Queen

by Daya Daniels

  But he’s too strong.

  He’s too powerful.

  I am too lost in his presence.

  Shutting my eyes, I fall into this moment and forget everything.

  Pleasure sends my insides twisting tighter and tighter. My insides coil into the most satisfying endless knot which only this man can untie. And when I cannot withstand the tension anymore, with a smirk, he simply tugs on the bond and allows me to unravel. I bleat and bay when the orgasm takes over unable to stop cries of euphoria from leaving my body. Alexander fucks me through the pleasure. He gifts me with a deep stroke which leaves my thighs sweat-slicked and quivering and with a growl he stiffens and pours everything he has into me without restraint.

  The moonlight filters into the room.

  My ghost orchid glows a pretty orange between the old and tattered handkerchief it’s wrapped in…

  We simply rest and observe the phenomenon asking no questions at all while not denying reality.

  Our breathing eases.

  Alexander’s thick index finger traces a line over my belly and teases the navel. “You are my future.”

  And you are mine…

  “I will protect everything we have built with my very soul until my body becomes ash.”

  There is so much conviction in his words.

  I do not look at him. “I know you will.”

  “Do not ever speak of your flower, Briar, to anyone.” He cups my cheek with his large hand, urging me to look into the perfect gray storm brewing in his beautiful eyes. “Do you understand?”

  I only offer a blink and no words in response.

  He leans in until we are lips to lips, nose to nose, soul to soul. “Do you understand?” His question is a vicious hiss. I find fear in his orbs—utter fucking fear. I am nudged gently with his thick finger against my cheek. “Do you understand, Briar?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  We stay locked in that gaze and it only takes a short moment for him to realize what truly saddens me.

  “I am sorry I cannot forgive them.” His voice is the gentlest I’ve ever heard it.

  My eyes fix on the dark sky beyond the window. “I am sorry too.”

  Alexander

  IT IS COLD THIS morning, so bloody cold…

  I wrap deeper into my cloak and ease down onto the throne, urging Briar to do the same.

  A crisp wind washes over us which sends the snow flurries with it.

  I gaze up at the beautiful gray sky and spot the eagle which circles high above, no doubt awaiting a meal. The entire household of Berkhamsted Castle fills this courtyard, except for the children and Vesper who has taken a much-needed break from her skulking around my home and has decided to be of some real use by minding the young.

  Shaw lingers.

  Swathed in white from head-to-toe, Sister Rebecca prays.

  Sister Rebecca is always fucking praying.

  Father Peter’s trembling hands clutch the Holy Bible where he stands on the gallows erected high above the courtyard and directly parallel with where we are perched. Behind it stands Berkhamsted Castle.

  The breath which leaves Briar affects me.

  I glance to my right to regard her. “It is your duty.”

  She swallows down all uncertainty and disgust and faces ahead.

  “May God have mercy upon your soul.” Father Peter makes the mark of the Holy Cross and presents the Holy Bible to Jean-Baptiste to kiss.

  Hands bound and with a noose already secured around his neck, he refuses.

  Father Peter mutters words I cannot hear and then steps away.

  “RELEASE!” Heavy sword held high, Caspar’s yell even silences the wind when he makes the command.

  The bottom drops out of Jean-Baptiste’s world and he hangs…

  Jolting. Twitching. Gurgling.

  A terrible sound leaves his gaped mouth.

  Someone gasps.

  I make no bother about who it is.

  This is not the first time I have witnessed an execution. I am King so I figure I should get used to it…

  So should Briar.

  Briar’s head falls low and then with my encouragement it lifts.

  This is justice for all.

  Jean-Baptiste’s agony goes on for quite some time. Death by hanging is rarely swift. It is an invitation to the most horrendous suffering one could ever imagine. No matter how brave a man is and how they might welcome death in preference to a wretched life of being cast into a dungeon for all eternity, while hanging, they all struggle for air. It is human instinct to want to breathe. But the more one struggles, the tighter and tighter and tighter the noose becomes until the neck snaps.

  CRACK.

  Sewage leaks from the dissident and soaks his tattered trousers.

  With a crumbling expression, Briar turns and offers me eyes which are full of questions…but I have already given her all the answers. I don’t know what she searches my face for. I will not change my mind. I will not grant reprieve and no matter how much I believe in God or the Holy Bible which Father Peter holds in his hands, still, I believe in justice. I believe in repentance. For our sins, I believe in the possibility of finding forgiveness not in this world but only in the next one…wherever that may be…

  Briar’s hand lingers on her belly.

  It is beautiful.

  The realization that she is with child reminds me that there is still much hope in the world.

  And I am assured that she will be a good mother.

  But, I hate that she is sitting there, chin high and eyes shining while she judges me.

  My gaze is stolen away when I meet my mother’s eyes as she is ushered onto the gallows. Her stride is slow and regal, and her demeanor is strangely calm as she regards me. We trade unspoken words in that moment. It is a never-ending conversation I simply don’t have time for anymore.

  Briar weeps quietly.

  “Do you have any last words?” Father Peter directs the question to Mother, empathy tortuously wrinkling his brow. The wind rushes by and takes the black hem of his cassock with it. Father Peter mutters more words I cannot make out and steps away, hands clasped, head bowed, awaiting the calamity which will soon follow.

  Mother’s chin tips back high. “I am a queen. In my heart I will always rule these lands. Royalty runs through my blood and it will still, even in death.” A single tear rushes down her cheek. “I am not afraid of death.”

  A smile touches my lips at my mother’s strength.

  She will not repent. She will not seek forgiveness. She is pleased to go to her death a fucking disgrace.

  The woman who brought me into this world was always so, so cold…

  I am sad.

  I am satisfied.

  I am done.

  Off with her head…

  Briar

  A COLD BREATH EXPANDS my lungs…

  The snow flurries which dance around us are perfection against the gray.

  Such beauty serves as the backdrop to undeniable terror.

  I face ahead, eyes fixed on the woman I have never considered to be anything but a mark of strength and royalty and respect. I expect her to attempt to run, beg for her life, or to sob at the very least. But, she does none of those things.

  The cold wind around us whispers.

  The flurries drift across the sky.

  White, white, white flashes across my vision.

  The baby moves.

  It’s a gentle squirm which reminds me that life is now blooming inside me.

  I am a mother, just like the woman who stands tall on the gallows, and we are all connected by Alexander.

  He is King.

  And this woman betrayed this country.

  “KNEEL.” Gaius’ command exits him in a bark which echoes around this courtyard.

  With a shaky hand, the Queen Mother removes her scarf and with the action we are given a flash of her hair which is pulled back and pinned away from
her face. I examine the lines there—age, wisdom, bitterness. It’s all lashed into her flesh like a sad, sad story and all of it likely explains how she ended up here, like this…

  Alexander remains stoic.

  I tremble like the petals of a rose under the frost.

  The Queen Mother sinks down to her knees like a slave and faces ahead.

  I suck in a breath, trace her eyeline, and realize her eyes are settled right on Alexander’s.

  They stare at each other for a long while…

  Alexander offers no emotion.

  Another tear, however, leaks from the Queen Mother’s left eye.

  I wait for Alexander to explode from the throne and demand this all to cease but he does no such thing.

  Clutching my stomach, my gaze sweeps over the Queen Mother and I get lost in the fierceness in her features despite the heavy blade which Gaius practices his swing with only a few feet away from where she kneels. The slice of the blade through the air. The cold which whips around. The silence. It is so, so quiet. No one speaks.

  “Alexander.” My gaze cuts to his, tracing the sharpness of his perfect nose.

  He does not reply.

  I don’t think he could offer me words at all.

  “Alexander.”

  I am not acknowledged.

  “You have been charged with treason.” Gaius holds his sword high. “You have been charged with taking the life of a dear friend, a man who was loved and revered by all, a king. You have been condemned to death. May God have mercy on your soul.”

  A tremor moves through Alexander but is so gentle I could have almost missed it.

  “It is snowing.” Alexander’s deep voice surrounds me. “She always loved the snow…”

  I should look away.

  Don’t look at it, Briar.

  But I cannot do any such thing.

  With his face twisting from the effort, Gaius lifts the sword, pulls back and sends it forward with a barbaric grunt. The slice of the blade as it moves through the air is loud enough to pain my ears. Instinctively, my eyes snap shut.

  A gasp from the small crowd gathered here drifts over the courtyard.

  A CLUNK…from the Queen Mother’s head as it rolls away from her body.

  And then a THUMP as her lifeless body falls over completely.

  Hesitantly, I open my eyes and the scene ahead of me is just as I imagined…

  The chill slips past me and takes the warm breath of surprise which I expel. The birds caw. The blanket of gray cloud above drifts. It is eerily quiet. Time ticks by…Acceptance of what has happened strikes me hard.

  The Queen Mother’s blood runs cold.

  She is dead—motionless—in a pool of red which stains the platform of the gallows.

  Alexander calls it justice.

  I call it playing God.

  What mortal man would ever dare?

  Only a king.

  Only a king.

  Only a bloody king.

  CHAPTER

  XII

  Briar

  I STAND NEAR TO the window peeking out to the courtyard where Alexander, who is shirtless, spars with Davide beneath the cold and let out a warm breath which mists along the glass.

  In the windowsill sits a vase filled with red roses and baby’s breath.

  Leaning forward, I breathe in their sweet scent.

  The air in this chamber is warm this morning and filled with Anna’s laughter and Vesper’s incessant giggling.

  It seems as if so much time has passed but it has not really.

  The seasons have gone by.

  So has life.

  After the Queen Mother and Jean-Baptiste were executed, the announcement had been made to the people of England that the pair no longer lived. The statement was signed by the King himself.

  No one questioned why.

  No one dared to ask.

  The King’s word was the be all and the end all.

  And then the Queen Mother and Jean-Baptiste were simply forgotten as if they never existed at all.

  “Aunty Vesper, I don’t like that color.” Anna’s complaint pulls me out of my daze.

  Palming my growing belly, I spin around and face my two favorite girls in the world who are painting and waltz over to where they stand in front of two easels which are side by side. “Anna, this is marvelous.” I take a moment to examine the painting of what-I-don’t-know. My fingers fiddle with Anna’s curls and then I press a kiss to her cheek. “You have done the most amazing job.”

  Her grin is humungous. “Thank you, Mother.”

  “And what about me, Mother?” Vesper nudges my shoulder playfully with her own. “What do you think of my painting?” She winks.

  A clever smile passes over my lips then decides to remain. “Um, remind me again, Vesper…” My eyes cut to Anna’s and then back to Vesper. “What is it?”

  Clutching her tummy with a tiny hand, Anna falls out in delightful giggles.

  Vesper rolls her eyes. “Dear sister, it is you?” She gazes at the painting for a moment and then her eyes land on mine once more, soft. “It is you.” She nudges her chin at the image of what has admittedly been clear at the very start of all this.

  Tilting my head to the side, I am able to make out the image of a woman strolling through a garden path of roses, her open hand and fingers brushing over the foliage as she does. A gray, gray sky serves as the backdrop.

  Vesper smiles.

  “I did not know you could paint.”

  She lifts a shoulder and grins. “Neither did I.”

  I almost cry. “Vesper, it is beautiful.”

  She bounces on her toes.

  After a knock lands on the open door, Matron Rhodes drifts inside. “I promised I would let Anna spend some time with Charlotte in the kitchen today. Apparently, she promised this little one that they would make butter biscuits.”

  Anna’s blue eyes beam. “I cannot wait, Matron Rhodes.” She takes her hand and Matron Rhodes leads Anna away. “I promise I will come back right after, Mother.” She tips her head Vesper’s way. “Aunty Vesper, I bid you a good morning.” She fakes a posh accent.

  Everyone giggles.

  A breath breaks free from me loud and long when this chamber falls into silence once more. In the distance, beyond the window, the rambunctious theatrics of the sparring outside grows more frantic. It is the shouting. The clanking of swords. The sound of two men in a battle of speed and strength, embroiled in I think what they call “fun.”

  I couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous.

  Vesper rests her paintbrush down and faces me. “You should get some rest.”

  “Yes, yes, I suppose I should.” I run a palm over my belly. “But, I cannot.”

  Vesper’s brows collide.

  “Prince Zaccai is due to return today.”

  “Oh, him.” Vesper laughs.

  “Yes.”

  Vesper returns to painting. “But, what does that have to do with you?”

  “Well, I will be expected to attend dinner tonight and so forth and so on…”

  “I see.” Vesper dabs away at the canvas with the brush she holds. “I cannot say I am looking forward to his return.”

  With a huff, I spin away from her and stride toward the window. “Things are different now, Vesper.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “And besides, I know that even though Alexander will never admit it, he has missed his brother.” Smiling, I peer down into the courtyard. “Prince Zaccai has been gone for months.”

  “No one has missed him.”

  The snow flurries rush past the window with the wind and I behold the sight of England in the distance which is now blanketed by white. With the next passing breath, the sparring ceases and Davide throws a cloak over Alexander’s bare torso. And then they are out of my sight.

  “Like I said, Vesper, Alexander has missed him.”

  She mumbles words under her bre
ath I cannot hear clearly.

  “What was that?” I run my finger over the cold, cold glass.

  “I am sure Alexander now realizes that it is better that he is now married to you instead of that pompous tart, Morganna.” A little laugh follows her statement.

  My hand freezes against the windowpane. “Alexander was never going to marry Morganna.”

  Vesper stiffens.

  It’s silent for quite some time, only the wind which rushes past the window fills our ears.

  “What did you say?” Slowly, her head turns, and she glances back at me with strange eyes.

  “I said Alexander was never going to marry Morganna.” I resume my teasing of the glass.

  The sky outside darkens and more snow falls, obscuring the view.

  Vesper growls out more words.

  “What is it?” My head slants left then right hoping to get a read on her but her back is to me.

  Her hand is at her side and her head hangs low for just a moment before she lifts it and gets back to painting, making bold and long strokes and dipping the brush into the paint until it’s covered in red.

  “Vesper.” With narrowed eyes, I approach. “What is wrong?”

  She laughs softly but I hear the hitch in it as though it cannot be feigned even if she tries her very best. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong, Briar.”

  With slow steps, I move across the room. “Are you sure?” I stop when I find myself lingering right behind her and in front of her vivid painting.

  “Yes.” She dabs away with the brush, perfecting what according to my eyes is already so perfect.

  “Vesper.”

  She freezes, her hand falls to her side and that brush smears red all over her dress.

  But, she says nothing.

  Fear crawls up and around my heart and squeezes tightly.

  “Vesper.”

  My sister offers me no words.

  She shakes her head. “I thought she was marrying Alexander, Briar.”

  What does that even mean?

  “Vesper, I don’t understand.”