When Loyalty Demands Blood

The day she dreaded the most had arrived — the day her choice would alter the fates of everyone around her.

Love, or loyalty?

The huge doors to the throne room creaked as they presented her, calm and composed. The chandelier glimmered above the bickering nobles.

"I present my greetings to the sun of the empire—" She knelt, her head bowed before the King seated on the magnificent throne that almost conjured the mighty Sun behind him.

"Rise, Ophelia." His voice echoed through the stone walls, shushing the bickering nobles. "How fare the tides of battle?"

The most awaited question had been asked. Murmurs erupted once again.

"What was His Majesty thinking, appointing a mere lady as the captain of knights?"

"Ladies are better off living lavish lives — buying dresses and accessories," scoffed Count Hilbert.

"How could a lady ever bring pleasant news of a battle?"

The nobles kept running their uncouth mouths. Ophelia didn't budge; she had better things to achieve.

"The tides are in our favour completely, Your Majesty," she said. "I present a little surprise from my end—"

She waved her hand, and the doors to the throne room opened. Two knights dragged a man inside across the stone floor, his head bowed low in defeat. He knelt, painting the floor crimson with his blood.

Ophelia stepped aside, gesturing toward him. "Your Majesty, I present to you the captain of Ether — Sir William."

Laughter erupted, echoing from the heavy walls. They had never witnessed such amusement. A chill passed through the nobles present.

"Well done, Ophelia. You've far exceeded my expectations. Alas — the gruesome war ends, bringing us glory and a good harvest," exclaimed the King.

"Your Majesty, I propose locking him away in the dungeons," said Count Hilbert, a smirk forming on his face. The room fell silent; the King's gaze fell on him.

"Count Hilbert, your proposal is always welcome—" The King's eyes glimmered sharply, like a hawk eyeing its prey. "—But that would be too merciful, wouldn't it?"

"O-of course, Your Majesty," Count Hilbert stuttered.

A mischievous glint appeared in His Majesty's eyes. He looked down toward Ophelia, standing tall, her eyes distant and cold like never before. The King had always known Ophelia to be ruthless. Her being distant unnerved him.

"Ophelia, what do you suggest?" asked the King, knowing exactly what he was doing.

Ophelia had been on the battlefield since her coming of age. She had seen more wars than anyone present in the throne room. She had seen empires fall and crumble, forgotten in the pages of history. She had lived through horrors people couldn't comprehend — a true warrior and commander. It was no surprise she had brought the enemy kingdom's captain to his knees.

"Your Majesty, my ideas would be shallow before your wise judgement. Whatever Your Majesty decides would be best," said Ophelia in a monotone, her voice carrying an undercurrent no one could hear.

The King's eyes narrowed. Her gaze was avoiding his. He raised his goblet of wine. "It's no small feat, my child. Tell me, Ophelia — what is it that you desire? You'll be compensated for your achievements."

"Your Majesty, I only wish to serve you well," said Ophelia with practised ease.

"Well spoken, Ophelia." The King had always known what kind of lady Ophelia was. This was his chance to flaunt her loyalty to the throne before the nobles. "Let his heart be carved out and presented to me."

His orders left no room for argument. Ophelia froze. Her body went rigid. Her mind spun, begging her to deny the order, to ask him to spare him. She raised her head, her eyes filled with horror.

"Your Majes—" Her voice was cut off by the coughing of the prisoner, William.

"I accept my fate—" he said, coughing up more blood. Almost stammering now: "B-but would His M-Majesty be so merciful as to grant my final wish?"

The sight of the captain of Ether bowing and pleading for mercy pleased the King more than any riches ever could. "I'm not so cruel as to deny a dying knight's wish. Speak up."

"I would like it to be Captain Ophelia who presents you my heart," William said, trying to lift his head to meet the King's gaze. The lights of the throne room flickered.

"Quite an amusing wish, for a dying knight." The King chuckled. "Be it as you wish. Ophelia will be the one to carve your heart out."

He promised death on a silver platter.

"Ophelia Von Ross, I command you to bring forth the heart of the enemy captain, William." The King's voice was heavy with intent.

Ophelia stood silent, shaking beneath her armour. The hem of her cape was tainted with the dust of the battlefield. If only the person she was meant to slay didn't wear the face of her love, she would have obliged out of loyalty. Her thoughts overwhelmed her; her sense of right and wrong lost its direction.

After the uncomfortable silence, she finally whispered, low.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

She unsheathed her sword. Her reflection shone in the polished blade — the fear and loss clear in her eyes. She stood before him. Her steady hands began to tremble. William looked up at her, his eyes devoid of any worry or care for his life.

"You look just as beautiful as you did before, my love," William said softly, just for her to hear — because in that moment she was the only person who mattered.

His words echoed in her head. As you did before... Before?

Before Ophelia could stop herself, her mind wandered back to the day she first met William.

Her father had introduced them. "Ophelia, this boy will be training alongside you." She shook his hand; his calloused hands gave the illusion of a worker boy, but his posture and manner of speech told a different story.

It wasn't long before she started looking forward to seeing him.

"William, what do you want to be when you grow up?" Ophelia asked innocently.

"I will join the knights, serving the King," he said proudly.

"That's going to be hard," she said, panting from the warm-ups. "You could even perish while serving the King."

"A true knight doesn't fear death, even when it comes to claim him," he said, picking a leaf from her hair instinctively.

Ophelia backed away and stumbled. Before she could fall, William's arm wrapped around her waist, saving her. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink.

Ever since then, she had been watchful of him. Once, she went to see him — enthusiastically opening his door. She looked everywhere, and he was nowhere to be found. While searching, she found a little note announcing his departure.

And just like that, with the first rays of sun, he was gone, as though he had never existed.

After all those years, he was back before her — not as the boy she trained with, but as the man she was supposed to call an enemy.

There he knelt, waiting for her to carve his heart out. She looked at him with sorrow and pity, though she didn't know which overpowered the other. The King stood at a distance, waiting for the task she was most afraid to complete.

"Why didn't you protest? Why do you want my hands to be soiled?" she cried, pouring out her heart to him.

The nobles waited for the grand performance, for the gossip they would wring from the scene before them. Golden light spilled from the windows, at odds with the turmoil in the throne room.

"My love, just end my wretched life already," he said, smiling the same radiant smile she had waited for all those years.

She begged him not to say those words; they broke her heart.

"Ophelia, I want my salvation through your hands. Could you fulfil my last wish?" asked William.

"Do not say those words, William. Don't utter them." Her breath quickened. Her anger fumed, but bound by the chains of loyalty, she could do nothing.

She was a mere pawn in this game of kings. The sacrifice of uncountable soldiers, of innocent souls — everyone a puppet in this game.

She looked at William with sorrow. "Forgive me, William. I couldn't protect you."

"There's no need for forgiveness, love," said William quietly. "You already have my heart, Ophelia."

"You never held much regard for your life, did you?" she scoffed, tears streaming down. "I hate you so much, William."

"You're a terrible liar," he said, tilting his head to one side.

Ophelia just stood there, pointing her sword at him.

"You might as well take my heart as physical proof," whispered William — before Ophelia's sword pierced through him, finally claiming the heart the King desired.

William's body fell with a thud, and the nobles roared their praise.

"The enemy is finally slain," said Duke Raven, clapping for their kingdom's victory.

Yet the praise didn't reach her ears. Her mind kept replaying his last words.

"Until next time, my beloved," he had said, before he went limp.

Ophelia couldn't move. She went numb, until she picked up his heart and offered it to the King, placing it at his feet.

"At last, Captain Ophelia returns home." The King rose from his throne. "A banquet will be held in honour of Captain Ophelia," he announced.

The day passed in a blur. When she reached home, her knees gave out and she fell to the floor, crying her heart out. Her screams echoed through the halls. She stumbled out onto the balcony and looked at the moon.

Her eyes filled with guilt. She sat there a long time, reminiscing about the past, about what could have been if he hadn't been the captain of Ether. Her mind roamed between the what-ifs, which brought nothing but more guilt.

If only she had let him escape instead of bringing him to the throne room. She could have escaped with him. But her loyalty had asked for a price — and the price left a piece of her wounded.