When the dust had finally settled over the battlefield, The Knight walked across the battered plain, leaving behind him a fresh set of footprints. Between his wounded hands he held an ornated wooden box which clattered slowly with every step forward he took. When he reached the palace, he took a final turn towards the mass of seething soldiers strewn in pieces along the battlefield, drew a whistling breath of relief and entered.

The marble floor was clouded by small streams of blood, fresh from when The Enemies had first invaded. Aside from that, the palace was immaculate. The pillars, proud they had remained untouched, stood tall with dignity. The ballroom curtains were intact. The dining room table was still bearing an abundant meal. Not a single potato was missing. The Knight cleaned his wounds with the alcohol in one of the chalices and helped himself to some stale bread.

He sat in The Queen’s seat. From there he had a great view of roasted pig in the centre. A silver head rose above the pig’s still head. The General removed his helmet tossed his dark hair about and sat in the seat directly opposite.

“Will she? – “The Knight began,

“She should be fine,” The General cut him off, “If they get to The East in time, they can find a healer and save her. Could take months. In the meantime, though we need to do something about that”

He pointed at the wooden box next to the salad bowl.

“Do we need to find an heir?” The Knight asked him, stroking the carvings on the boxes lid. “I think she has some cousin living in The West. If our men travel by boat, they can get there by the end of the year.”

“We have no men.” Then a pause. “And what happens when we declare an heir and she comes back? We cannot deal with another war.”

The General pulled a plate from the edge of the table and carefully laid potatoes onto it. The Knight watched with awe at how gently someone who had recently lost everything moved. “I will take this underground.” He gestured to the box; The General looked up from his potato art, “They don’t know that there is an underground. They will come back for it though; they are eager to have our kingdom.”

“Alright then,” The General responded with assurance. “You can speak to The Royal Guard, but he himself must look after it. Tell him these are direct orders from me.”

The Knight nodded, picked up the wooden box and an apple and walked out of the dining room.

The Knight had decided against meeting The Royal Guard outside. He lacked faith amongst the mangled and battered bodies of his comrades. He would meet him in The Queen’s chambers instead; it was an appropriate place after all. When The Royal Guard finally arrived, The Knight could hardly recognise him. Where there weren’t pools of dirt collecting on his face there were shallow cuts, sealed with walls of dried blood. Yet somehow, his bright eyes and high cheekbones still stood out.

“What is this about?” He had a deep, rumbling voice.

“I need you to take this underground” The Knight thrust the box out, trying not to seem insecure.

“And what’s in the box?”

The Knight drew a curtain over the lead window. His trembling fingers struggled to turn the key. He opened it a little. A thin, gold string of light escaped from the box. As he opened it wider, the small band of light eventually thickened into a circle. From the top, small branches of gold reached towards the sky but stopped and spread into fibres, bending towards each other. These points were sprinkled with diamonds as if it was sugar. Around the base itself, several carvings danced amongst purple gems.

“Oh.” The Royal Guard had noticed there was still a long, glistening blonde hair stuck to the teeth of the crown.

The Knight Closed and locked the box. He slipped the key into The Royal Guard’s soft, unscathed hand. He lowered the box onto his palms as if were a coffin carrying The Queen’s body.

With a voice as bright as molten gold, The Knight commanded: “You guard this with your life, understand?”