I keep her cloistered, out of sight, yet she still haunts my thoughts. Her face blurs in every noblewoman, her voice every stray whisper, flickers of brown skin and eyes everywhere I look. My throne is of silence at last, an unsettling quiet I can't afford to shun. The parties are a constant, my laughter a necessity. I am dying inside and out.
At least she can't see it.
"Your Majesty." Samson prowls again, eyes flickering to my throne. I am always seated when he is near. It must drive him mad. "I ask again–"
"Do you ever tire of it, cousin?" I sneer. "No dog will chase the same bone forever."
He looks down, fingers twitching. "I don't understand."
"I give you an order. You obey it. It seems quite simple to me."
His eyes snap to mine. "Don't you want to avenge her?"
Laughter escapes me, sharp and painful. My legs are cold against the throne, colder still as I stand. "I dragged her through the streets with a collar at her throat. What more do you want from me?"
"Something useful." Samson grits his teeth. His clothes remain black despite Court no longer mourning. "She destroyed the greatest whisper in generations. Displayed her body on a screen, undermined your reign, rallied her rats to bomb our cities and–"
"Thank you for the history lesson. It was quite boring." I tug his cloak, the closest I have ever come to touching him. "Only I get to wear capes, cousin."
"You're letting her ruin you."
I halt. "My dear, if you want into my head, the answer is no."
Samson turns his heel and marches off, yet his presence sticks to me, a fog of residue passing through me and beyond. Mother tugs at the edge of my mind, warning me of the danger of ignoring her cousins. The head of the snake has been cut off. It still hisses for more.
So does Evangeline. Mare is a threat to her stability, an opportunity for bastards and delayed engagement. What she thinks I might do with her, I don't know. My mind is a mystery even to myself.
Sometimes I wonder if even Mother knows.
She comes without warning. Another party, another death, another chance for Samson to stew in his jealousy. My heart stops beating as I hallucinate Mare in the woman Evangeline brings forth. No. It can't be.
Arvens flank her on either side, her cheekbones hollow, her hands trembling, the shadow of death hanging over her. How I've yearned to kiss it better, to trace her curves and angles as she lies beneath me. It wouldn't work. She would kill me before I ever laid a hand on her.
Still, her glare shatters something in me. I cannot avoid her judgment even as I avert my eyes. How dare they make me face her again. "Explain yourself, Guard Arven."
"S-s-sir--" He holds her chains, the ones I forged, and I've never hated anyone more. Even as the fault must lie with Evangeline. The orchestra halts. All eyes are on me.
I wave a hand. "Your feeble attempt is answer enough." Something giddy bubbles within me. "What do you have to say for yourself, Evangeline?"
I don't have to break our engagement. She broke it herself.
Evangeline stands tall regardless. "You ordered the terrorist to be imprisoned, shut away like a useless bottle of wine, and after a month of council deliberation, there has been no agreement on what is to be done with her." Her voice cracks. "Her crimes are many, worthy of a dozen deaths, a thousand lifetimes in our worst jails." On and on, can she get to the point? "She killed or maimed hundreds of your subjects since she was discovered, your own parents included–" I almost laugh. "And still she rests in a comfortable bedchamber, eating, breathing–alive without the punishment she deserves."
I'm going to kill her. "The punishment she deserves." I jut my chin, looking about the room. "So you brought her here. Really, are my parties that bad?"
Feeble laughter, trailing off within moments. Evangeline hasn't the good grace to join them. "I know you are grieving for your mother, Your Majesty." I almost scoff. I'm surprised she hasn't thanked Mare for taking care of her. "As we all are. But your father would not behave this way. The time for tears is over."
I should rip her face off. Like she knows what he would do. Like she drops his name for anything but her own gain.
This is your own fault. I can hear Mother despite the silence, a phantom of her voice brought on by dread. You couldn't do it on your own.
"Strength, power, death." The words we live by, that echo from my lips with a startling finality. "What do you suggest, my lady? A beheading? A firing squad? Do we take her apart, piece by piece?"
I will not enjoy watching her die.
I will not enjoy seeing Thomas again.
Evangeline sneers, facade broken. "We do as the law requires. As your father would have done."
Stillness.
She knows. Of course she does. They all do, no matter how I've hidden it, eager to tug my strings as only Mother could. Does she hope to use Mare to puppet me? Does she think I'm so weak as to be in love?
"Not only are you not a member of my council, but you did not know my father well enough to know his mind. I am a king as he was, and I understand the things that must be done for victory. Our laws are sacred, but we are fighting two wars now."
In the corner of my eye, Mare twitches.
I tilt my head so I look down on Evangeline. "No enemy prisoner, especially not as valuable as Mare Barrow, should be wasted on common execution."
"You waste her still!" Clever, clever girl. If only I could set her on fire. "She sits there collecting dust, doing nothing, giving us nothing, while Corvium burns!"
Riots, bombs, gunshots–they all ring in the heads of my court, uneasy despite the drinks I've served them. All my work to distract them, gone in an instant. It seems I've met my match. "The council is days away from a decision, my lady."
"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty. I know you wish to honor your council as best you can, even the weakest parts of it. Even the cowards who cannot do what must be done." A tilt of her head, the smallest of smiles. "You are king. The decision is yours."
Pain makes you strong.
"Queenstrial certainly did bring forth the most talented daughter." I force her hand in mine, a touch that crawls through skin and rots to the bone. So too do my eyes, falling on the inevitable truth. "Cousin!" Samson perks. "Your petition for interrogation is granted."
He emerges from the crowd, almost tripping as he bows and fails to hide his grin. Vile man. He'd snatch my crown if he could. At least he's not in black anymore. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"No."
The word does not come from my lips. The word does not come from this reality, this fate, this pain I will not face the brunt of. It is her tears, her cries, her fallen pride weeping in the light. I have to watch. I have to die.
She calls my name.
I don't remember the last time she did that. I don't remember anything, not anymore. Somehow, I end up at her side, watching as she writhes unconscious on her bedspread. Samson shakes his head. "Get back on your throne." The words are too sharp, and he seems to catch it too late. "Your Majesty."
"No."
He recoils. "Your kingdom needs you–"
"I said no." I rise as if to strike him, as I want to for what he's about to do. I spent my vengeance. I spent my rage. She shouldn't need to suffer anymore. "I will watch my mother's murderer as long as I please."
That calms him. I sit on a chair, tugging it next to her, reaching for a hand I don't have the will to hold. I can't help her. Not anymore. My kindness is long worn and useless, frayed at the edges, more holes than cloth. My dead heart beats in a cage of its own making. Still I stay. Still I watch. Still I give her what little I know how.
But I know it'll never be enough.
