To drown a queen.
To drown by water is something quite common. Many enter seas and lakes, never to emerge again. Others rather were drowned like rats. Usually by men who served lords in the shadows, some by family or cold hearted rivals. But that type of drowning was not what she felt. She drowned without a drop of water to be seen, suffocated when oxygen remained all around. The victim didn't even thrash of fight. In fact, there were no signs at all of her struggle.
Aurithea was drowning and had been for years. It was a slow, but painful death. Though the capital stood many districts from any body of water deep enough to conceal a body, though the lakes of the palace were crystal clear and filled with friendly ripples. Aurithea was still drowning. It were as though the air itself mocked and rejected her, and yet, still she breathed it day and night. The air was not poison nor was her food. Yet still, dying she was.
So what you may ask was killing the queen of dragons?
Man.
Men controlled the world she lived in. They plundered its resources and fought for it's reigns. Though man did not have his hands to her throat but rather blessed it with jewels, man was the culprit none the less. Men ruled this world of kings, a queen being a title of property not power. The queen of dragons was a trophy wife at best, a symbol of conquest long past.
Dragons were proud untameable beasts, the queen of them no different. Fire lived in her soul and embers flickered in the green of her eyes. She fought with stubbornness and pride and yet still it was never enough. The queen, though strong, could not fight forever. Though free from shackles her spirit lay in iron bonds. She was a prisoner as much as any that lay in the dungeons below.
So yes, the queen was dying. A long, painful, death. She fought hard as she could, shouting to be heard. But the king did not want for a powerful spouse. No, the king wished to see submission in his dragon, for her to fall in line like all the rest of his kingdom. In time she would, and he would grow pleased once more.
Pleased yes, but never happy
No matter the lands he claimed to his kingdom or the enemies he defeated, the king would never be happy. He craved more; more land, more subjects, more power. He yearned for the world – and his wife – to bow at his feet. The king saw himself a god to be worshiped. Whether that be out of respect or fear he did not care. The king would not ask but take as he saw his right to do so. He took the throne, his brothers lands and the lands of native tribes. He took away freedom and replaced it with his twisted form of order.
'Pay tribute to the king or suffer his wrath'
Those were the words his collectors would shout in the streets. Collectors with guards armed to the teeth. The people paid taxes and sent their young one to his wars. The people even through him parades and parties. But only because they feared his guard. No man, woman, or child dare defy him, for fear of waking to their house set alight, or being taken to the square and flogged for all to see. Each execution was just another display of the power he held.
The queen was no different. All the kingdom knew her story. 'The rightful heir' she'd been called in the shadows, where not even the kings scouts could hear. A saviour of souls, was another name they gave, back when hope was still as certain as the sunrise. However with time, the whispers came to rest in mass graves and deep rivers. Hope became as unknown as snow on a summers day - and thrice as likely to melt to nothing.
The queen was not a power nor a saint. A dragon yes but in mortal form. She could not stop the suffering same as the traitor who's head was struck up on the castle wall. The dragon had its wings and claws clipped long ago.
