Sorina:

  “I should be thanking both of you for your help. You have been instrumental in all of this.”

  Riddeck and Yasna share a look before nodding.

  “Of course Princess. Anything to serve you.”

  “For the Kingdom,” Yasna corrects. But she gives me a wink and I can’t help but smile. We stand on the ramparts, overlooking the briars. Stars dot the violet night sky. Torchlight flickers in the cold. Other guards mill about the walls, some yawning, some rapt at attention.

  I hope for more of the yawning sort. It’ll make Kara’s raid tonight much easier.

  “Riddeck, be sure that tonight, you draw the guards away from the raiders. Have them focus on minding the destruction.”

  “Yes, Princess.” He gives me a salute and takes his leave afterwards. A loyal soldier, he is. Well, loyal to my father. But, I try not to think about that for now.

  It was a miracle that my father even entertained my idea. In his missive about arresting Duke Rothbore, he gave no greetings to his formerly “deceased” daughter. Rather, he simply noted the funds that were missing and charged Rothbore.

  Knowing him, it could be a sign of respect for my tact. Either that, or he’s long considered me dead—ever since he sent me away.

  I can’t tell which.

  “Is something bothering you, Princess?” Yasna asks.

  I sigh, leaning against the wooden walls. “I forgot how exhausting this all is.”

  Yasna laughs. “That is very true. I find that hours of endless calculation that I endure is much more preferable to even a minute of politicking.”

  “Yet you did it anyways.”

  “Of course.”

  I turn to her, narrowing my eyes. “Why have you helped me so much? I understand with Riddeck but… you have a lot to lose.”

  “Do I?”

  “You said it yourself. Your family.”

  “Ah yes,” Yasna acknowledges, sighing now. She joins me in watching the briars below. The trees sway in the wind and the leaves rattle softly, whispering false promises of peace. “They are in Catolica. Away from all of this. Still, I helped you for two reasons.”

  She looks into my eyes now. “One, because I like you—I was quite fond of your childhood pranks. You always made court life interesting.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “And secondly, because… I’m old.”

  I stifle the quippy response I was preparing, a feeling of melancholy now taking hold. “Don’t say that—you’re a spry young woman Yasna. You look no older than thirty.”

  The accountant raises an eyebrow.

  “35?”

  She flicks my shoulder after that.

  “Alright, alright, 40. But I’m not going any higher than that—”

  “I thank you for your kind words, Princess, but that’s not what I meant. When you told me of your plan, I realized I could help my kingdom and subsequently, my family. Even if there is risk to me, it doesn’t matter as much anymore. I’m already one foot in the grave. Literally,” She hauls her foot on the wall and shakes it around for emphasis. “Look at this limp old thing. Useless.” Yasna barks a laugh at that.

  I stay silent.

  “Don’t be sad, Princess. It’s a good thing. I can take risks, if they are worth it. And you are worth it.”

  “Yasna I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “You’ve said that already.”

  “I know. I’m just saying it again.”

  “You’re welcome then, again, my Princess.”

  We both turn back to the view after that. The moon is crescent-shaped tonight. I stare at it and think about some useless, paltry things. Things that shouldn’t enter my mind—but always insist upon berating me in quiet moments.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” Yasna asks.

  I don’t respond. After all, why should I? I’ve been avoiding this subject for a few weeks now. Why break the streak here?

  But also, why shouldn’t I?

  I’ve won the homefront battle.

  Maybe now it's time to resolve everything else.

  “Have you ever—” I pause, formulating my thoughts. “Have you ever seen someone you care about do something extremely stupid? And you tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen?”

  “Ah. I see. This is about the boy then. The one that left when you came here.”

  “He’s not a—”

  “Not a boy? Please. You are all children to someone like me. But even more than that, what he did was particularly boyish. Wasn’t it?”

  “I… I guess you could put it like that.”

  “Hmm. When Catolica was fighting the Dragon Wars, we formed the 51st legion. Do you remember this?”

  I nod, thinking back to how Pamela described them. Charred corpses.

  “My husband, fool that he was, decided to join up as an officer. I told him that he had already served his time—the was too old for war. I begged him not to leave me. Do you know what he said?”

  I have an idea, but I shake my head.

  “He told me ‘it would be an honor to serve my country again.’ And then he went out with that doomed legion. And for months, I was alone because I was also away from my children. And I grew bitter. I learned to hate the man that I once loved. And I told myself that if he ever came back, I would leave him. I would tell him how selfish he was and I would divorce him.”

  I hesitate before trying to fill in the gaps: “He didn’t come back, did he?”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She shakes her head. “He did come back. One of the few that survived. But when I went to see him in the camps, his entire body was mangled. His legs were missing. It was a miracle that he lived. I looked at him and I tried to steel myself to leave him. Horrible, right? To leave the man in such a wretched state. But I was hurt. And I felt so—so angry.”

  One of Yasna’s fists tightens. Her body shakes with tension. But then, she sighs.

  “However, when he saw me, he wept. I had never seen my husband cry—not in our 20 years of marriage. He was a man of duty and honor and all the stupid things that men think are important. And yet he wept like a babe when he saw me standing next to him. And he told me how much he missed me. How I was right—how he shouldn’t have left. How… how sorry he was.”

  I remember to breathe, trying to distract myself with the sight of the moon now. It doesn’t help.

  Yasna continues. “So I stayed with him. I stayed with him throughout all of it. I buried my hate and slowly, learned to love him once more. I never fully forgave him. I think I might’ve been able to, but he left me again. This time in death.”

  The old woman grabs my shoulder now and turns me towards her.

  “I don’t know if what I did was right or not. But I do know that hiding it all away was always the worse option. Do you understand me?”

  The poor lady is crying. I don’t think she even realizes it. Tears wet her wrinkled cheeks, giving them a flush, youthful sheen. She must’ve been beautiful when she was young.

  Slowly, I give her a nod.

  “Good. I’m glad—”

  I hug Yasna and pat her back. “You are not a horrible person, Yasna. In fact, you might be one of the few good people left on this wretched continent. So, thank you.”

  “You said that already—”

  “I know,” I say, smiling now. “I’m just saying it again.”

  …

  “Alright, I gave you permission to investigate this. Do you know what I didn’t give you permission to do?”

  “Uh… insult his three chins—”

  “Arrest him!” Pamela snaps, slamming the war room table. Her hand jitters up and I can see the red swellings of a bruise already forming along her wrist. She does well to hide the pain, puffing her cheeks and biting her tongue.

  I scoff. “Investigations usually entail follow-through. He was clearly stealing from the kingdom—from you—so… I dealt with it.”

  “Its not that simple.”

  “Isn’t it? What are you so afraid of? We won. This is a good thing. We can publicize this along with his other spendings and then you can use that as leverage in the courts. All we have to do now is wait for Kara’s raid tonight and we’ll be just fine—” I pause, looking at the dark expression on Pamela’s face. Her eyes are unusually downcast. Bags hang heavy like dark half-moons under the dimming green of her irises.

  “What… what aren’t you telling me?” I ask. There comes a cold chill from the night air that spins through the room. I sit up all of a sudden and check that the doors are fully closed. Then, I check around the walls and even monkey my way up to the ceiling, using my daggers as climbing implements. Usually, this would be the time where Pamela might comment on my brutish nature, but instead, she just stays silent—watching me with a fearful eye.

  When I drop down in front of her, I dust my hands off and whistle. “Nobody’s listening. You can tell me.”

  She opens her mouth as if to speak. Shakes her head. Closes it.

  At first, I think she’s being purposefully obscure. However, I notice the way her legs shift and the manner in which the queen grabs her hand, stroking the bruise gingerly.

  “Unless you can’t…” I mutter. Her eyes flicker. Hells-damn me. “You're under an Incanta contract, aren’t you?”

  Her silence is enough of an answer.

  “Alright. This is—we can work around this. Just let me think.” I start pacing about the room, juggling one of my daggers haphazardly while formulating my thoughts.

  “King Arator—” she begins, but I throw the dagger at the ceiling to cut her off.

  “Careful,” I warn as the dagger wobbles to a stop. “Think before you speak. Try remembering every single detail of your contract. Make sure you aren’t breaking any rules. Otherwise… well, you know.”

  She nods. I whistle and use some wind magicks to fling the dagger off the rafters. It falls, nearly grazing my face, but I catch it easily.

  “King Arator died. I won the succession. But I was very far down the line of the throne. At first I thought I won because of my connections.”

  She stops talking there.

  I fill in the gaps: “But it wasn’t necessarily your skill. Rather, you were… placed there?”

  Rather than nodding or giving any indication that I’m correct, she moves on.

  “Later, I found out that Arator died in his sleep. But before he fell, his health was not in contention. Some say he could’ve ruled ten more years. Yet his court physic insisted that he was unwell.”

  “Could’ve been poison. I see. But what does this have to do with Rothbore? Why is everyone so afraid of him? Who backs him? And who was this warlock that he was bragging about?”

  “Saegor is technically a warlock mancer.”

  I motion with my hands for her to continue. She doesn’t say anything else, shaking her head.

  She’s that barred? Meaning, the people who back Rothbore are probably the same ones who contracted with her. Maybe even…

  “So the ones who support Rothbore are the people who placed you on the throne.”

  No answer. I’m right.

  This is difficult to work through, but my early lessons of the court, specifically those surrounding the subtleties of body language, help me immensely here. Well, the ones I can remember at least.

  That, coupled with my politicking in Sorayvlad, gives me enough of an idea to sketch what is happening.

  “You mentioned Saegor. So he’s with them as well. Meaning, his decision to sortie out was not yours or…?”

  Pamela opens her mouth, as if to protest, hesitating, then pausing again. She doesn’t shake her head though.

  “I’ll say it was a mixed call then.”

  Warlock warlock warlock.

  ‘You—Just you wait! When they come, when they send that fucking warlock of theirs, the first person I’ll have him execute is you!’ Rothbore had said.

  Send.

  What if Rothbore wasn’t entirely lying about reinforcements coming?

  He seemed too assured of his ability to have the warlock execute me. Here and now. Even though I ordered for him to be sent off in two days.

  Meaning…

  “There’s another warlock coming, isn't there? When? Tomorrow?”

  Pamela’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t know there was another one coming. They would’ve told me—”

  “Would they have?”

  The Queen’s hands grip into fists. As if remembering some nasty memory.

  “Two days ago, I was sent a missive that scouts were—”

  A sound erupts from the fortress. Bells are rung.

  A soldier bursts through the door, kneels in front of Pamela, and shouts, “the stores are on fire! It's a raid!”

  Outside, I can see our men floundering, some carrying buckets of water on their heads, others gathering arms. The orange glow of flame rises from the corner of the fortress.

  Pamela does well to act surprised, putting on her mask of politicking like an old glove. “Gather the troops! We have to halt the fires before they burn through our supplies—otherwise all of this would’ve been for nothing.”

  “Yes, your majesty!”

  The soldier takes his leave then. Pamela issues me a knowing stare.

  “We’ll continue this conversation later,” I confirm to her. She nods and even gives me a slight, encouraging smile. She’s glad, I realize. But of course she is. She’s carried all of this alone, for spirits know how long. At least, she has someone who can handle the burden with her.

  Even if we are supposed to hate each other.

  Roguelike LitRPG

  By Fyffe

  LitRPG Action Mystery VR/Game

  Elizabeth always chose to play as a sneaky rogue or a wizard slinging sparkly spells.

  Now all she's got is a class she hates and a stupid club to defend herself. The pain is too real and the fights too graphic.

  But the game's cruellest feature is its core mechanic.

  It's a flippin roguelike.

  Death is a brutal reset, stripping her of everything she's earned and forcing her to start over, armed with nothing but the bitter memories of her last failure.

  To survive, she'll have to get stronger, smarter, and meaner with every loop.

  What to expect

  

  
• ?? Gallows humour


  
• ?? Some gore


  
• ???????? Multi-dimensional characters (this includes queer people existing)


  
• ?? Vicious rodents of unusual size


  
• ?? Slow, grindy but satisfying growth


  
• ?? An adorable companion


  
• ?? A few puzzles and quests that use brain over brawn


  
• ? Real-world stakes


  
• New chapters: Mon / Wed / Fri (new Schedule!)