The Princess And The Enemy
Introduction
-Characters Introduction-
KING EDMUND WELLINGTON
Age: 50
The King of Elarindale did not crave glory, nor did he chase the weight of titles. He ruled with quiet resolve. When King Edmund spoke, the air stilled. His words were not many, but they struck like arrows—sharp, swift, and final.To his people, he was strength without cruelty. To his enemies, the silence before the blade.But to his daughter, Elizabeth, he was something far more sacred.
He was warmth tucked beneath winter furs. A gentle hand on her head when she read by the fire. A father who taught her not how to wield a sword—but how to choose when not to. And when the world began to crumble, it was not the throne he clung to—it was her.
QUEEN ISABELLA WELLINGTON
Age: 45
The queen is Graceful, luminous, and quietly powerful. She was no ornament to the throne, but a force beside it. Kind without weakness, strong without pride, she ruled with an open hand and a fierce soul. To the people, she was not merely their queen—she was their healer, their hope, their ever-present light.
Children swore she had magic in her smile. Mothers wept in her arms and left comforted. She knew every face in the kingdom and remembered every sorrow. Many called her a fairy godmother, and it wasn’t hard to see why—she made impossible things feel possible.To Elizabeth, she was warmth incarnate. Her mother, her guide, her constant. She taught her daughter that compassion was not a softness, but a sword—and that loving fiercely was the greatest kind of strength.
PRINCESS ELIZABETH WELLINGTON
Age: 22
Princess Elizabeth of Elarindale was not the sort of royal who filled a room with command.
No—her power was quieter, gentler, like sunlight warming stone or the hush of morning dew. She spoke softly, listened deeply, and carried peace in her presence as surely as she wore her crown.Elizabeth was beloved not for her title, but for her heart. She remembered every face in the kingdom, from palace maids to market boys. She sang to sick children, stayed through long winter nights at the bedsides of the dying, and still believed—fiercely, foolishly, beautifully—that kindness could save a broken world.
KING OLIVER MONTGOMERY
Age: 52
King Oliver of Draevenmoor was a man of iron handshakes and golden words—a ruler admired by many and trusted by more. For years, he stood beside the kings and queens of Elarindale as an ally, a brother in arms, a man of reason. He upheld peace, offered aid, and spoke of unity.
But beneath his polished crown and steady gaze, a different fire burned.
Oliver wanted more.
PRINCE THEODORE MONTGOMERY
Age: 28
He was raised by war, not love—and it showed in every step he took. He bore the weight of a crown never offered in gentleness.he was a man carved from steel and silence, shaped by a father who taught him that mercy was a weakness and affection a distraction. He was trained to strike before he questioned, to win before he understood. His hands knew the grip of a sword better than a touch of kindness. The battlefield was his classroom. Blood was his inheritance. And in all his years, no one had ever taught him what it meant to be loved—or to love in return.
PRINCE ROSCOE MONTGOMERY
Age: 26
His father tried—tried to mold him like Theodore, to shove a sword into his hand and command him into a soldier. But Roscoe’s grip would always slip. His stance would always falter. And his heart was never in it. Because Roscoe was never made for war. He was made for quiet corners, for poetry scribbled on scrap parchment, for wandering under moonlight while everyone else slept. He ran—often. From duty. From the palace. From the eyes that saw him as a failure. Guards would find him by riverbanks or in the streets disguised as a common boy, breathing in the world his family sought to rule. Eventually, King Oliver stopped trying. He turned his back on the son who would not fight.
And Roscoe, in turn, learned to live unseen.
YARA MEREDITH
Age: 65
Her hands bore the scars of old wars. Her heart, the weight of too many graves.
Yara was not a woman of soft words or gentle smiles. She had lived long enough to know both the cost of kindness and the danger of hope. Yara was cold in speech, sparing in affection. But her kindness ran deep, like roots beneath frost.
Chapter 1
-The Kingdom of Elarindale-
Morning sun filters through shattered windows.
The doors burst open as King Oliver strides in, armored and flanked by his soldiers.
King Edmund
*steps forward, furious*
Oliver! What is the meaning of this? You march upon our home like an enemy?
Queen Isabella
*stands beside him, voice trembling but firm*
We welcomed you as a friend. Our people trusted you.
King Oliver
*removes his helmet, revealing a cold, determined face*
Your kindness made you weak, Edmund. Your peace was a fantasy. This land—your land—was always meant to be more. And now, it will be mine.
Elizabeth
*steps forward, disbelief in her voice*
You were my godfather… I looked up to you. How could you betray us?
King Oliver
*softens, only slightly*
You were a child, Elizabeth. And I, a fool to think sentiment had a place in ruling. You will understand... in time.
King Edmund
*draws his sword*
If it’s power you want, you’ll have to take it from my dead hands.
King Oliver
*sighs*
So be it.
The Throne Room erupts into chaos. Royal guards rush in. Swords clash. King Edmund stands tall, defending his family.
King Edmund
*shouting over the noise*
Protect the Queen! Get Elizabeth out of here—NOW!
Queen Isabella
*grabs Elizabeth’s arm, urging her toward the side passage*
Come, my love. We must go!
Elizabeth
*pulls back*
No! I won't leave Father!
King Oliver
*stepping forward with his blade drawn*
There is no escape. Surrender, and I may spare her.
King Edmund
*roars in anger, clashing swords with Oliver*
You’ll not touch her!
The fight between Edmund and Oliver is brutal—Edmund is strong, but age and heartbreak weigh on him.
Oliver strikes him across the side. He stumbles but stands again.
Queen Isabella
*screams*
Edmund!
Elizabeth breaks free and tries to run to her father, but a soldier intercepts her and holds her back
King Oliver
*to his soldiers*
Take the girl. Kill the rest.
A guard raises his sword toward Queen Isabella.
She turns at the last moment, throwing herself at him with a dagger—she wounds him but is struck down.
Elizabeth
*shrieks*
Mother! No!
Edmund with a final cry launches himself at Oliver—he lands a heavy blow, but Oliver counters and drives his sword through Edmund's chest.
Silence falls for a moment. The king crumples. Elizabeth screams, the sound raw and heartbroken. Soldiers hold her back.
King Oliver
*steps over Edmund’s body, facing Elizabeth*
You were born a princess, Elizabeth. But from today, you are no more one.
Chapter 2
The Kingdom of Draevenmoor
In a bustling village square in the capital of King Oliver’s kingdom, Elizabeth is brought in as a prisoner.
Soldiers pull a cart through the muddy streets. Townsfolk pause, whispering. Elizabeth is shoved out, hands bound, face bruised but proud.
Soldier
*mocking*
Your new home, Princess. Hope you enjoy the view.
Elizabeth
*looks around, eyes scanning the crowd*
Why… why bring me here?
Soldier
Orders from the King. Said you’re to live among “your people.”
*laughs*
Though I doubt they’ll welcome you with open arms.
He cuts her binds and shoves her forward. The cart rattles away. Elizabeth stumbles, standing alone in the street. Villagers murmur.
Villager 1
Is that her? The daughter of the fallen king?
Villager 2
Hmph. Royal blood means nothing here. They lived soft while we starved.
Elizabeth
*steps forward, trying to speak*
I never asked for this war. I—my parents… they died protecting peace.
Villager 3
*pulls her son away from Elizabeth*
Peace? That peace never reached our borders.
Villager 2
Go back to your palace—oh, wait. You don’t have one anymore.
Elizabeth stands frozen, trying to hold back tears.
No one offers shelter. No one meets her eyes with kindness. She’s left alone as the crowd disperses.
The sky is streaked with gold and gray.
Elizabeth sits alone on a broken stone bench, shivering. Her gown is torn, and her hands are scraped.
Footsteps approach softly.
Yara
*gentle*
You’ll catch your death out here, child.
Elizabeth looks up to see a woman with streaks of silver in her hair. Her face is worn but kind. She carries a woven basket and wears a long wool cloak.
Elizabeth
*hesitant*
I'm not a child.
Yara
No. You’re not.
*sits beside her, not touching*
But you’re lost. And that makes you no different from the rest of us.
Elizabeth
*eyes narrow*
Do you know who I am?
Yara
Of course. Everyone does. The fallen rose of a broken garden.
*pause*
But I don’t see a princess. I see a girl who hasn’t eaten and hasn’t slept.
Elizabeth
*quietly*
Why are you helping me?
Yara
*smiling faintly*
Because kindness shouldn’t die with kings and queens. Come. My cottage is small, but the hearth is warm.
A small stone cottage deep in the forest. Fire crackles in a tiny hearth. Elizabeth sits by it, wrapped in a threadbare shawl.
Elizabeth
*quietly*
My name is Elizabeth.
Yara
*smiles softly*
Yara.
*places a bowl of stew*
Eat. And rest. Tomorrow, you’ll need strength—not for royal battles, but for the life ahead.
Elizabeth
*softly, tears streaming down her face*
Thank you... Yara..
Yara
You’re welcome. But out here, you’re no princess. Just a girl with a long road to walk.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened, the ache of grief pressing into her bones like frost. But still, she took the spoon. One bite. Then another.
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