SHARDS OF CHIVALRY

The castle towers in front of me like something pulled from a legend-less castle and more a monument to what Grendale once was, and what it still refuses to stop being.

The outer walls rise higher than I imagined, never having been to this place ever in my life despite living my whole life in Ironholt. Down a valley, sunlight breaks across the battlements in gold streaks, glinting off the tips of the high spears and the polished helms of the sentries above. Banners flutter from every turret-deep crimson with the lion of Grendale stitched in brilliant gold thread, proud and defiant even in the face of threat.

The main gate is opened, twin towers flanking it, engraved with names of kings long dead, their faces weathered into stoic masks by wind and rain. The iron portcullis hangs like a threat above us, black and sharp as spears. You could ride a dozen horses side by side through that gate and still have room to spare. Beyond the walls, the keep looms at the center of it all, square and certain, with high towers that touch the sky. There are guards everywhere, guarding the royal family inside, and the civilians underground the castle.

Speaking of underground, I still cannot bring myself to go down there. I am terrified of looking into the eyes of the people, and coming face to face with fear. The sun is about to set, and I'm standing inside the castle with Darian and Gareth. We've been taking orders from knights all day, and as much as I hate doing grunt work, I tell myself this is infinitely better than being out there fighting the war right now like the men at Harrowgate.

Everyone here is fighting to stay positive. We tell each other jokes and sing songs and it works, for a while, before we receive bad news about how many men are dead and how close Elderath is at breaking down the mighty gates. Very soon, we will all go fight at Draymere, because there is no way on God's green earth will we ever let the war come all the way to Ironholt. Thankfully, Beatrice is far away in the South, across water, far from harm.

Something catches my attention coming from the castle front doors. A blond man in light silver armor is stomping out furiously, taking off his helmet and throwing it down. His blonde hair comes into view, and so does his face. His royal highness the prince looks angrier than a cook with an empty larder and ten mouths to feed. He lets out an angry growl and pulls his hair so hard I think some of it might come off. After him, from the castle, comes Sir. Gideon, and that's when I hear gasps from around me. I didn't even notice that we are all watching the scene, and Sir. Gideon coming out of those doors means two things.

Firstly, he arrived last night.

Secondly, he hasn't been seen for the whole day because he had bad news with him from Harrowgate that he probably wanted to discuss with the royal family. Since he came back alone, it's safe to say we are losing badly. That or we just lost and the gates have been flooded. Sir. Gideon looks like he's trying to cool him down, but his Highness is just not having it. They argue for a while, then his Highness decides to go back into the castle. Immediately afterward, Sir. Gideon marches up to us. We instinctively gather around, the lot of us, and our hearts fall when he says the following.

"You lot will tell everyone else, even the ones not in the castle right now. Harrowgate has been invaded, and enemy soldiers are now camped in our city. We have tried stationing men around the kingdom, especially in the harbors, but we need more just to be safe. Some of you will be distributed immediately to those locations...." I can't hear what he is saying.

The fear that I have been pushing away is coming back with full force. They are already inside the kingdom. Inside our home.

Fear crushes me from the inside out. It isn't just in my chest anymore-it's everywhere, filling my lungs, crawling up to my spine, making my legs feel like they belong to someone else. My heart is not beating-it's slamming, wild and useless, like it's trying to run from inside me. I feel physically sick, like I could vomit and keep on vomiting until there is nothing left. My thoughts are loud, screaming over one another, all saying the same thing. You will die. You chose to die. You are going to die. I imagine a blade finding me in a chaos, the moment it goes through my organs, or slashes my head right off. The moment I fall, the world turning dark as my blood soaks the ground. There is no glory in it, just fear that is so deep it makes me question for the nth time, why the hell am I doing this.