Morgan Rice - A Vow of Glory

It had been an overwhelming day, and Gwen was overcome by conflicting emotions as she surveyed the beautiful landscape. She tried to prepare herself mentally to be a leader, prepare herself to ride out what would surely be the most awful siege in the history of the Ring. In some ways, she could not help but feel that this city would be her final resting place.

She tried to shake the gloomy thoughts from her mind. She walked to a small stone fountain, scooped the cold water, and splashed her face several times. The cold gusts of winter whipped into the room and caressed her wet face, stinging her. It felt good. She wanted to be stung. She needed to wake up, to realize where she was, what was about to happen. She needed to stop thinking of herself, to know that it was time to rule, that people were looking to her.

The thought overwhelmed her. She thought of her father, of what he would do, of how he would think. He had taught her to always display an aura of confidence, whether she felt it or not. To make bold decisions. To not show any weakness, any wavering, any hesitation. To give people someone to believe in.

Gwen longed to see her father again, especially at a time like this. She would give anything just to have him there for a few minutes, to advise her. Even just a few sentences. A part of her felt him with her. She heard a screech and looked out the window, and saw a bird disappear into the mist, and she wondered.

Gwen crossed the room, to the spiral stone staircase that twisted and turned its way up to the parapets. In moments she reached the roof of the castle.

Alone up here, feeling the cold gusts of wind, looking out over the Canyon, it was even more breathtaking. She looked every which way for Estopheles, but could not find him.

Gwen walked to the edge of the parapets and looked out over Silesia. She looked down over the edge of the Canyon, and saw the lower half of the city, which she had not toured yet, built down low, hundreds of feet into the Canyon itself. It was breathtaking. She wondered how many Silesians lived down below, how many looked to her to save them. She hoped that she would be able to.

“Hiding again?” came a voice.

Gwen felt an immediate sense of repulsion at the sound of the voice. She turned slowly, but did not need to turn all the way to know who it was. She recognized that voice, and it put a pit in her stomach. As she saw his despicable face, it confirmed her suspicions: Alton.

Gwen couldn’t believe it. Here he was, this despicable aristocrat, this excuse of a man, who she hated more than anything; here was the boy who had tried to tear her apart from Thor, who had filled her head with lies, who had plagued her half her life. Somehow the little weasel had followed her caravan here, and somehow he had managed to talk his way past her guards. She was not surprised: he was persistent, relentless, and an excellent liar. And he was very good at convincing others that he was royalty.

Of course, he was not royalty. He was third-class royalty at best, her parents’ distant cousin. Yet that didn’t stop him from feeling otherwise. She had never met anyone who had felt more entitled.

She flushed with rage. How dare he show up here, of all places, of all times? He had marched up here and had assumed he could just have an audience with her whenever he wanted, and could speak in such casual terms—as if refusing to acknowledge her new post now. His very presence, so brazen, unannounced, was offensive to her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked coldly.

“I tagged along with half of King’s Court,” he said. “To be with you.”

“I doubt that very much,” she said, seeing through his lies. “You came to save your life.”

Alton shrugged.

“Perhaps I had a duality of purpose. True, Gareth is unhinged, and King’s Court is vulnerable. You could say I was tempted by a certain form of self-preservation.”

He smiled and took a step forward.

“But I also came for you,” he said. “To give you another chance.”

Gwen snorted, outraged by his arrogance.

“To give me another chance?” she echoed. “Do you not recognize the lunacy of your words? You can recognize madness in Gareth—but not in yourself?”

Alton shrugged, undeterred.

“The past is the past,” he said. “I forgive you your mistakes. But we both know that whatever happened between us does not apply now. Circumstances have changed. Here you are—a queen without a king, a ruler without a court. Every queen needs a king. Rulers find strength in pairs. Do you really think you can run this great city, rule all these armies by yourself?”

Gwen shook her head. She could not believe how pathetic he was.

“I suppose that you fancy yourself to be the one to come to my rescue, to be my partner to rule?” she asked, mockingly.

“Who else?” he answered proudly, his smile widening. “You and I have known each other since we could walk. We are both royalty. The masses love us both.”

Gwen laughed again.

“Do they?” she asked. “I had no idea that the masses loved you. In fact, I had no idea that they even knew who you were.”

It was Alton’s turn to flush with embarrassment.

Before he could open his mouth again, Gwen held up a hand. She’d had enough. She didn’t have time to waste for this. She had more pressing matters to deal with.

“I don’t want to hear another word,” she said. “I’m not interested in you. I have never been. And I’m certainly not ruling anything with you—not that I think you’re capable of ruling anything. Not even yourself. Not to mention, I am committed to Thor, and he to me. So you can leave now.”

Alton laughed, a short, mocking laugh.

“Is that it?” he asked. “Is that what’s standing between us? Thor? You can’t be serious about him. He has abandoned you, on that foolish little quest of his. He’s deep in the Empire by now, and we both know there is no possibility of return.”

He stepped closer, pleading.

“Admit it, Gwen. You know the truth. You know that he is gone. That he is never coming back. That he has left you alone. So, you see, now there is nothing left between us. Now it is time for us to marry. If not me, then who else? You will be left alone in this world. Don’t be scared. You can admit your true affections for me.”

Gwen seethed.

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said slowly. “Listen closely this time, because this is the last time you will ever hear these words. I have no love for you. I don’t want to see your face. I don’t want to hear your voice. If you come before me again unannounced, I will have you arrested. Now leave me.”

With that, Gwen turned her back on him, and took two steps forward, looking back out over the parapets, surveying the Canyon. Her heart was pounding inside, and she prayed that this time he would get the message, would leave, and that she would never see his face again. She was shaking with anger at his presumptuousness, and she didn’t want to do anything rash.

Gwen did not hear his footsteps retreating. She was about to turn and look, when suddenly, she felt a strong hand covering her mouth, and another reaching around and grabbing her by the chest. Alton held her tight, even as she struggled, and he was surprisingly strong for a thin and bony boy. He took several steps forward with her, leaning her forward over the edge of the parapet.

Gwen’s heart plummeted, as she looked straight down at the fall, and realized how close she was to being pushed over the edge.

“Do you see that drop before you?” Alton cried. “Do you see what I can do? Admit your love for me. Admit it! If you do not, I will—”

Gwen suddenly remembered all that her father’s fighters had taught her. She remembered that she wore boots with wooden heels, and she raised a foot high, and stomped down swiftly on Alton’s toe.