Daggers of sunrise streamed through the high windows, striking the walls and floor with hues of gold and red. Outside, the stirrings of a waking city could be heard - the smart clopping of hooves on cobblestone and the bustle of vendors setting up their stands for business. Children were running in the streets. Farmers were heading out to tend to their fields. The city was greeting another new day.


Queen Orana strode confidently down the long corridor, feeling the sunlight blow its warm breath on her face. She cut an impressive sight, illuminated as she was by the crimson and gold sunrise. She had a thin, pale face with high cheekbones and bright green eyes. Her elaborately embroidered blue robes trailed behind her, as though a river followed constantly in her footsteps. The fabric rippled and undulated as it went. Her hands glistened with many rings. A bejeweled crown rested on her head, its inlaid gems glinting merrily. A silver sword hung from her belt, swinging at her side as she continued down the corridor.


At the end, two soldiers flanked a large oak-wood door. They snapped to attention at her approach, their chainmail armor clinking softly. The wood creaked loudly on iron hinges as the men opened the door, Orana paying them no attention. That was the mark of a good guard - to stay out of her way until needed.


Orana smiled as she entered her throne room. She couldn’t help it. There was not a more beautiful place in all the kingdom than this. The long room was flanked by rows of expertly chiseled marble columns, each bearing an elaborate silk banner. The arched ceiling stretched to such heights that the chandeliers hanging from it seemed miles away. But most breathtaking of all were the walls - walls inlaid by massive, clear windows. With sunlight pouring in from all sides, the throne room felt more like an outdoor courtyard than an enclosed room.


Orana approached the throne, remembering - as always - to keep her head high and her spine straight. The back wall was dominated by a single stained-glassed window. It depicted a scene of battle - a woman fighting a great black dragon. The woman’s shield was raised high, deflecting the jet of fire being spewed from fanged jaws. Her silver sword - the same weapon hanging now from Orana’s waist - swung out, slashing at the dragon’s exposed neck. It was a beautiful piece, a constant reminder of the kingdom’s greatest moment: when Orana’s great-grandmother had banished the dragons from this land, driving them away across the sea and establishing here the capital city of Seringard.


The Queen reached her throne and sat herself gracefully upon it, feeling the familiar softness of the velvet cushions. She continued to smile to herself. This was where she belonged: in the greatest room of the greatest city of the greatest of all the kingdoms.


Her revelry, however, was cut short by a tiny cough to her left. She ignored the sound, hoping it would go away if she deprived it of attention. But it did not. In fact, it came again, ever so slightly louder. Orana turned her head slowly, staring haughtily down at a small, simpering man. His greasy hair hung in sheets around his face, partially obscuring his bespectacled and watery eyes. He was small and skeletally thin, a bundle of scrolls clutched in his bony arms.


“Already, Berwick?” Orana snapped icily, her irritation barely concealed. Why did everyone insist on bothering her with their stupid, petty problems? She had just gotten here, and already her advisor felt it necessary to spoil what might have been an otherwise pleasant morning.


“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon,” he whined. “But the taxes have arrived from the eastern plains district. They’re behind again this year.”


Orana clenched her teeth. Her pale knuckles became even whiter as she tightened her grip on the arms of the throne. Sensing danger, Berwick hung his head and inched back a few steps - it wasn’t his fault that the taxes had gone unpaid. But as the bearer of bad news, he might as well have been as guilty as the eastern farmers.


“I’ve been far too lenient with those plains peasants,” Orana mumbled, more to herself than anyone. “They think that living far from Seringard gives them the right to cheat this kingdom? Berwick!” She snapped suddenly, causing the little man to jump, dropping his scrolls in a cascade of fluttering paper. His frantic apologies went unnoticed as the Queen continued, “Send Burleigh and a dozen men to the plains district. They’ll know what to do. And tell them not to come back until they’ve gotten those taxes.” Yes, she thought to herself, Burleigh wouldn’t let her down. He was very good at getting results. Perhaps this day wouldn’t be so bad after all. She’d already solved this problem in record time.


As Berwick bustled off, Orana sunk back into her throne, looking over some of the papers her advisor had left for her. Each one concerned some aspect of day-to-day business in the city - increased funding for the school, repair of a damaged portion of the fisherman’s dock, and other such trivialities. Each was more dull than the last, and all required her signature for some form of approval or another. Maybe if she could get through them all as quickly as possible, she could still enjoy something of a peaceful morning.


But a loud banging signalled that Orana wasn’t to be so fortunate. The doors at the end of the throne room had burst open, and a hulking figure was striding toward her, his armor jangling noisily - Ricker, captain of the city guard. He was a mountain of a being, incredibly tall and muscled. He was also the perfect man for his position - a soldier who could intimidate with his mere presence alone. Though of course, Orana didn’t fear him in the slightest - the Queen feared no one.


Ricker hurried up to the throne. His helmet was tucked underneath his thick arm, so Orana could clearly see his face. The soldier’s face was scowling, bushy brows and heavily lidded eyes betraying anger - not a good sign.


“Yer Majesty,” he boomed, his deep baritone reverberating around the cavernous room. “The White Dragon struck again last night. Burned down Seringard’s north’n armory. No injuries, but the weap’ns and equipm’nt are all gone.” Unlike Berwick, Ricker didn’t shrink back after delivering his bad news. He remained as stoic and composed as ever - the perfect soldier.


“Damn!” Orana shrieked, jumping to her feet. It wasn’t often that she neglected her composure. But nothing was typical when it came to the White Dragon. “I want round-the-clock patrols at all important locations - armories, barracks, storehouses. I don’t care if you have to divert troops from other posts. Make sure we’re protected. And double the spying efforts, I don’t care what it costs. I want those White Dragon bastards found!”


After Ricker had bowed and left, Orana slumped back onto her throne. She held her face in her hands and exhaled slowly, feeling her whole body shaking. This would be the death of her. The band of terrorists calling themselves the White Dragon had been a thorn in her side for many months now. It had started with occasional vandalism and graffiti. But they had gotten more bold in recent weeks, attacking military outposts and storehouses for the castle. They claimed to be fighting for the people, but Orana easily saw through their ruse. They were anarchists and criminals - bound together by their own greedy ambitions. They said that they wanted to bring the kingdom back to the glory days of fair rule under Orana’s great-grandmother. But their real goal was to depose her and put their leader - a man calling himself Fang - on the throne.


Orana snorted derisively to herself. As though their pretend ambition was even noble at all. True, the people’s love for her great-grandmother was the stuff of legend. She was revered to an almost god-like level. But none of them understood. All the old woman had done was slay a few dragons. In those early days of the kingdom, a queen didn’t have to worry about taxes, civil projects, or municipal upkeep. Unlike her great-grandmother, Orana had responsibilities - making sure the intricacies of the kingdom didn’t fall apart. And ungrateful malcontents like Fang and his band of crooks just made things so much more difficult. They should be thanking her for all she did, instead of scheming and plotting for their own personal power.


The Queen scowled, settling herself in for a miserable day.


Things didn’t improve over the next few weeks. The only bit of good news was the return of the group from the eastern plains district. The peasants there had quickly remembered their duty to their country after Burleigh had reminded them of the consequences. Orana wasn’t sure exactly what this reminder had entailed, but she didn’t care to ask. As long as it was taken care of.


But things in Seringard seemed to be deteriorating at an even faster rate. The White Dragon was rearing its head on an almost nightly basis now - more vandalism, more attacks, and - despite how many guards she was sending out - more destruction of the kingdom’s property. They never attacked civilians. But of course, they didn’t need to. It was her throne that Fang wanted. She was the target. Orana had thus insisted on being accompanied everywhere by six or seven guards at all times. It wasn’t as though the Queen ever left the palace anyway. But now she felt even less safe behind the walls of the castle.


Only now, in the dead of night, was she alone. Her personal bodyguard was outside her bedroom door, awake all night for any sign of trouble. Orana, too, couldn’t sleep. Her mind raced. She didn’t know what to do. Never in the history of the kingdom had things been so unstable. It wasn’t fair, really, that she should be the one burdened with this. Why was this happening to her? But if there was one thing Orana was certain of, it was the need for change. Things were going to be very different after this was all over. Like the plains district, Seringard needed to be reminded of the consequences of its disloyalty. The city had grown too complacent, too radical in its thinking. They had forgotten what it meant to be loyal.


Muttering darkly to herself, Orana turned over in bed, closing her eyes tight, willing herself to sleep. Just as she began to feel herself drifting off, a great thundering sound came from somewhere outside. The Queen sat bolt upright. She jumped out of bed and skidded across the large bedroom. Reaching the large bay window at the other end, she threw open the silk curtains and peered out, pressing her nose right up against the cool glass.


The first thing she saw were the torches. Hundreds of them bobbing eerily through the dark streets of Seringard. Holding the lights high, countless figures could be seen swarming the streets, their dark masses moving rapidly toward the castle. Each time a house or building was passed by the mob, the number seemed to grow. Every second, it seemed, the throng was becoming more and more massive. As the group moved nearer, Orana could hear their shouts and yells. Many seemed to be chanting something, but they were still too far away to make out the words. The sickly glow of the flames mixed with the discordant sounds of the mob seemed to hypnotize Orana. She couldn’t look away.


The bedroom door burst open. Orana jumped a foot in the air, the spell abruptly broken. The guard standing in the entrance looked terrified.


“Stay away from the window, Your Majesty!” he shouted. Orana flung the curtains shut and sat on the bed, hugging her knees close to her chest. The guard closed the door. She heard the latch click from the other side. Orana could feel her breath coming hard and fast. Her guards would protect her, she was certain of it. No one could breach the palace. It was too well protected. She only needed to wait for it to end. She was safe here. As safe as she had always been.


Queen Orana sat on her bed all through the night. The sounds continued outside for hours, though she didn’t dare look again. She stared at the wall all night, praying it would end soon. Occasionally she heard screams and the clanging of swords. The city guards were fighting back. The cacophony only started to fade just before sunrise. And by the time the sun began peeking over the horizon, the city had gone silent. It was the quietest morning in Seringard’s history. No merchants getting ready for the day. No laughing children. Not even the clip-clopping of hooves on cobblestone. Nothing. Somehow, the absence of sound was infinitely more frightening than the uproar that had preceded it.


Orana continued to sit on the bed, cradling herself. The sound of a latch being raised and a door being opened brought her back to the present. The hulking Riker stepped inside. His armor was chipped and dented, his cape torn and muddy. He had a long gash on his cheek and one of his eyes was purple and swollen. But he looked triumphant, much happier than Orana felt.


“We got ‘im, Yer Highness. We got ‘im.”


A mad smile stole over Orana’s tired face. After sending Ricker away, she began to get ready. She summoned a maid, fidgeting impatiently as as she was cleaned and dressed by the servant girl. Orana made sure she was fitted with the most expensive and regal robes, the largest and shiniest rings. She dismissed the girl and adjusted her crown in the mirror, taking great care to make it sit as straight as possible. She needed to make the best appearance. She buckled the silver sword to her belt and left the room, feeling a sense of giddy excitement steal over her. A few hours ago, she never would have imagined that things might be turning out so well.


As Orana entered the throne room, she was greeted by a grand sight. Hundreds of people were packed into the large space, most of them nobles, aristocrats, and upper-class merchants. They must have fled here during the night to avoid the uproar in the streets. Perfect, the Queen thought to herself. She wanted them to see this. The crowd ceased their murmuring at once, all eyes fixed on their resplendent ruler.


As Orana approached the throne, she saw the empty circle that the crowd had formed around it. Inside this void were only three things: the gilded chair, the ever-imposing Riker, and a man, bound by the wrists and kneeling at the foot of the throne. At the sight of this figure, Orana felt as though she could have skipped. It took all of her willpower to maintain her composure. She kept her head high, her pace slow and deliberate. Despite her best efforts, however, she couldn’t stop the haughty smile from creeping across her pale face.


She reached the throne and stood in front of it, towering before the kneeling man. Riker took a step back, leaving the two figures alone in the circle. The cavernous room was silent as a crypt. Queen Orana stood there for a moment, deciding exactly how to word what she wanted to say. This was a historic moment - she needed to do it right.


Suddenly, the man raised his head. Very slowly, but very deliberately. He stared up into the eyes of the Queen, his face betraying no emotion. Orana was surprised with how normal he appeared. He had an average height and build, a nondescript face with no outstanding features, short brown hair in no distinct style, and pale brown eyes of no note. He wore a simple grey tunic. Over the past few weeks, Orana had been imagining a wild and vicious brute, a man to put even Riker to shame - a demon in human guise.


But this man was nothing. He certainly didn’t look the part of a leader. Seeing his meager appearance filled the Queen with even greater pleasure. This would make things much simpler.


“So,” she announced to the room at large. She kept her voice as calm and steady as she could, and was impressed to hear how easily it filled the space. “This is the infamous Fang. I admit, I find myself...disappointed.” A few of the watchers snickered awkwardly, but quickly silenced themselves.


The man said nothing. He continued to stare into the Queen’s eyes, no visible hint of fear or anger. Orana continued, “We all know who you are. We know why you’re here. But you were doomed from the start. This kingdom is too great, too strong to succumb to the fear-mongering of such a pathetic individual. And this crown,” she waved her hand for emphasis, “Will never be yours.”


“With all due respect, your Highness, this isn’t about you. And this certainly isn’t about me. It’s about the people. The ones out there, many of whom died last night. It’s about them. It always has been.” Like his body, Fang’s voice was astoundingly average, calm and steady. He spoke as simply as though telling his Queen about the weather.


“Liar!” Orana shrieked. A red hue flushing her pale face, she brought her hand back and struck him across the face, making sure to catch his cheek on the edges of her rings. She couldn’t help herself. The casualness of his manner irked her in a way she wasn’t expecting. She almost would have preferred he had yelled at her. And still, he didn’t react.


“Those fools out there may have gladly swallowed your rubbish, but I won’t. Your little group have single-handedly brought this kingdom to its lowest point in history, despite my best efforts. You’re no friend to this land.”


“Your Majesty, when was the last time you left the palace?” The Queen was caught completely off-guard by this question. She had, of course, not left the castle since her own coronation. That was what she had advisors and envoys for. Running a kingdom was far too much work to allow for frivolous jaunts with the commoners. Of course, Orana wasn’t going to say any of this. She was the one asking questions here.


Fang continued regardless. “Because if you had you would know that things have been low for a very long time. Even if it’s hard to tell from in here.” He nodded his head to the opulently decorated throne room. “Things need to change. We would gladly have you join us in making this land great again. Your help would be invaluable. But if you continue to let yourself be blinded, then we only ask that you stand aside for us.”


“Stand aside? Stand aside? You admit it, then! You seek to topple the kingdom, to stab it in the back and destroy everything I’ve built! SEDITION! TREASON!” Orana spat, abandoning all pretext of composure. This was not going at all as she had planned. “I am the Queen, descendant of the great dragon-slayers of old. There is no standing aside. I am Seringard. I AM THIS KINGDOM! Without me, this kingdom is nothing. And without you, The White Dragon is dead!”


Fang sighed. He looked, sad? Why? Orana hated him. Hated his stupid, plain face. Hated how calm he was being. Hated how he was turning this historic moment against her.


“This isn’t about you or me,” he repeated, “You still have a chance. Take it, and be a part of something great” With an abrupt finality, he hung his head. It seemed that the exchange was over.


Queen Orana was shaking. Her eyes were popping in their sockets, mad and bulging. She was more confused and angry than she had ever been in her entire life. But she knew how to fix it. She knew how to fix everything.


“I do understand,” she said evenly, injecting cold venom into every syllable. “I’ve been given a wonderful blessing, and I won’t let it slip by. After all, what is a dragon without its fangs?”


Orana reached down as slowly and deliberately as a mother cradling her child. She tightly gripped the leather handle hanging at her waist. The soft texture gave her strength. Her shaking subsided. She was back where she belonged.


With blinding speed, Queen Orana whipped her arm forward. The silver sword raced through the air, singing shrilly as it went. The blade dug hungrily into flesh and a crimson spray washed over the Queen’s pristine robes. Fang’s body collapsed. His head - still bearing an expression of calm pity - rolled away, coming to rest at Orana feet. The watching crowd gasped and drew back. Whatever they were expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.


Orana smiled to herself, the mad glint in her eyes growing stronger. She had never felt so alive in all her days. Like her ancestor, she had slayed a mighty beast and brought order and harmony back to the land. This moment, this single beautiful moment, would live on forever in the annals of history. Maybe she would even update that old stained-glass window. But as crimson dripped from her sword and seeped into her robes, Queen Orana knew one thing for certain - the worst was over. She had saved Seringard. And under her guidance and care, the kingdom would flourish again. With a single swordstroke, she had ushered in an a new age.


Outside, in the cold and blood-stained street, a lonely flag flapped in the morning wind - a white dragon emblazoned upon it.


* * * * *


This story (written in 2015) was an assignment for my college creative writing class. Enjoy!