FROM PITS TO THRONE: A Crown Forged In Chains

Chapter 2: Scattered heirs

Queen Eliza stood on the palace steps, flanked by Robert Hawks’ guards. She watched as her children were led past her one by one and did not allow a single tear to fall where Robert could see it.

First came Tamira, the eldest, her dark hair was unbound, falling over the simple shift they had forced her into. In her arms she clutched Silas, who had cried himself into an uneasy sleep. A guard prodded her with a spear butt when she slowed to look back at her mother.

“Keep moving, princess,” he sneered.

Tamira’s eyes met Eliza’s across the torchlit courtyard. In that glance passed everything they could not say: I love you. Be strong. Survive.

Eliza inclined her head but Tamira understood. She pressed her lips to Silas’s forehead and walked on.

Next was Calista, her small bundle of belongings confiscated at the gate. She had tried to run to her mother, but a guard caught her by the arm and dragged her forward. At the bottom of the steps she twisted free long enough to throw her arms around Eliza’s waist.

“Mama,” she whispered with her voice breaking.

Eliza knelt swiftly, “Listen to me my brave girl. You are a Walton. Whatever comes, remember who you are. Remember us.”

Calista sobbed once, then bit her lip until it bled as nod. The guard pulled her away, and she was marched toward the southernmost ship, the one bound for Nidus.

Then came Liam, he had fought every step from the dungeon. His wrists were raw from iron manacles, his lip split, one eye swelling shut from a blow he had earned by head-butting a guard. Yet he walked with his head high, refusing to give Robert the satisfaction of seeing him broken.

When he passed his mother, the guards allowed a moment, perhaps because Robert himself watched from the shadows of the great doors, curious to see if the queen would crack.

Eliza reached through the ring of spears and touched Liam’s cheek.

“My son,” she said softly. “You are the hope of this house now. Guard it well.”

Liam swallowed hard. “I will come back for you. I swear it.”

A smile touched her lips, only for a second. “Live first. That is enough.”

Then the guards shoved him onward toward the eastern ship that would carry him across the sea to Etoibard.

General Dorian waited at the foot of the gangplank, “Three shipments,” he murmured to the slaver captain beside him named Gorran. “One to Preliand with the woman and the boy. One to Nidus with the girl. The prince to Etoibard. Gold upon confirmation of delivery and double upon proof of death.”

Gorran grinned showing his stained teeth. “Easy coin. Though the boy might fetch more alive in the pits.”

Dorian’s scarred face did not change expression. “Robert Hawks wants no loose threads. See it done quietly. No marks to show foul play. Accidents at sea happen.”

The captain tucked the parchment into his belt. “Accidents it is.”

As the ships cast off, the royal siblings were separated by more than chains and decks, they were scattered across half the known world, each believing the others lost forever.

***

Tamira sat in the stinking hold with Silas curled against her side. The ship rolled heavily on the swell and the boy whimpered each time the timbers groaned. Around them were other captives mostly women and children taken from the outer villages as they huddled in silence.

A slaver’s mate tossed a bucket of brackish water and a moldy loaf through the grate above. Tamira caught the loaf before it hit the filth-covered floor and tore it in half, giving the larger piece to Silas.

“Eat slowly my love,” she whispered. “We must make it last.”

Silas looked up at her with his father’s hazel eyes. “Will Papa come soon?” his mind was rid of memory.

Tamira’s throat closed. Silas’s father, her husband, Lord Edric of House Greyford had died in the first battle, cut down defending the river ford. She stroked the boy’s tangled curls.

“Papa is with the gods now,” she said gently. “But we have each other. And we have Uncle Liam and Aunt Calista. We must stay strong for them.”

In the darkness, she began to make plan because slavers always sold mothers and children separately, it brought higher prices but she would not allow Silas to be taken from her. If they tried, she would fight. And if she had to kill to keep him safe, she would.

***

Calista was chained to a ringbolt in the forecastle, alone among crates of trade goods. The crew had eyed her with interest until the captain barked that she was “special cargo and their hands should be kept off her.” She curled into the smallest space she could, knees drawn to her chest as she tried not to think of the palace, of the warm beds and music and her mother’s laughter.

Instead she counted the days. Seven since the fall. How many more until Nidus? Weeks, perhaps months.

She had overheard the sailors talking. Nidus was a free city, not a kingdom, so there were no king nor lords, only merchant councils and gold. Slaves there were treated better than in some places, they said. Some even earned manumission.

Hope flickered a bit but slavery was not an option for her.

“I am Calista Walton,” she whispered to the dark. “I will not forget.”

She began to watch the crew, noting who was cruel and who was merely indifferent. Knowledge was a weapon and she would hoard it.

***

Liam’s chains were heavier than the others, his ankles as well as wrists were chained because he had already bloodied two guards. They had thrown him into the deepest hold alone with only rats for company.

He welcomed the solitude as it gave him time to think.

He tested the irons every few hours, searching for weakness but the rivets were solid and the links thick. Escape at sea was impossible so he would patiently wait until landfall.

His mind returned again and again to his mother’s face on the palace steps. To his father’s body cooling on the throne room floor. To Robert Hawks’ cold smile.

Clean hatred burned in him fueling his resolve. “I would survive the voyage. I would survive whatever waited in Etoibard. And one day I would stand over Robert Hawks with a blade to his neck.”

But survival was first, he began to exercise in the tiny space allowed by his chains, tensing his muscles, stretching as far as the irons permitted. Royal training had made him strong so captivity would not make him weak.

On the fifth night, a sailor lowered a skin of water and a hunk of salt pork through the grate.

“Captain says you’re to be kept alive till port,” the man grunted. “After that, your fate’s your own.”

Liam met his gaze steadily. “Tell your captain I’ll remember his kindness.”

The sailor laughed. “Kindness? He just don’t want you dying and stinking up the hold.”

But he left an extra swallow of water which Liam drank like wine in order to save it.

***

Meanwhile, in the Ruined Palace Queen Eliza stood before a cracked mirror in what had been her private chambers. Servants who were once hers but now Robert’s had dressed her in a gown of deep crimson, her golden hair was braided with black pearls.

Robert entered without knocking.

“You look every inch the queen still,” he said. His voice was smooth as oil.

Eliza did not turn. “I am the queen. You merely sit in my husband’s chair.”

His smile thinned. “For now, we will play the game of appearances. Tomorrow we wed before the high septon and whatever nobles remain. Your people will see continuity and stability.”

“And my children?”

“Gone. Safely sold beyond recall.” He stepped closer, fingers brushing her shoulder. “Accept it, Eliza. Your line ends with you and me.”

She finally met his eyes in the mirror. “My line will never end while one of them draws breath.”

Robert’s hand tightened. “Then pray they do not stop drawing it.”

But even as he spoke, doubt flickered. Dorian had assured him the arrangements were ironclad with quiet blades in foreign ports.

He left her alone with her reflection.

That night, Eliza knelt before the cold hearth and wept; not for her husband, whom she had already mourned in silence, but for her children scattered like seeds on barren ground.

Six months later, when the weight of Robert’s rule and his cold bed became unbearable, she mixed nightshade into her wine and joined Morth in death.