A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1624 - 1624: The Ripples of Victory - Part 3

Though she knew that, she had kept her mouth closed. She had known she was merely a symbol of this war. Her input was not required, especially not on matters of strategy. All seemed certain that Oliver would simply retreat, as any sane man would, but on the day that they had predicted the two sides to meet, Asabel had wept uncontrollably.

She had wailed in the dark confines of her room, praying that the guards that stood outside her door could not hear her. She felt a terror of the likes that she had never felt before. She clutched her pillow, praying that it would sprout arms and hug her back, and reassure her. But there were no more reassurances to be had. She felt with a dull certainty that Oliver was fighting, and she was even more certain that what he faced was impossible for him to overcome. It was a ridiculous battle to take, yet Oliver Patrick would have taken it anyway.

Two days had passed since then, and there had been no news. Every hour that passed in its absence, the results of that battle seemed all the more certain to her. The others were convinced that Oliver and his army were already marching their way. Any doubts as to that were only expressed in a whisper. She thought of all people, Blackwell might have understood her anguish, but she dared not ask him. He was far too busy to be giving the likes of her reassurances.

A knock at the door came. Asabel did not have the heart to answer it. She buried herself in her pillow, and then pulled her blanket up over her head, disappearing from the world.

The knock came again, patiently, or so it seemed, but when that knock too was met with no reply, there was the gentle click of the lock being opened, and then being closed again, and then boots marching muffled over a beautiful rug. "Queen Asabel," Lancelot said gently.

She replied not again. She had confided in him of her worries, but he was just as certain as the rest.

"Queen Asabel," he said, more loudly this time.

"Leave me, Lancelot," Asabel said. "I would grieve alone."

"You grieve prematurely, my Queen," Lancelot said.

"…You have no more certainty than I do. My heart is sure of it," Asabel said. "I have lost a dear friend. Am I not even allowed to mourn? Does my duty forbid me from even that?"

"There's a letter," Lancelot said quickly.

"Then read it in my place," Asabel said. "The Generals will run their war as they always do. Whether I have knowledge of the current goings on or not does not matter."

"It bears the seal of House Patrick," Lancelot said.

Only then did Asabel arise from underneath her blankets, her green eyes shrouded by the red skin of her tear stained eyes. She looked at him suspiciously, doubting his words, but Lancelot turned the letter to show her, and in the red wax, there was firmly stamped the beast of House Patrick.

"…They could have taken his seal," Asabel said, cautioning herself, feeling her heart pounding against her chest.

Lancelot didn't say anything, and he managed to keep his expression neutral, but it was clear simply from the way he stood that the handsome knight was heavy with disagreement. "Would you open it, Queen Asabel, or shall I?"

"…That sounds rather impetuous, Lancelot," Asabel said, frowning, finding a trace of her old fierceness, and snatching out to grab the letter with a quick hand. The ferocity saw the seal broken, and the folded paper pulled out before she found her fear again.

With shaking fingers, she gently unfolded it with her lap. The words were sitting in front of her, but she made an excuse of gently pushing down the folds with her fingers, ever so carefully, to avoid truly taking them in yet.

Then, with nervous eyes, that were already once more beginning to water, and set tears running down her cheeks, simply out of fear, before she'd even truly taken in the contents of her letter. Lancelot watched her carefully, trying to judge its contents from his Queen's expression. He saw her eyes widen, and her mouth open, and her tears all of a sudden stop. He saw her eyes start to flicker faster, reaching more quickly. She gripped the paper with tight hands, almost threatening to tear it. She devoured it as hungrily as a lean wolf might devour a deer, and then she looked up at Lancelot, disbelief and jubilation written in every fibre of her being.

Lancelot's lips swept themselves into a charming smile. He gave her a little bow, glad for her. "See, my Queen, I told you that he would know sense. He is not as savage a man as they would have you believe. There's honour in him, I have begun to see. He would not risk the entire war effort for something as fleeting as pride—"

"No, Lancelot," Asabel said, tears running again, but for a different reason this time. "No Lancelot, that isn't it at all. Gods be good, he's such an idiot. I hate him. I hate him. I hateeee him! He fought Lancelot, he fought that stupid dragon of an army, and Gods damn him, he won! It says it right here. Oh, Gods be good, my friends a fool. I hate him! I HATEEEE HIM! Damn you, Oliver Patrick! Damn you… And bless you. Bless all the Gods that kept you alive. You stupid, stupid, stupiddddddddd man! You aren't good for me – you aren't good for any of us. Look at my face, Lancelot, do you not see the wrinkles that he's added to my forehead?"

"Wait, wait, my Queen," Lancelot said, too stunned to really follow Asabel's manic tirade. "What exactly are you telling me?"

Asabel stood up, and violently gave her pillow a punch, her cheeks puffed out in irritation. "HE'S STUPIDDDD!" She said, hitting it again. "He's awful. The most dreadful man in the entire kingdom! Why did I have to make friends with him? He's going to kill me out of anxiousness. I knew he would fight him too! I knew it! That damnable man!"