The Tyrant's Queen

7: the poetry reader

This was not what she'd expected.

Standing in the chambers Matia had guided her to, Thalia stared at Letellia leaning against a bed, bearing a peaceful smile as she listened to Lucien read from a book of poetry.

"...to taste the air of summer, and to swim through the wonders of my beginning, and the end."

His voice was soft, lulling, and his hand holding Letellia's.

"To look to the moon and know it knows. That all will be well."

"I just love poetry," Letellia sighed, snuggling herself under the sheets as she closed her eyes. "It makes me feel so pampered."

If 'pampered' meant being read poetry by the king himself, pampered it was.

"Good night." Releasing Letellia's hand, Lucien closed the poetry book, and walked toward Thalia, Dehan by his side.

"What..." Thalia's eyes returned to Letellia, who looked the most tranquil she'd ever looked, then back to Lucien. "What's going on?"

Passing the poetry book to Dehan, Lucien, wrinkling his nose, smirked.

"Why, it's good to see you too, Lady Thalia."

"Manners, Your Majesty," Matia cleared her throat.

Right. He was the king.

"It's quite all right, Matia. I- um- fell in love with her at first sight because of her daring eyes and- and... bold manners," Lucien said dismissively, uttering the line with what Thalia could discern as the amusement he felt at the hilarity of his own speech. "Please excuse us."

Dehan, with the pocket-sized poetry book tucked under his giant arm, and Matia, her mouth set into a thin line, dismissed themselves from the chambers.

"You're alive, Your Majesty," Thalia finally said, as Lucien sat himself down at a round coffee table by the side.

"It seems I am." Lucien's eyes crinkled into a grin. "Are you disappointed?"

"Only surprised. Your condition looked...serious."

He looked too all right.

Nothing like a pale complexion, weakness of the limbs, bloodless lips.

There was strength in his voice, he sat upright on the chair, and he even looked he'd taken a bath and changed into new clothes.

As if the brush with death hadn't taken place at all.

"Please, take a seat."

Thalia sat, looking around the room.

'Unimaginable luxury', as Letellia had always bitterly remarked about the homes of the upper class. 'Luxury we can't imagine even in our dreams.'

Even the coffee table they sat at was clothed in a silk tablecloth.

A pot of steaming tea and two cups, had been set on it.

"Searches, arrests and interrogations are ongoing, to identify the culprit," said Lucien, taking up the tea pot.

The sight of him pouring her tea, felt wrong. Springing up from her seat, Thalia reached for the tea pot.

"Sire- allow me to do it-"

"Since both of my hands work fine, allow me."

Glancing at the cane by his side, Thalia sat back down.

He'd caught her gaze. Smiling faintly, he filled his own cup.

"I believe to understand what happened to my leg, you will need to understand the political position of Aesna."