A/N: This is a new story idea I've had planned for a while. If I keep getting inspired I hope I'll be able to keep uploading here to finish the story. The updates will be extremely sporadic because, you know, school and lack of motivation. If I try to rush a chapter it'll be awful. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

Rosalie sat glumly atop the satin cushions, moving through the streets of the citadel in a miserable procession. Her sister, Rosa, was wearing a black gown like herself, but also a solemn black veil, as was the custom for the heir to the throne. Rosalie squeezed her little brother's hand. Johnathan looked as if he was going to cry again; and she wouldn't blame him. Their mother had loved him dearly; although Rosalie had trouble admitting it, she was jealous of the attention Johnathan got from their mother. Although now it isn't really a problem. She mused bitterly, hating how grim her thoughts had become.

Queen Rosalind's first son had their father's dark hair and her crystal blue eyes, just as Rosa did. Rosalie was the only one of the children who had inherited the King's obsidian eyes; the purple and the black stark against her pale skin.

The sky mirrored the atmosphere of the crowds. Normally busy and bursting with life, the streets were quiet and emptier than usual; only a few had left their homes to see the procession pass. Although everyone in the citadel had loved the Queen, few bothered to show up to pay their respects. Rosalie felt a surge of anger at this- she gripped her little brothers hand very hard and heard him whimper, but she didn't relinquish her grasp until Johnathan squirmed. She looked guiltily up at her father, the King, who hadn't noticed, but she knew that if he had he would be giving her a lecture on how fifteen-year-old princesses shouldn't act in such a way.

The King, Arthur, married into the royal family, as all the Kings did seeing as it was always the princesses who took the throne. He was already from wealthy roots, but with Arthur and Rosalind, it was love at first sight. It was said that the King was already betrothed to marry the heir to another aristocratic family, but the girl had run off with the stable boy and was therefore disowned from the family. It was fortunate, Rosalie supposed, that she had run away, because if not for that, her father wouldn't have met her mother. Heir to the Rose Throne, Rosalind became the ruler of all the lands, protector of the realm and the citadel in which she lived; the liveliest and largest trading port Rosalie had ever set eyes upon.

The marbled walls of the citadel stretched to twenty-six feet high, circling the houses and dissecting the districts of class. The upper class houses were in the inner circle along with the royal palace, the middle class were in the middle ring and the lower class were in the outskirts of the citadel. The only thing that brought the classes together was the Great Royal Trading Road that ran throughout the citadel. That was where the procession was taking place; they were already passing through the middle ring, and Rosalie looked around to see Guards of the City Watch standing as sentinels on the walls, where large pyres stood also, ready to alert the rest of the citadel of trouble.

It had been a long time since these fires had been lit; and Rosalie secretly hoped that she'd see them burn one day. Not to see the citadel under siege, but to watch the movements of the guards. She had never been allowed to even hold a sword, let alone swing one, and she harboured the desire to grip a hilt and polish a blade. As she swayed atop the drab cushions, and specks of rain began to fall from the sky, Rosalie hoped her dream could one day become reality.


I despised rain.

One thing I hated more than rain was the ridiculous cloaks they made in the citadel. What was the point of a hood if it let water through it? The dragon scale ones they made across the seas were better. But there weren't many of them left, thanks to the poachers.

I ripped my hood furiously off my head, exposing my blonde braid to the downpour. I bared my teeth at the passers-by, disgusted by the lack of hygiene in the lower class sector of the citadel. Peasants simply shouldn't be allowed to exist in such a fine city, especially where the upper classes lived. I had always hated how the citadel allowed a Trading Road run through the city, welcoming just anybody into the middle ring. But I supposed it was helpful to me, and I grinned as I pulled my sword from beneath my cloak.

The peasants didn't even trouble to look surprised, or worried that a stranger had turned up in their midst with a blade. Oh, but they seemed to care when I opened up their throats.

And their bellies. And their chests. And their heads.

Oh, they certainly cared then.

I danced among the dead, adding their brothers, their equals, to the array of corpses. As my blade slashed and glinted in the sunlight, I saw just how dirty their blood was. It washed down the streets in the rain, staining the cobbles crimson.

It was funny, just how long it took for the Guards of the City Watch to notice. They were supposed to protect the citadel, and they couldn't even stop a single woman from slaughtering almost sixty people with one blade. And that wasn't even the best part.

No, the best part was when they lit the pyres.