Overtaken

Over two thousand lives were lost in a single day by the favorite lake of Anissa’s childhood. It was home to a plethora of white lilies. She imagined them swaying ever so slightly from the wind’s delicate kisses, only to be rudely interrupted by the spatters of blood. Their leaves and petals would be tainted until their death, which was the unfortunate reality of war.

Anissa let out a shaky breath, her fingers grazing the edge of the windowpane. How long will I be safe here?

She could hear the painstaking cries of those who had lost their loved ones; the judging yet silent stares were eating away at her delicate skin. It mattered not if no voice would accompany their conviction, and her status as a high priestess would forever condemn her. Like the lilies, she was destined to lose any purity befitting a seventeen-year-old girl.

Anissa’s parents and older brother had perished in the war a year ago, and she received the high priestess title in her brother’s place. Having been what the old world order would have called a “sheltered royal,” her life was meant to be easy, and she couldn’t tell if her people pitied or resented her reign.

In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother jokingly remark, “Anissa, why, this is the perfect start of a romantic adventure! Every trending novel must begin with the heroine drenched in tragedy.”

Anissa scoffed at the thought. Drenched, not drowning, mother. She never could appreciate those types of stories. Surely a character could experience growth with the help of a loving, supportive, and living family.

“My goddess, you look just like her.” A deep voice sounded from behind Anissa, and she didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Uncle Cassius, bless the moon,” she replied bleakly. Already, she was shaping up to be one depressing heroine. Could we fast forward to the better parts of my story?

Cassius didn’t move from his spot by the doorway, but she could feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulders. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. He was the heart of the party, working a smile onto anyone’s face despite a dreary predicament. The man was aged in his late fifties, but his bulky frame could rival any fit thirty-year-old. His face was always fashioned with a peppered beard that fell just below his torso.

“None of us wanted this burden to fall upon you, dear, but believe me when I say your mother would be proud of how you’ve handled things. You have the best advisors at the ready, including the best uncle in the world! My services are only free for you, Nisa. Imagine having to pay that hefty fee. Now that would be the most horrid of travesties. Don’t you fare?”

Although Anissa had instructed her friends and family to drop any formalities following her appointment, very few did so. She took massive comfort in being addressed less formally by those she saw often, and it assisted in breaking down the wall that now stood between her and every person that crossed her path.

Anissa rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips pulled upward against her will. “Yes, yes. Truly heartbreaking. I’d have to cut my gorgeous locks of hair you adore so much and sell it to afford you.”

Cassius choked at the remark. “You will do no such thing!” He then furrowed his brow silently as if honestly upset by the matter. If she hadn't known him better, she would have believed that. Yet, it was clear to her that Uncle Cassius was perturbed by something else. It appeared he deemed the time inappropriate to divulge the truth. She would have to wait a while longer to find out.

“Anyhow, everyone has gathered downstairs for your pre-birthday feast. I know you stated you didn’t want to go big tomorrow given the ongoing war, but our people are dying for something to celebrate among the melancholy madness. It’s suffocating us all. I apologize if the day isn’t to your liking. I gave your aunt Claire the go-ahead to plan whatever she pleased. However, this evening is more your speed. Only family and friends.” Cassius began motioning Anissa to follow him, allowing little room for a rebuttal to his little speech.

“Come, come. It’s as if you haven’t moved from that one spot since this morning. What were you doing there, anyway?”

Anissa heaved a sigh of defeat. With all the war efforts and working to stabilize the economy, she had utterly neglected her social duties as a high priestess. A pang of guilt welled up inside of her. Had her uncle and auntie been shouldering her burden behind the scenes? Even now, she was still being shielded from the full extent of her responsibilities. This realization was a painful blow, considering she was already buckling from the weight. Would that change tomorrow?

Anissa shrugged as she brushed past her uncle and headed down the stairs toward the banquet hall.

“Praying for the lilies.”

Anissa reigned over the land of Amaranthian, known for its trade, commerce, and arts. It was, at heart, a merchant’s dream. Being the third-largest governed land bought it respect from neighboring covens. Amaranthian’s most loyal northern ally, Kovesque, had entered a new reign just two years ago due to the death of the ill High Priest Mavaric. The new High Priest Ronan of Kovesque soon launched an uprising to overtake Amaranthian.

The reasoning was unknown, but Anissa’s brother had a growing suspicion it had everything to do with Amaranthian supplying financial aid to Sessana, a small island floating on the eastern waters. At the time, Anissa was anything but engrossed in political affairs, much less conspiracy theories. She sorely wished she had asked for further information, anything that could give her an upper hand now. Whatever secrets he knew had died with him. Anissa’s brother, Christian, was one of the most talented strategists in their land. He was never supposed to be on the front lines. Much mystery shrouded his death, and Anissa swore to delve into it post-war. However, she wondered if it would be wiser to expedite that plan.

A land’s power resulted from its size and the strength of the coven governed by it. Anissa’s world was full of magick-wielding mages of all kinds. Each portion of land housed a coven that specialized in magick unique to the founding area. A high priest or priestess was appointed as ruler over the land. This was similar to the kings and queens of the past world order.

Amaranthian’s founding source was the Moon Goddess, Selenica. Still, practicing other forms of magick were not forbidden in most lands, including Amaranthian. Kovesque’s founder of choice was the Goddess of Pride, Hyreon. Their people were nothing short of talented mages. Anissa had placed Amaranthian on defense for months since the start of her reign, buying her time to formulate a new treaty proposal without losing precious lives. Unfortunately, High Priest Ronan refused her every request for an audience, announcing he would have no part in discussing business with a mere child.

Amaranthian’s defensive barrier held firm until a month ago, forcing her to switch to offensive measures. This meant hundreds and sometimes thousands of mages perishing each day. Anissa was not a stranger to war casualties, much less death itself. Yet, it was the first time people were dying by her command. Though both covens appeared to be equally matched, for the time being, Anissa got the uncanny feeling that High Priest Ronan held a hidden ace up his sleeve.

Anissa must have been too disheveled in her thoughts, for she missed the waving hand in front of her face for a solid minute.

“Aye, hello??? I beseech the High Priestess of Amaranthian! Answer or face the wrath of my sword!” Ezra persistently nagged her while moving on to more desperate measures to get her attention, such as nudging into her side. Ezra was one of Anissa’s childhood friends, the best of them. His unruly chestnut hair and soft hazel eyes complemented the soft puppy gaze he gave her. Feeling angered or overwhelmed by those eyes staring back at her was hard.

A slender woman with blonde hair draping just above the nape of her neck rushed over and practically karate chopped the midsection of Ezra's back. Upon closer inspection, it was one of Ezra’s many sisters, Clover. Anissa’s eyebrows rose in amazement as she stepped back to allow Ezra to loom forward in pain, attempting to hide behind her but to no avail.

“Have you lost your fucking mind??! Being so handsy with the High Priestess of our land while her fiance is right across the room. How dare you. Do you not value your life?” Clover angrily hissed.

At the mention of her fiance, Anissa’s amused expression dipped into horror. Ezra, still recovering, had no time to ease her nerves now. The room was still bustling with laughter, but it became apparent to Anissa that it carried more than a few friends and family. There were several cloak sigils she could recognize. It was customary for traveling mages to wear an outer cloak branding their coven’s emblem or sigil, and Amaranthian’s sigil was meant to mimic a crescent moon.

Anissa quickly discovered that her uncle had disappeared somewhere off into the mass, leaving her to face everyone on her own. Although, it was quite unlike him to be so inattentive to her whereabouts in a social setting. Perhaps he was testing her...or were there truly more important matters to attend to? However, he was right that this was as informal as a royal feast could get. There was no Avante-Garde attire to be seen, yet Anissa still felt a little underdressed compared to those around her.

It had already been a year since her ascension, but she lacked the ethereal presence befitting a high priestess. Those who passed her by would greet her graciously and continue their mission. Anissa greatly lacked respect from the inner court of mages, here and elsewhere. They still saw her as nothing more than a child, and it wasn’t as if Anissa gave them a reason to prove them otherwise.

Ezra finally noticed Anissa’s sullen features and frowned alongside her. “As I was trying to relay, the elders have been waiting for you to arrive before making a proper introduction. I overheard them talking earlier."

“Don't let him deceive you. He was trying to catch a glance at your future husband like the sneaky devil he is.” Clover accused.

“Yeah...well, I wanted to see if he could match my good looks. He’s only a year older than us, after all. They have him holed up in the private room toward the back of the banquet hall. The guards glowered at me for even breathing in the vicinity. Probably reserved for the inner court officials.” Ezra pouted.

Anissa felt mildly relieved from the sibling's banter, but not enough to be excited to meet her arranged partner for the first time. It wasn’t uncommon for arranged marriages in high society, and it wasn’t nonnegotiable but more or less frowned upon to reject. Anissa was still attempting to weigh out all her options, from escaping the banquet hall to running away entirely, when her aunt Claire made her way over to the three of them.

“Your Grace! I hope the evening finds you in good health. There is no time to waste; High Preist Zephyer of the Navaree Coven awaits you.” Claire ushered Anissa off to her doom. Ezra and Clover watched helplessly from afar.

As Anissa entered the private dining room with the dimmed lighting, she could make out the esteemed sigil of the Navaree Kingdom that took the shape of an abstract sun on the cloaks of several individuals. In particular, one young man sat at the far end of the table with his hood draped over his face, hiding his facial features. Despite that, he required no introduction. Anissa could sense the magnitude of energy that demanded respect emanating off him like a sultry cologne.

It would soon become a scent she couldn’t feign immunity from.