Heartfelt - sequel to Heartless

Chapter 1

SITTING ON HER THRONE, dressed in lavish attire, the Queen listened to the peasants' requests. Day after day, she endured this repetitive duty, with no end in sight. The King had long since given up this torture and left her to bear it alone.

The Queen of Hearts found it funny how quick he had fled once he had realised someone else could do it for him now.

Of course, when you were king, there was always someone who could do it for you. Someone who could feed you. Bathe you. Write for you. Clean your floors and make cushions for your throne.

But the King seemed quite interested in his role, however stupid his ideas of ruling were, until his wife had come along. After a period of trailing after her like a lost puppy everywhere she went, he eventually did not want to participate in the Queen's 'torture methods,' as he would call them.

The Queen of Hearts knew how extreme her punishes could be; after all, not having a heart didn't mean she didn't have a mind. But that was the only real fun anymore.

The King ruined everything that in the past would have inflicted even the slightest bang of joy: the balls, the banquets, games she had once played. . .

So, yes, the only interesting thing in this royal life was the moment when she could punish and see people beg for mercy.

The kingdom feared her, as they should, and why would she care? All they ever did for her was leave her to rot when she was of no use anymore, then gossip about her when she took her place on the throne.

She made sure to erase any further details of the past. Her life for them began when she had taken over and that was how it was supposed to stay.

The requests went on, the same as ever; mundane, unimportant, barely enough to warrant punishment. Even the most entertaining ones barely brought any delight. And with time, even these became tedious.

The Queen of Hearts didn't know when that started. Only a few days, weeks, or months ago she was enjoying the punishments, mostly the beheadings. But as time went on, something changed, rather it was her or the repetitive, bond to happen circle, she didn't know. Nor she wanted to search further into the matter.

As the year passed and the seasons changed, she wondered where she will be in the end.

One year into the marriage, people started asking for an heir. But, maybe because of her or the old king, she couldn't bear any. She'd say it was luck, but luck had long since left her.

It was, of course, better for everyone if she just had a child, but still, the idea that they couldn't conceive and that she wouldn't have to bear that wrecked old man's child was somehow taking a weight off her shoulders. If only to replace it with another.

The King was still trying. Each night, his chubby hands would touch her, and each night she would fail to feel anything other than rage.

It was just a matter of time until they'd conceive. After all, there were a lot of potions to help women bear and, by the rumours spread inside and outside of the palace walls, she, herself, should know a thing or two about them.

She knew that her subjects desperately desired an heir, and that her inability to produce one had fueled gossip and speculation.

Despite some of the rumours being entertaining to her, such as those suggesting she was cursed by a witch, or even sold her firstborn to one, she found them all rather annoying.

It was fascinating to her how the King remained oblivious to the chatter, even as he walked down the halls of the palace, surrounded by those who whispered about her.

The poor King was tricked into marrying that Witch Queen.

She thought that if she were a witch, she wouldn't have been here today, listening to irrelevant requests, but rather in a far away land, away from the palace.