sittingoverheredreaming:

She ran him through.

Traitor! yelled her armies. Liar! yelled her troops. Death to the false prince!

He looked surprised, to have her sword find the gap in his armor. To see her eyes beneath her helm.

Lover! yelled her heart. You could have come back to me.

He took a swing, even as his life poured out of him. Fighting to the end for the wrong kingdom. Another soldier struck him to the ground, and he did not move again. They pressed forward, irreverent to the body of the boy who might have grown to be their king. They had a Queen, now, who would never betray them for the iron fist of the Moon.

There could be no weakness in their Queen. But as they marched on the castle, her heart stayed heavy in the dirt behind them. The image of Endymion, broken on the ground, stayed with her. He’d been bewitched, she’d said at first, and had wanted so badly to believe it. Surely, he would not forsake his people. Surely, he would not forsake her. But when they met in battle, the whole army saw his eyes were clear and his choice clearer.

She hated him. But she loved him also. She loved the boy who gave her flowers, the boy who dreamt of peace. The boy who’d said when they married, he’d let her do everything, because she would be a better ruler than he could ever be.

That part had been true to the end, hadn’t it, Endymion?

She’d listened, when they were taught what it meant to rule. You love your people first, yourself second, and anything else third. She loved him third, but she loved him. And he loved Serenity above all else. These are our people! she wanted to scream at him. Turn your back on me if you must, but not your people. He had never given her the chance. The war had never given her a chance.

An inhuman shriek pierced the air around the castle— word of her lover’s fall had reached that alien princess, and now she dared mourn what was never rightfully hers. A whole new wave of hatred crashed over Beryl as the armies of earth fought their way inside. She would win this war, make Endymion’s death more than a casualty of the Moon’s continued tyranny. She’d take his body back to earth, where it could bring life to the soil. He’d give her flowers once more. It would mean something. He would finally do right by his people.

One by one, Earth struck down the Moon’s warriors. That vile princess fell, and Beryl tasted victory. Beryl tasted the peace her prince had dreamed of, won with his blood.

She faced the Moon’s queen, ready to accept no parlay, no surrender, yet the queen did not rise. Tears streamed down her ghost white face, yet she met Beryl’s eyes with a smile.

“This is not over,” she said, her voice deep enough to echo against the palace walls. “The moon shall rise again, and no one will mourn you when you fall.”

Beryl raised her sword. “It is you who has no one left to mourn you.” She charged, and was lost in moon-bright light.

Eons later, she died alone in the cold, where no kingdom would avenge her, where no flowers could grow from her corpse.