The golden light of dusk filtered through the tall palace windows, casting warm glimmers across the throne room. Emperor Henry rested back in his seat, watching his wife as she embroidered a tiny crest onto a silk handkerchief. Her movements were soft, elegant, practiced — a stark contrast to the sound of clashing swords echoing from the courtyard outside.
"Our daughter is sparring again," the Empress said with a gentle smile, pausing her stitching. "She trains harder than any soldier I've ever seen."
"We are fortunate to have all this," Emperor Henry said, gazing around their peaceful halls before turning his eyes back to his wife. He leaned over and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "Especially our beautiful princess."
The Empress scoffed lightly, though her smile widened. "Beautiful, yes. But beauty is the least of her strengths. That fire in her… she will grow into a fierce Empress."
"Sometimes," the Emperor murmured, a worried crease forming between his brows, "I wonder if we trained her too hard. Most kings wouldn't want a wife who can outmatch them with a sword."
The Empress placed her hand over her husband's. "Then most kings are fools. Any man would be lucky to have our daughter. She is a rare gem — strength and grace combined."
Henry sighed, letting her reassurance sink in. "She is everything I hoped she would be. Everything this kingdom hoped she would be."
He paused, emotion rising in his voice. "I'm proud to be her father."
"So am I," the Empress whispered.
Outside, the sound of Constantina's laughter drifted through the open windows — bright, untamed, full of life.
Neither parent knew it would be the last time they heard it in peace.
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"Constantina!" a small voice called out.
Little Porter came sprinting toward her, his cheeks flushed, his curls bouncing wildly with each step. Only twelve but already with the poise of a warrior, raised a brow.
"What mischief are you up to this time, young man?"
She bent down to ruffle his hair, and he swatted at her hand with dramatic indignation.
"Papa says I'm a man now!" he declared proudly, puffing his chest.
"Oh? A man, you say?" Constantina teased. "Then why does this man still squeal whenever a frog jumps near him?"
Porter gasped. "Constantina! That frog was enormous! It could have eaten me!"
She laughed, wrapping him into a warm hug. "Of course, of course. A very fearsome frog."
He made a face at her but hugged her tighter. "You'll see. I'm gonna protect you one day."
"You already do," she whispered with a smile.
Suddenly—
A scream tore through the air.
Sharp. Loud. Terrified.
Constantina's heart dropped immediately. She exchanged one glance with Porter — wide-eyed — before grabbing his hand.
"Stay close to me."
They ran toward the village, dust kicking up behind them.
When they arrived, the world stopped.
Flames. Smoke. Blood.
Houses that once smelled of bread and warm dinners were now crumbling, blackened skeletons. The air reeked of burning flesh. Bodies — twisted, charred, lifeless — were scattered like broken dolls across the ground.
Porter froze. "C-Constantina…"
Her stomach twisted violently. She let go of his hand and dropped to her knees.
"Mama? Papa?"
Her voice cracked, strangled by panic.
She pushed aside burned wood, overturned carts, collapsed walls — anything, anything — to find them.
"Mama? Papa!" She screamed louder. "Please!"
Her fingers trembled as she lifted a scorched piece of cloth identical to her mother's shawl. Her breath caught — her vision blurred.
"No… no, please… Mama!"
A slow clap echoed behind her.
He stepped from the shadows with a smug grin, his armor spotless despite the carnage around him. His soldiers stood behind him like vultures waiting to pick apart the remains.
"Well, well," he drawled. "The little princess finally arrives. You missed all the fun."
Constantina's eyes filled with burning tears. "You beast! What have you done?"
She lunged at him with a feral scream, her small hands curled like claws — but a soldier grabbed her by the waist and slammed her to the ground.
He tsk-tsked, bending down until his face was inches from hers.
"I won't have you scratching up my handsome face," he mocked. "I've heard all about your strength. How admirable… for a child."
He struggled desperately, kicking, thrashing, her throat aching from screams. "Where are my parents?! What did you do to them?"
"Oh, them?" His eyes sparkled with cruelty.
He leaned closer, whispering as if sharing a secret.
"I killed them."
Constantina's breath shattered.
"And," he continued, savoring every word, "your father begged—oh, how he begged—just before I beheaded your mother. The man was a disappointment. I almost felt embarrassed for him."
His soldiers burst into laughter.
Constantina's heart ripped open. She spat in his face with pure hatred. "You monster! I hate you! I'll kill you!"
He wiped the spit slowly, his smile darkening. "Oh, princess… you'll learn manners soon enough."
He straightened, signaling his guards.
"Take her to my prison. Let's see how royal she feels after a few weeks there."
Constantina screamed — raw, broken, animalistic — as they dragged her away, her fingers clawing at the dirt, reaching desperately toward her burning home.
Her last glimpse was of the village she loved — destroyed.
Her last thought was of her parents — stolen.
And in that moment, a fire unlike any she had ever known ignited inside her.
Not the fire of an Empress.
But the fire of revenge.