eyes. “Too pure.”

Elysia bristled at the accusation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucian only sighed, rolling his eyes. As though she were nothing but a child, a nuisance. “You were never meant to rule this kingdom, Elysia. You were born weak. You have a big heart, and I admire that—” a blatant lie, she knew— “but a weak one. You will lose this fight. Give up, and I will show you mercy. A quick death. I have never wanted to cause you pain.”

Elysia knew it was a lie. Yes, he would kill her quickly, but not out of mercy. No, Lucian did not know mercy. She wanted to scream at his mocking pity, his arrogance. She tried to remember how those eyes had once looked, bright and shining with love and mischief, but the image slipped right through her fingers. It had been too long.

She had loved him, once. Now, she would kill him.

In that moment, Elysia let all of her rage, all of her pain, channel into her sword. She had tried so hard to learn cruelty and she had failed, over and over, but she thought she might be beginning to understand it now.

She lashed out at Lucian, blade moving with new intensity, new ferocity as she swung, again and again, weakening his defenses, targeting his every weak spot, too fast, too sudden, for him to counter every strike.

Lucian was not stronger than her, not like they all thought. He was crueler, yes, but that cruelty had been learned. Elysia could learn it, too.

With one rapid strike, she had knocked Lucian to the ground, sword point at his neck. She had stifled her pain, her anger, for far too long. She glanced around her, finding her father in the audience. He met her gaze with knowing pride, gave her the smallest and most imperceptible of nods.

And when she turned back to Lucian, it was with a devil’s gleam shining in her eyes. With one last wicked smile, the princess plunged her blade into the prince’s heart.

Yes, she would learn to be cruel.

She would learn to be Queen.