A Queen's Choice

She stared out at the city. Now engulfed in flames. The orange lights shining brightly against the dark buildings erected throughout the many districts of the city. Though the fog that descended upon the city's moonlit streets gave the fires a fairly beautiful look, the Queen knew why these fires had been started in the first place. In direct protest of her handling of the plague.

Behind closed doors, the Queen invested everything she could into discovering a cure for this plague that had managed to sweep through her city in record time. However progress was slow, and her entire medical staff were becoming sick themselves working with these rats. As if the precautions that they had taken to keep themselves safe were still ineffective.

The plague had managed to clear a path towards the heart of the city itself, and the Queen found herself at a crossroads. There were many paths to choose from. Some that would definitely lead to her demise, while some that could potentially save herself. However choosing these paths would leave the city to ruin, though her bloodline would continue.

The Queen sipped from her glass. The wine held inside shaking with the Queen’s trembling hands. The people had grown tired and untrusting of their Queen and demanded a cure. A cure that she could not provide. In her mind, the people had every right to be angered. However, she feared for her people’s lives as they tore down their own kingdom in protest.

Suddenly, the lights that illuminated her office shut off. Without warning. The Queen heard an explosion some distance away a few moments after. She saw a brighter ball of fire rise into the sky near the south eastern quadrant of her city. Where many of the watermills powered the city's electrical systems. The Queen dropped her glass in a panic. The glass shattered against the wooden floor, spilling shards of glass as well as a deep red wine all across the floor.

The Queen took small steps away from her window. The crossroads was now growing closer to her. It was apparent that she had to make a choice, one way or another. Attempt to quell the riots and save her city, or abandon ship and leave with her head on her shoulders.

Either way, she was running out of time.

Familiar metal footfalls rapidly approached her office. The Queen could hear them through the walls of her chamber. The Queen felt a small wave of relief wash through her as her royal guard thrust open her door. The Queen’s last line of defense, sporting the kingdom’s insignia proudly on their chest. Though they labored through the halls carrying heavy metal laden armor across their backs, they made up for their loud and slow jogs for fighting prowess.

The commander of this small troupe of guards. A taller, bald man, with brighter eyes and a worried look on his face. One that had seen many events in his lifetime, but one that was more concerned with the monarch’s safety than his own. He knelt before the Queen and held his head low to the ground in reverence. The other guards soon followed his lead.

“Your grace,” the man began. “The rioters have taken advantage of the blackout and are pushing through the front gates. We must bring you to your safe room, immediately.”

“Of course.” The Queen spoke, choking back the fear as much as she could. To keep a proud and professional appearance before her servants. “Immediately.”

The Commander had his men form a ring around the Queen. The Commander would take the lead while two watched the Queen’s sides and two more watched the back. With The Queen safely placed inside the middle of this circle. With the order in place, The Commander began to lead them through the darkened hallways of the castle.

The Queen could hear the sounds of swords clashing against metal as they moved through the halls. She heard the sounds of swords piercing flesh and the screams of the dying. It made her head pound against her skull and her heart beat up into her throat. But she kept low, as The Commander had ordered, as they moved away from the cries of agony.

Eventually, the small group came to a locked cellar door. The Commander removed a ring of keys from his side and quickly flipped through each one. Inspecting them closely, he searched for the one that went for the specific door. Though The Queen had four bodyguards posted around her, she still felt the need to look over her shoulder. Just in case she saw something that her followers could not.

The Commander gasped in joy as the key he had selected clicked inside the lock. He opened the door which led to a narrow set of stairs. There were two flights to these stairs and they led towards another long  hallway. It would be difficult to keep up their current positioning with how narrow these stairs were, so they adjusted accordingly.

The Commander would remain in front. With another guard positioned behind him. Then The Queen would be behind him with the other three guards just behind her. The Commander was quite confident in his abilities and The Queen trusted his judgement. The Queen picked up her dress and began to follow her guards down the stairs. Keeping an eye on her feet, to make sure they did not tangle with anything.

“Now!” A voice yelled from further down the stairs. Suddenly, the single torch that lit this section of the stairwell went out. The Queen’s vision went black as she heard blades sing as they were removed from their metal scabbards. Then came The Commander’s noticeable roar for combat. Followed by the clashing of steel and the flying of sparks. These sparks gave The Queen glimpses of the combat that was now happening all around her. 

Suddenly, The Queen felt a hand, warm and wet with (what she had assumed) blood, grab her arm. The hand was not a similar gloved hand to that of a guard’s. It was a slimmer, more lanky. One that did not feel familiar in any sense. The Queen attempted to fight back against the hand and push herself away from it.

The Queen attempted to call out to The Commander for help. However, she felt her heel slip away from the stairs. Losing her footing amongst the chaos. The ground moved out from under the queen and she screamed as she and her attacker fell from the stairs. To meet an unsavory end at the bottom of the stairs.