project lyallie [lms vii]

I have ideas! eastern standard time <3

06/04/26

I came up with this idea while staring at the ceiling lol. here's the premise, straight from my notebook:

a princess comes to the throne after both her parents are killed, and her first act as queen is to hire an assassin to find the person who killed them. the one issue is that the assassin she's hired is the same person who killed her parents. and for good reason.

currently i've got some characters and a skeleton of the plot. am hoping to get some worldbuilding done next week!

[lyallie is the name of a little girl in the novel, not a main charrie cause i didn't want to favor one of my three main characters lol!]

planning is being done >:)

"They're gone."

Elora turned from where the evening sunlight shone through the window. Her throat clenched, then choked.

"Oh," she said, internally surprised at how nonchalant she seemed. This was no surprise, she had seen the blood, the way the arrows stuck in their necks—

"I'm truly sorry, Your Majesty." Lord Cyridian was nothing if not a rule-follower. Elora's parents were barely cold in their beds, but her new title was clearly very important to him.

She scoffed slightly at the thought of the portly lord pondering how to address the young princess. No. Queen.

"Arrangements will have to be made," Cyridian said, strolling up to Elora's side. He touched her shoulder. "Do you think this will come out?" he asked, tracing the bloodstain that crested her brocade sleeve. "It really is such a lovely dress."

Elora wanted to wrest his hand off of her and perhaps cut it off. But she could hear her mother again, remember the late queen taking out an earring and telling her daughter she really should be more agreeable.

"I hadn't really thought about it," she said blithely, brushing his hand off.

"The funeral is next week. The coronation the day after."

Elora raised her eyebrows imperceptibly, eyes still focused on the horizon through the bay window. For a moment, she let herself falter, to feel it. They were gone. She would never again ask her father how to rule, to ask her mother how she had become such a lovely queen.

The missing crept through her chest like a vine. She let it prick at her with its thorns, and supposed it might stay for a long, long while.



Elora thought it was a cruel joke that her coronation dress was made of the same fabric as the one she'd worn the day her parents had been killed.

It was that same thick, white brocade with the hints of gold woven throughout its floral pattern. And it was unbelievably heavy on her shoulders.

She shook her hair out of her face. It's alright. It is only a moment, though it feels like a year at that podium. At her feet, a rosy-faced maid bustled the long train. Elora could barely manage a cold smile at her.

Through the open door, she caught a glimpse of long, fluffy brown hair and managed to wake from her trance.

"Lynne!" she called. As the young woman walked back through the door, Elora sighed. She wasn't sure how she'd ever survive this without her only true friend.

Elora was always in awe of Lynne, it seemed. Her eyes caught on the way her lady-in-waiting's eyelashes fluttered as she spoke.

Lynne wrinkled her nose. "Sara," she said, looking down at the rosy-faced maid. "You are making the skirt far too short. Have you ever seen a queen be crowned in a skirt that barely reaches her ankles?"

The maid's face grew far more red. "Oh- Thank you, my lady."

Lynne managed a raise of the eyebrows and straightened her posture, looking straight at Elora. She rested her hand on the side of the princess's shoulder, eyes softening slightly.

"Your Majesty."

"Lynne," Elora sighed.

"You will be the most beautiful queen that Elisade has ever set eyes on," Lynne said, brushing fallen hairs from Elora's bodice. "This dress…"

Elora looked down at Lynne's slender hand, which still brushed against her waist.

"It was my grandmother's," Elora said softly. "Beautiful, I know."

Lynne tilted her head to the side. "The same fabric as the one from Lysitin."

"The very same. It's quite odd the way things worked out, considering I've always been destined to be crowned in this one."

Elora's gaze strayed to the window. The dawn glittered in the sky, and she could see the royal guard lined up on the lawn. Having been told the plans a hundred times in the past week, she knew they were going over the many strategies that ensured her security.

"You know, they had their chance on Lysitin. If they haven't killed you by now, I should assume they don't intend to."

The princess's head turned sharply to see Lynne, too, looking at the lawn. "I'd still like to not get murdered on my coronation," Elora said indignantly.

Lynne pulled a strand of her hair out of its ribbon. "You're right. It is best to be safe." She turned once more to the princess, flat lips molding into a soft smile. "The kingdom is waiting for their Queen Elora of Elisade."



The crown glittered in late-afternoon sun. Elora knew this, her father had on many occassions let her wear it as a child. She had been playing queen, carrying one of the maids' brooms as her staff and wearing that centuries-old crown.

She thought all this while walking towards it in the largest room of the palace. Her eyes caught on the walls, which were covered in wine-red velvet.

Lord Cyridian met her at the podium, and Elora couldn't help but stare at where his shirt button was near-bursting near his stomach. In his hands were that brassy crown, emerald cresting the tip, and Elora's true staff.

For a moment, she wished to once again be holding a wooden broom.

"Your Majesty Elora," Cyridian said, facing the crowd of citizens and nobility alike. Elora turned slowly, hoping her hair was perfectly curled, that her eyes shone. This was the moment that people would do portraits of.

"I do promise to the dear people of Elisade," Elora said, her rehearsed script ringing in her mind. "That I am forever indebted to you. That I will live my life, however long—" she coughed. "Or short, I will live it in service to you."

She looked to Lord Cyridian, who still held the sparkling staff in anticipation. "My heart belongs to my kingdom. All that I do, it is for my people, blessed in Lysitia's name." Elora extended both hands, palm up, as she'd been told to do.

Lord Cyridian nodded and faced the crowd once more. Elora thought it a stupid gesture, considering he was addressing her. "I hereby crown you in the eyes of Lysitia, the goddess of the people," the senior advisor said. "I crown you in the eyes of Slorin, god of all those who rule."

His eyes met hers, cutting through her soul. Lips pressed tightly together, he rested the staff in her outstretched hands.

The metal's cool surface bit at her palms. Elora rested its end beside her, holding it like she had done it a thousand times before. She lowered her head, hair falling on both sides of her face like a shield from everything terrible that could happen once that crown touched her for real.

"I crown you, Queen Elora of Elisade, in the name of all the rulers who came before you. In the name of the sun and all the stars."

When the crown reached her hair at last, it was surprisingly warm. Though it had been months since the late king had worn it, she imagined it was him, showing his warmth to her one last time.

Elora raised her head, unsteady. She could barely keep it up as she made her first decree at that godsforsaken podium.

"I have been an orphan for a week," she said, looking out at the sea of her citizens. "And so has Elisade. I have promised to my citizenry that I will serve you as long as I live." She fought the sob that threatened to break through her throat. "Let me do this for us. I will find the person who murdered my parents, Eliot and Lenore of Elisade. When they are found, I will do everything in my power to make sure they are given the highest penalty a person can suffer within the borders of my kingdom."

The crowd held a silence that terrified the young queen, then erupted in applause.

When the reality of his situation hit him, Cael Sheridan liked to pretend this was all a game.

He stood on the rooftop he knew so well, holding the bow with his name carved into its wood. If he thought too hard about killing, he might break the focus that made him the best assassin in Elisade. Below him, yet another Elisadian noble popped out of a back door of the palace.

Lord Cyridian. One of the most vile people Cael had had the displeasure of trying to kill. Everywhere that man went, he carried a security detail that rivaled that of the queen. Yet now he was alone, unfurling a scroll that probably held another one of his bills.

Cael held his breath and pulled back his arrow. If he could time it right, nobody would find the lord's body till he was already home. He aimed the arrow right at the back of Cyridian's neck, just as he'd done—

A maid popped out of the door that Cyridian had come through and whispered to the lord. Cael could feel her gaze catch onto him—and knew he had missed his chance.

He sighed. Another time. There was no way Cyridian could do more harm in the next couple days it would take for Elisade's premier assassin to kill him.

Bow tucked beneath his jacket, he snuck off the rooftop through a rotting staircase he was sure nobody would dare check.

The back of the neck, he thought as he strolled casually through the streets of Damyran. The best place to kill. He'd learned it from his mentor, Delwyn, but Delwyn liked to say that Cael had taken it to another level.

He supposed that shooting the king and queen in the backs of their necks was good for his underground reputation in that way.

Damyran was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Normally, the capital bustled, but Cael knew that the increased presence of the Guards had scared many from leaving their doorsteps. He remembered his childhood, running through the streets. Children might well be arrested for doing that, nowadays.

His head hung low, black scarf tied across his nose and mouth. Although nearly nobody knew his occupation, he feared that one day they might recognize him from the many events in which nobles had died—garnet-tipped arrows stuck in their tracheas. His mark.

In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a wide-eyed peasant woman. Stood in front of her, hand firmly on his spear, was one of the Guards of Damyran.

"I know you are a thief, ma'am. No need to lie, we have the proof," the Guard said, blood dripping from his voice.

The woman mumbled something fearfully, and the Guard grabbed at her collar.

"How dare you speak to me in that way," he said. He let go of her collar, and the woman cowered.

Cael nearly walked past. This was a normal occurrence—the Guard might just leave her be, having put fear into her heart. He only stopped when he heard the slap.

The assassin turned his head to see the poor young woman holding her cheek. When she lifted her hand, Cael saw the blood, smeared across her palm.

The Guard still growled words under his breath as Cael approached quietly.

When the assassin was mere feet away, he began to sprint. Elbow hitting the Guard's thick neck, he pinned the officer in the gut.

"You may not treat the citizens of Elisade this way," Cael hissed. He stuck his elbow deeper into the Guard's trachea and heard him choke. Cael glanced to the side, where the woman still stood, and planned his escape route.

As the Guard's face began to turn blue, Cael suddenly let go, grabbing the arm of the young woman and pulling her into a run. He knew that the Guard would only be out of breath for a minute, at most.

The woman gasped through sobs and whispers of thanks. Still at a run through Damyran's main street, Cael eyed the door he'd been looking for and pushed through it as soon as he hit the doorstep, the young woman still next to him.

Delwyn's face met his in the front room of the Bloodstone Alliance's headquarters.

"Who do we have here, Sheridan?" the older man asked, eyebrows raised. The young woman's eyes, still wide, filled with tears once more.

"I'm helping her, Delwyn," Cael responded. Turning to the woman, he softened his voice. "Are you alright? I noticed you were bleeding."

The young woman coughed and felt her cheek once more. "Thank you," she whispered.

Cael knelt beside where she'd collapsed on the floor. "What is your name?" he asked.

"N-Nessa."

Cael looked up at his mentor. "Delwyn, please make sure Nessa has a place to stay for the night. There is a Guard who may be looking for her."

Delwyn nodded and gestured for the woman to follow him up the stairs.

Once they were both out of eyesight, Cael collapsed into a hard armchair in the front room. At last, he peeled away his cloth mask, which was soaked. He used it to mop up the sweat by his hairline and ran a hand through his now-wet hair.

Through the door to the kitchen, a red-haired woman peeked through.

"Hello, Aisling," Cael said tiredly.

Aisling raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"No kills today, I'm afraid," Cael sighed. "Nearly. Cyridian was alone for five whole seconds."

Aisling rolled her eyes. "Five whole seconds, and you couldn't get him? What happened to the premier assassin of Elisade?"

"I can sense it, Aisling. It's going to happen soon."

Nodding, Aisling beckoned him into the kitchen.

He lifted himself up from the chair, pain striking through his arm. The adrenaline of the day had blocked it out, but now that he was comfortable, he could remember that his wrist was fractured.

Cael walked into the kitchen and collapsed once more onto a stool. "Do you have any more bandages for my wrist?"

Aisling turned from the stove. "Don't you want my biscuits first?"

"Look at that. The leader of the revolution, baking biscuits."

"I am a mother first," Aisling said, teasing creeping into her voice. "I just bought new bandages at the market." She paused. "While I was there, someone asked me to deliver a letter. For you."

"For me?"

"Yes. It's sitting on the chair next to yours, I believe."

Cael lifted the letter from the chair. It felt far fancier than any correspondence he'd ever recieved from other members of the Alliance, or his family in the North. Somehow, he could tell that this was different.

"I'll open it later. Thank you, Ais."

"My pleasure, dear."

Cael noticed the streaks of grey that wove through Aisling's hair. "Are you alright? You've been looking tired recently."

Aisling laughed. "Comes with the territory, my dear. Take a biscuit." She laid a plate full of biscuits on the table in front of him. "Leave some for the others, will you?" she said patronizingly.

"Okay, mum."

"You jest," Aisling said, "But you know I run this Alliance with an iron fist. And a motherly heart."

Cael smiled before finally biting into the biscuit. He made a face. "With terrible cooking skills, too."

786 words

Aisling rolled her eyes and went to wash her biscuit pan. "Would you like some tea with that?"

"With that? I will have some tea, please, but I will not be enjoying it alongside these horrible biscuits. Kindly."

Behind him, Delwyn's footsteps made the wooden floor vibrate.

"Biscuits, Ais?" he grumbled. "Put on some tea for me, please."

He bit into a biscuit and pursed his lips. As Aisling's eyes met his, Delwyn quickly flattened his expression. "Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful, my love."

As soon as the red-haired woman's head was turned, he thrust the rest of the biscuit into Cael's hands. "For you, Sheridan," he coughed.

"I don't want it, Delwyn," Cael hissed.

"I trained you to endure suffering, son."

Aisling turned around, teapot in hand. "Enjoying the biscuits, I see."

Delwyn slyly walked over and embraced her from behind. "Perhaps you should leave the baking to me, my love."

Aisling blushed and pecked him on the cheek. "Oh dear," she said with a sigh. "It's my grandmother's recipe. I don't think they're quite as good as I remember."

"We can feed them to the animals, Ais," Cael said, sneakily discarding the biscuit Delwyn had given him.

Delwyn carried two cups of tea and met Cael at the table. "So, Sheridan, how'd today go? Aside from saving damsels in distress."

"I nearly caught Cyridian," Cael sighed.

"Attaboy," Delwyn laughed. "We've got time. I'm sure you can get him in the next couple days, it's not as if you've got anything else you're doing."

"Could've been the back of the neck, too. Not sure if I'm gonna get that chance ever again."

"Son, just because it's your signature move—that you learned from me, mind you—doesn't mean you have to use it."

"I know," Cael said softly. "But he's such a piece of scum. Deserves to get hit right in the trachea."

Aisling sat next to Delwyn. "Well, the point of it is that we want him dead. Doesn't matter how much it hurts as long as he's never allowed to have an opinion on Elisadian politics ever again," she said.

"Oh, did Sheridan tell you he brought home a girl, Ais?" Delwyn said.

Cael scoffed. "I kept her from getting bruised by a Guard. Nothing more to it."

"She's very pretty, you know…" Delwyn teased.

"Delwyn." Aisling warned.

"I'm not looking to fall in love, Delwyn." Cael groaned. "Honestly, if the perfect girl showed up on our doorstep, I wouldn't do anything about it. As long as the Guards are still here and beating up citizens, I don't have time for trivialties."

Aisling's eyes warmed, and she reached a hand across to touch Cael's. "Cael, dear. Loving this scruffy man—" she looked towards Delwyn. "—is the best thing I've ever done. And I orchestrated a national rebellion that's saved hundreds of lives."

"That's different, Ais." Cael put his head in his hands. "You both met each other before—" He waved his hands in the air. "—all this."

"Darling, just because the world is harsh and cruel doesn't mean your life must be. You are allowed to love."

Cael ran a hand through his hair and tried not to sigh. He might take the biscuits back now, if only because it meant he wouldn't have to come up with a response to that. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer when Delwyn suddenly knelt to the ground.

"Kinslie!" he called at the redheaded toddler who ran into his arms. He picked the child up and spun her around.

"Be careful with her, dear, you had better not drop her," Aisling warned, though there was an underlying fondness in her voice that took away the stern edge.

Kinslie squealed as Delwyn passed her into Cael's arms. Cael decided that holding the little angel was more important than the strike of pain that shot through his arm.

"Hey, lovey," Cael cooed, bouncing her on his lap. The little girl babbled something incomprehensible, then reached towards her mother.

"Mama," she giggled, and Cael pressed a kiss to her head before handing her over.

Aisling peppered her daughter's face with kisses, smiling when Kinslie's giggles intensified. She raised an eyebrow as she ran her fingers through the little girl's hair.

"Lovey, why is your hair so tangled?" she asked, cooing. She stood from the table, toddler in hand, and walked out of the kitchen, ostensibly to find a comb.

Delwyn chuckled and looked on at her, then turned back to Cael.

"Son, you're going to regret it if you close your doors to love," he grumbled. "That woman saved me." He gestured to Aisling, who bounced their child in the doorway. "Don't let the world ruin it for you."

"Another one missing," Delwyn said solemnly as he slammed a letter down.

The entire Damyran chapter of the Bloodstone Alliance was gathered around the headquarters' large dining table, which was cracked and rippled with water damage. Cael had taken it off the side of the road near the palace right after a big storm.

Thunder crashed, and everyone in the room seemed to freeze.

From the edges of the room, a young woman came forward, brown hair dripping with rainwater. "The queen—she doesn't know."

The room erupted in sighs.

"How does she not know?" Delwyn shouted. "She doesn't know that her people are being taken from the capital to the farthest edges of the country? She doesn't know that they're being kept in the worst conditions, simply for not giving in to her guards? Tell me, Lynne, does she not know or is she willingly ignorant?"

The young woman—Lynne—opened her mouth, then pressed it shut. She spoke again, her voice thick with disdain. "She is young, you know this. Young and ill-prepared. She was supposed to have more time to learn—"

Aisling stood and met her eyes. "Learn from who? Her corrupt parents? She's more malleable now, if anything." Her gaze grew sharp. "And you are supposed to help mold her."

Cael just sat back in his chair and stared. It seemed that every time another citizen was taken by the Guards, the Alliance grew more stressed. Especially when it was one of their own—he remembered when Delwyn's right-hand man, Simon, was taken to a prison in the south. No one had heard from him in over a year. On what was supposed to be Simon's twenty-seventh birthday, Cael remembered seeing Delwyn cry for the first time.

Silence fluttered through the room until Cael finally broke it. "Who?"

Delwyn raised his eyebrows. "What was that, Sheridan?"

"Who was taken?"

"Marna Caline," Delwyn sighed. "Seamstress. Taken from Damyran to the south after resisting a Guard's advances. Lysitia bless her."

The room echoed with murmurs of "Lysitia bless."

In the corner, Lynne's eyes watered, and Cael noticed at once that they were the clearest blue.

The meeting ended with simple discussions of next plans—Cael's inability to kill Lord Cyridian as of late was mentioned, and he flushed red—and everyone trickled out of the meeting room. Aisling offered spare rags for those rushing out, to cover their heads from the rain. Delwyn offered everyone else a warm place to stay until the storm cleared.

"Glasses of alozine for everyone," Delwyn called out.

Cael caught a glimpse of Lynne, leaning against the kitchen counter, and shoved through the crowd to get to her.

He tapped her shoulder. "You knew her?"

Lynne seemed to wake from a trance. "Excuse me?"

"Marna Caline. Did you know her?"

"She was a friend of my mother's, at the palace," Lynne said, forlorn. "Never was one to take a beating from anyone, let alone a Guard."

'If she was only a friend of your mother's, why were you crying?" Cael asked. When Lynne's eyes sharpened, he realized how he must have sounded.

"She has a young daughter, five years old. Her husband died two years ago… my mother offered to take the child, but she's getting on in years," the young woman said. "That girl will most likely go to an orphanage in the North."

Cael's breath caught in his throat, and he could feel his eyes widen. Lynne scoffed and began to walk away. Cael tried to catch up to her, but his legs were sore.

"Wait!" he called at last.

Lynne turned. "What is it, Sheridan?"

"She can stay here, Lynne. Aisling and Delwyn have a nanny for Kinslie," he said, breathing heavily. "I'm sure she can care for another child."

Lynne raised her eyebrows, then tilted her head. "Are you sure they would do that?"

Cael shrugged. "They would at least consider it. Those two have a soft spot for children."

The brown-haired woman pulled her cloak over her head as she prepared to leave. "I'll speak with them about it." As she opened the door, she turned back one last time. "Thank you, Sher—No, what's your first name?"

He smiled. "Cael Sheridan. Pleased to meet you."

Lynne's face flushed, and Cael wondered if it was because of the cold rain or something else. "Thank you, Cael. Lynne Dreyfus."

Cael stood in the doorway as she walked down the steps. Her red cloak billowing in the wind, she did look like a garnet on the rain-soaked street.