They'd stormed in from within the palace this time, choosing to ransack her home instead of just the treasury. Priceless paintings were torn apart, statues that sculptors spent years on lay in pieces, to be crushed further by the soles of a raider's boot.

The loss of money, of treasure that was called 'priceless' but very much had a price was of no consequence to her when among the ruins of her house lay the ruins of her home.

They'd come in the dead of night, angry shouts followed by the slaughter of the palace guards. Her handmaiden's lifeless corpse rested in a pool of her own blood, along with the servants that had served her for years. 

Choking on a sob, the Queen held her sword in front of her as she walked. She would find her son and bring him to safety. The boy was smart enough to stay out of trouble, she had hope for him. She made her way through the palace corridors, first to her son's chambers and then to the library. If she knew him well, he had probably stayed up late reading.

A booming laugh echoed through the corridor. The Queen halted in her tracks, breathing heavily as she inched towards the darker part of the passage. The great oak doors of the library had been torn through, their shattered edges like daggers beckoning her to what would be her doom.

"Come out, little Prince," A snake-like voice sliced through the darkness. "Where are your parents?"

No.

Like a tigress the Queen charged through the entrance, snarling under her breath. She came face-to-face with the raider, but the Prince was nowhere in sight. Through the black muslin cloth that covered the raider's mouth and nose, she could see his mouth turn upwards in a malicious grin. His eyes were mismatched, one green and one blue, each having an equally murderous glint in them. She narrowed her own eyes, she would make sure this raider paid for what he had done.

The Queen raised her sword, advancing on him. The raider let out a dirty, ruthless roar as he brought his axe down on her.

There was a clash of metal against metal as a Queen in a nightgown battled a madman in armour. Strategy and training was said to overpower strength and the thirst for blood, but the Queen had not fought in over a decade.

This was a losing battle.

And so, she lost.

As the axe came down on her chest, her senses shut down first, as if preparing her for the pain that she didn't deserve to feel. She did not know what made her scream, maybe it was the sudden realisation that her life was over.

The seconds dragged on with every ragged breath she took. The raider was fighting someone else. She shut her eyes in pain, praying that that someone was not her son. A swish of the axe, and something crashed to the other side of the room. The raider growled at his opponent, saying something the Queen didn't have the strength to understand. 

As her breathing became heavier, as her heart slowed to a stop, she heard the person next to her. Their footsteps were soft, steady, their sobs surprisingly making her smile.

At least she wasn't going to die alone.