She could make us wait hours just to show her power and control, but not tonight. I have barely taken my seat when I hear the doors open and she is announced. I stand with everyone else, kneeling as she passes, and I peek up at her.
She truly is beautiful.
The queen is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Men and women alike clamber to be one of her many paramours and to be caught in her bedchamber, even if she can be a cruel lover and thrives on pain—as the gossip would suggest.
Even the darkness of her soul doesn’t detract from her ethereal beauty. Her long, thick black hair hangs in waves around her face, her ears still on display. The queen’s slender throat boasts jewels so heavy, they have to hurt. Her black thorn crown is weaved into the glittering mass atop her head, and her eyes are kohled and lined, making the bright purple pop. Her lips are naturally red and cupid bowed, and her body is slender and tall. She is the perfect fae, all grace and beauty.
Men have carved out their eyes from being told they will never see her again, and women have disfigured their faces so that she will never have to be envious.
She is a jealous and cruel queen, but our queen nonetheless.
I feel her hesitate before me, and I duck my head further. She hates me, that I know. Her son loved me, truly loved and cared for me. He was a kind soul, and she blames me for his death. It means I do as much as I can to avoid her. She finds ways to have me punished, usually publicly, and if she cannot, she simply insults me, tearing me down.
I fear tonight will not be one of those nights. I feel off balance with the wedding announcement and today’s activities. Being off balance when facing the queen is never good, she will sense it and use it.
I hold my breath, but she finally passes, so I let it out slowly. It seems tonight she has bigger things to contend with than a noble she hates.
When she sits, we still do not rise, not until her purring voice commands it. Standing, I almost stumble from the height of my heels and the length of time spent on my knees, but Theo catches me and helps me sit before anyone notices.
I turn my head to look at our queen, my wine untouched before me, even as the others begin to drink and talk. No one touches their food until she does—another rule. Her throne is large, gold, and glittering from the jewels embedded in the ornate metal, the purple cushions wide and made for comfort. Her leg is tossed carelessly over one arm, and her sheer black dress, which is inlaid with gems, gapes and shows her long pale limb almost all the way to her folds. Her chest is completely on display with her red nipples clearly visible through the material, as is her pale toned stomach.
Yes, she’s beautiful like a snake.
She sensually runs her hand across her chest and leg, but it is almost an absentminded gesture. Her eyes are far away, but no one seems to notice except me. So what has our queen so…almost weak? Not that I would ever voice that.
One of her guards drops to his knees beside her, a lover no doubt, and starts kissing up her leg. She grips his hair tightly and drags him up her skirt, her eyes closing in bliss. I don’t look away.
Fae are carnal creatures. We enjoy sex and do not feel shame in it, but there are rules, laws, especially for nobles and courting. Casual sex and dating are the norm, but courting is an archaic ritual which is almost sexless.
Even now, couples fornicate in the corners, prompted by the queen’s display, as women fall to their knees. I almost sigh, hoping this will not be another orgy, but the queen has other plans. She pushes her guard away and he stumbles to his feet, his chest heaving, eyes wild, and lips and chin glistening.
Her right-hand man and assassin sidles up next to her, and I stiffen, noting tonight is not about pleasure and control. Tonight is about death. Others begin to notice, and the mood turns somber as her assassin kisses her cheek and steps off the dais and into the crowded room, winding through the tables almost mockingly. His slim hips sway as he strolls, his pale, empty eyes scanning the crowd. The assassin’s nearly white hair is held back from his face, his chest is bare and glowing, and his power is undeniable. I think on some level, the queen even fears his power, but controlling one so strong is a show of strength in and of itself.
I often see the way he watches her with thinly veiled hatred, but he is a puppet and under her control. He’s a halfling, although not part human like the others think. No, the prince told me once he discovered the truth. The assassin, Dagero, is half nightwalker.
He feeds on the servants, with their permission of course, growing stronger as the days pass. He was given to the queen as a gift when he was a child, and now he is very much grown. His pink lips, the only colour on his skin, are pursed in anticipation.
As he drifts by, people sigh in relief that they are not his intended victim. He hesitates by me, but I simply tilt my chin higher. If the queen wished to execute me, she would have done so a long time ago. No, she loves to play games with me, hoping to break me until I simply kill myself one day.
He leans down slightly, his head slanting, those eyes locking unnervingly on me and around me. It’s almost as if he can’t see, some wonder if he can, but the way he stares has me questioning that logic.
He bends closer still, his fangs peeking between his lips as he almost runs his nose along my neck. There is nothing sensual about the act, it’s a warning from the queen telling me she can get to me at any time. But then he surprises me, his whisper too low for anyone else to hear. “I am sorry for what is to come. Choose love, choose life, and you will have everything you seek.”
He straightens and moves on like nothing happened. I swallow and turn my head, meeting the queen’s narrowed eyes. She knows he spoke, and it wasn’t at her request. He only speaks to her or the dead…he did that on his own.
But why?
Why risk his life, mine too, to tell me that?
I don’t have time to process before two men are dragged through the tables by Dagero and thrown at the queen’s feet. They bow their heads, touching the stone as they abase themselves before her. She doesn’t even stand, her long black nails glittering in the light as Dagero steps up next to her, and she runs her nails across his arm, cutting him. The bright blue of his blood trails down his arm like veins, but he doesn’t flinch, used to the queen’s treatment. I have heard he’s the only one who can handle her pain, that he walks a fine line between being dominated and dominating her…that when she beds him, she does it to show her power. If she can control such a creature, she truly is powerful, but one day, I hope he kills her. It’s a traitorous thought to have in this room, and I suddenly hope no one’s paying attention to me since some can read thoughts. If they heard that, I’m dead.
Foolish.
I know better. I quickly mask my deliberations and watch the show she is putting on. That’s what it is, after all—a show to scare us and remind us.
“These men are traitors to our court. They concealed plots to murder me, your queen!”
They are not the only people in this court to have done so, no doubt, but they were caught and it means their deaths. Her angry gaze glides over us. “For that, they will die slowly…painfully.”
Dagero steps forward, and I swallow as he starts to do as he was bid and tortures them. He flays their skin from their screaming, bloody forms, but they are still not dead. Their red, bloody muscles are on display, and their mouths are open on shrieks that fill the room. Bile rises in my throat, but I keep it down as the queen watches the crowd. When she’s happy that we are reminded who is in charge, she kills them.