Fallen Queen (Mariposa Book 1)

by Y. R. Shin

  At his single, cold word, and Eila’s single movement of the eyes, four knights wearing the blue armor disassembled the dead horse’s massive body lying limp on the ground. Blood splattered everywhere, and the sounds of flesh being torn apart and bones being ground echoed. They dismantled the horse into bits, then threw the horse’s body onto a small wagon without much care. The head of the poor dead horse was carelessly thrown onto the wagon, as well, and soon disappeared out of sight.

  Balroid wiped his bloody lips with his thumb and continued, “If you intend to appeal to the imperial decree, I will not stop you. But first, you will have to visit the archipelago. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

  Marche fumed like he would stop breathing altogether, then turned around. Stomp, stomp, stomp. He intentionally walked away rougher, tougher, and faster.

  Once Marche disappeared, the tension lessened a bit. Balroid raised his head and gazed in the direction he had ridden this whole afternoon.

  Eila approached and spoke. “My lord.”

  “The preparations?”

  “I completed most of the transfer in your place before you arrived, my lord.” Eila’s straight gaze went down to the bloodied ground. “I will prepare a new horse, my lord.”

  “Good.”

  Eila turned around at the nonchalant reply. But she stopped after taking only a couple steps away. Eila carefully turned back around and asked, “Have you, by any chance, not met the one you sought, my lord?”

  Balroid’s furious eyes looked straight at Eila’s calm ones.

  Rather than getting flustered or showing signs of being frightened, she kneeled down. “If you were offended, my lord, please punish my insolence for daring to be presumptuous in your presence.”

  He gazed at the northern sky. He once again sank into the feeling of dreaming.

  It had been a long, long time. Long enough to churn his innards by just trying to count those years.

  He’d met her. After two hundred years, he’d met her once more. It didn’t matter if her looks were different. The eyes that were looking at him, the lips that called him, they all were…

  Peijak.

  Swan.

  His eyes trembled with excitement. Ecstatic joy rushed through his lower abdomen, tensing it.

  He’d once again met Swan, his only world.

  At last, time started to flow again. At last, he saw the light outside the hell. But all he could enjoy was the delight of a reunion. In desperate anxiety, like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, he slowly gazed across his sight fogged by the rainfall. He saw the blue butterfly flag he had ordered to hang in places across the camp. That much was clear.

  How…how…how can you wear their armor, sit on their saddle, and point your sword at Rarke…!

  Balroid calmed his breath.

  He was already certain about meeting her; he had no doubts about that. This was the reward of those atrocious times from two hundred years ago. But it could have been something unexpected that required a bit of time to think about for her. For now, her recognizing him was enough. Seeing with his eyes that she had returned was enough. He had already waited more than two hundred years in hell and had no reason not to spend a bit more time there.

  “As of now…I can be patient for a bit longer.”

  He tilted his chin and looked up, mumbling like he was trying to brainwash himself. The black night looked over him.

  Under the darkness that swallowed the entire sky, Swan was still with Brionake. Rage boiling like a furnace surged and made his throat feel like it was melting down from the inside. The starlight embedded in the night’s layers was as bright as the eyes of the man atop a pitch-black horse who had looked down at him.

  Balroid looked up at the sky for a while, then moved his fatigued feet. Fierce hatred and delight entwined and filled up his footsteps like rainwater.

  Faint steam escaped his mouth, flowed through the waning rainfall, then dissipated.

  Under the night on a battlefield where even the smoke rising from the fire disappeared into the darkness covering the sky.

  When was it?

  She was sitting on the throne of a small kingdom somewhere west of Rarke, in the empty throne room of the king where there was no one to harm her even when she took off her helmet and armor. The air was depressed with the smell of blood. Dismissing the familiar stench and the slowly ceasing screams as though they were air, she lowered her dry lids.

  The scene clearly drawn on her closed eyelids and her blackened eyes was the same as always.

  All the people of all the countries worshipped and feared Rarke. They offered flowers of admiration. Some were wary of her rather romantic wish, saying that it was an uncontrollable idealism, but no matter. She was certain all would become Rarke’s glory in the end, so she did not care about their words. All the kingdoms on this continent would lose the masters of their thrones and submit to Rarke.

  She sat there, enjoying the silence and drunk with victory, until the horrendously broken door to the throne room opened with an uncanny sound. She glanced at the group of knights coming into the room. A man covered in blood was at the front. She waved her hand while still leaning on the remnants of the throne.

  “What majesty you bring with you, Sir Dollehan.”

  The knight at the front nodded at her sharp, cold voice. Then, the knights following behind turned around at once and exited the room, like they had been rehearsing it. When the scattered echoes of their armor clanging at the joints and their army boots hitting the floor subsided, the knight in a black suit of armor approached her, a bloodied sword in his hand. Her eyes narrowed, and his immediate reply followed.

  “Seems like my sister is unhappy.”

  “Peijak.”

  “Forgive me for unpleasantly carrying my sword around like this. My scabbard has broken. Sir Chesa and Sir Belakish have completed their missions as well. We killed every single one of them, including the queen who had run away, so all the troublesome buds have been nipped. So, let us leave now, Your Majesty.”

  The queen listened to the tragic news without changing her facial expression at all. The deaths of those she did not love never stirred even an inkling of pity or guilt in her. She listened to Peijak’s sweetly spoken report and caressed the throne of the small country she had taken apart to bits with her fingertips. It felt cold and hollow.

  “How long did it take until we got here?”

  “Four months?”

  “If those who attempt meaningless strife block our way everywhere we go, it will take quite a while.”

  She sounded as if she were dissatisfied with destroying a kingdom with two hundred years of history in only four months, even if it was a small kingdom in the middle of nowhere where not even maps clearly stated its name. Peijak, who was still standing, smoothly bent one knee to sit down.

  The queen nonchalantly tossed a question. “The body of the queen?”

  “I have thrown the body aside and brought only her head. Would you like to go see it?”

  The queen’s detached blue eyes landed on the knight’s sword soaked in blood. His sword looked grotesque stained with the blood of a noble queen of a worthless kingdom who had looked down on Rarke. The curdled, dripping blood on that blade would have been the fear and regret of the end of a life shed.

  She pushed down on the armrest and rose.

  “I should not be satisfied with this little a victory to make Belbarote understand.”

  “Why do you care about the duke regent? Though he is taking care of the stately matters, the throne is yours, dear sister. You are Rarke as you are.”

  Peijak bent down toward her to look into her eyes and whispered, “If you wish to unite the continent, do so. If it is your wish to crush your enemies below your feet, do so. If you wish to burn the world, do so. If the battlefield is a shelter for you, I will make the entire world one, wherever that may be.”

  Instead of just passing by like she was going to, she stopped to caress Peijak’s cheek.
“Now, the battlefield is more comfortable than the palace.” She recalled saying so before. Her lips lightly touched Peijak’s cheek, then separated. “It is a reward for your commendable behavior.”

  “Dear sister.”

  Peijak reached his hand behind her neck. Then he pulled the butterfly mantle hanging on her back. He pressed the noble fabric to his lips, then raised his cool eyelids to longingly gaze into her eyes. The pitiable admiration surging inside of him whispered. “I do not know the reason you chose this, but flying freely suits you in its own way.”

  The layers of his faint, low voice echoed and lifted the light movements of the wings.

  “Fly, without a single worry. Do not care about the duke regent, nor Cratoia, Ardonis, nor Roinsa, nor Enhoza of Sichin. I will make bloom a flower you can sit on, sit and rest on, wherever it may be.”

  The queen just scoffed. “What a poem you are reciting.”

  The war continued for years.

  Everywhere she set foot on became an offering for Rarke, and everywhere she laid her eyes upon, blood-soaked earth like red flowers bloomed. And behind that queen always followed the best knight of Rarke, Peijak Dollehan Rarkalia, his clear presence like a shadow under the sunlight.

  Something that could not be explained by any word, whether it be friendship, love, or admiration, existed between them.

  Thus, in the present after two hundred years, another story began.

  -To be continued-

  The Hydrangea Garden

  “May I ask why you made a butterfly yourself?”

  “You never ask about such things.”

  “I thought women liked to compare themselves to a beautiful flower.”

  “A flower…oh, a flower.”

  “Do you dislike them?”

  “Flowers?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do like flowers as well. I simply do not receive them, since no one gifts them to me.”

  “I will procure some on my way back, once official business is completed, and send them here.”

  The queen stopped on the marble floor covered by a red carpet. Then slowly turned back and smiled.

  “It’s a joke, so no need to answer so seriously. Of course, I like flowers, but I did so because I liked blue things more.”

  What was she trying to say?

  Her tranquil voice resounded like a lullaby.

  “But I have never in my entire life seen a blue flower. I have seen butterflies, though. Everywhere I set foot on is covered in red, so why shouldn’t the thing I like be blue?”

  Spring had sprung. The fierce winter stuck its tail between its legs and ran off. But the capital city of Rarke, Muiyadro, still suffered the fool’s spring the winter had left behind. In the season when the persistent sprout that sprang on the infertile land reached its young leaves toward the sunlight, Muiyadro of the northern country was still cold.

  A girl stretched out her neck like a deer and scanned the low walls of a mansion. The tip of the short girl’s nose was frozen in a red hue in the chilly spring wind. The eyes moving restlessly were a clear pumpkin color.

  The overseer of the duke’s mansion in the heart of Muiyadro, Halman, found the girl and noiselessly went outside the walls of the mansion.

  “His Grace has not arrived yet.”

  Elhien, who had been sneaking a peek inside, winced at the stately voice coming from right next to her, then changed her attitude into a prouder one and raised her chin.

  “Long time, no see.”

  “Yes, my lady. I hope you were doing well. Where are your guards and maids?”

  Elhien gave a quizzical smile instead of answering. Halman, the overseer of the masterless mansion, shook his head like he understood the meaning of that smile and handed her the flower he held. It was the famous blue hydrangea that was said to only grow in the greenhouse at Duke Brionake’s mansion.

  “I heard he is arriving sometime this morning…”

  “A message came stating that he will be a day or two late because of the snowfall in the area, my lady.”

  Elhien took the flower. “I see.”

  Elhien just stared at the fragile but rough-feeling flower enwrapped by her hand. Then, with clearly disappointed eyes, she looked up at the massive mansion across the low walls. The red wolf banner was fluttering with dignity, regardless of the cold wind.

  Achoo! Once her excited anticipation subsided, she started to suddenly feel the cold. When she sneezed, Halman offered, with a smile, “Would you like to warm yourself inside, my lady?”

  Elhien scrunched up her pretty forehead, then shook her head, smiling brightly. “No. I’d better get going. My carriage is right over there, so no need to worry.”

  “Have a safe trip back home, then, my lady.”

  Elhien looked back at the banner of Brionake once more, unable to cast her regret away, then grinned. She held the flower lightly and gracefully turned around. It was clearly a well-thought-out movement to look more like an adult than anyone watching would have realized. Thinking the child was quite adorable, Halman smiled on the inside and bowed.

  After a couple brisk steps, she suddenly came to a stop. Then she slowly looked around and smiled. “Can you keep my visit today as a secret?”

  Halman finally made a sound like he was swallowing laughter when her heavy skirt was far out of sight. She was such a pure girl, just like one should be at her age. She was also a noble lady he would have to obey as his mistress before long, but simply watching her brought him joy.

  Elhien Devi Laperovahan was loved by all. She was Paseid’s betrothed.

  In the early morning, children wearing thick coats ran around on the dirt roads in the capital and merchants waited in line for the morning market to open. Even in the welcomed cold of the spring that tickled their noses, the people started their days with a prayer as always.

  May today be as usual.

  But a sight quite different from what was usual arrived, despite the prayers. There were knights that had come out in groups and were standing in front of the firmly shut gates of the castle like statues since early in the day.

  The knights wore white royal mantles draped over their backs and trapezoid armbands, brassards of their respective noble houses on their arms. They were standing in formation motionlessly. At their formidable presence, the people wondered if some serious event had occurred. But the knights did not budge. The spectators grew bored, and the people’s curious eyes slowly turned away.

  When the sun reached the highest point in the sky, a flag signaling to open the gates fluttered on the bridgehead. The ear-piercing sound of the pulley echoed. A group of knights and a cavalcade following them appeared on the other side of the slowly opening gates.

  A red wolf banner fluttering in the spring breeze grew larger and larger. The royal knights started to move. Those who were quick enough clapped their hands.

  “His Grace, the duke of the northwest, has come.”

  The people lost their interest and went back to their chores.

  Paseid walked through the gates with many knights and nearly double the number of servants. He scanned the scenery of Muiyadro in the cool spring. It had been nearly four months since he’d last come here. Paseid spent more time in his land, Rokland, than in the capital, unlike the other central nobles. Even so, he was too busy going back and forth between the barren lands in the west and the coastal region in the southwest for the last couple years to visit often.

  The lower city of Muiyadro did not look that different from his last visit. The roads had become a bit sleeker and the houses were cleaner and taller. The reason he was filled with tranquil serenity and affectionate emotions at the common, ordinary sight was probably because this was the home of his childhood. If the times were peaceful, he would have been able to enjoy those emotions a bit more. It was a shame he couldn’t.

  Paseid turned his eyes away from the miniscule things to look at the massive white castle boasting its overpowering presence at the end of the crossroad. The w
alls of the palace, with its back to the Galiau Mountains from the northern legends, were laid out like ever-present snow. Beyond the walls, he saw towers standing tall like straight trees and a round roof hung like a rainbow connecting the sky and the earth.

  The sight of the capital’s palace standing in harmony with the mountain range was blinding, like a large sepulcher of snow.

  A knight wearing a white wolf mantle on his back sped up to ride alongside Paseid, who was riding in front of everyone else.

  “His Majesty is waiting for you, my lord duke. The prime minister and the other noblemen have already gathered at Norte Hall. Please allow me to accompany you until you enter the palace.”

  Only then did Paseid turn his head. “All of them?”

  “Yes, my lord duke. So, the sooner, the better.”

  Paseid gazed at the royal knights’ glum faces.

  If it was a council meeting with all the central nobles and high officials at a time like this, it must not be about something good. He turned his horse away from the mansion.

  “Sir Keheif, move first and lead the others to the mansion. I will first head to the palace.”

  “Yes, sir.” A knight of the duke raised his flag high up at his orders. “Follow me!”

  With the thundering shout, the cavalcade of the people with the red wolf banner broke off in the opposite direction at the crossroad.

  Paseid watched the slowly disappearing tail of the cavalcade and gazed in the direction of Brionake’s central mansion, then turned his eyes to the grand palace on the other side of the road.

  Paseid untied the tattered, dusty mantle once he arrived at the palace. He put on a new red wolf mantle over the back of his dress suit, which was a handsome navy uniform, the symbol of a soldier, with layers of silver embroidery.

  A royal servant in charge of his wardrobe carefully wrapped a rope made of golden strings around his waist to fix the straightened pleats of the outer layer of his dress suit. Once his clothes were set, Paseid snatched the mantle before the servant could even drape it over his back.