The masked queen

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 1: The Proposition

A single flickering candle cast a frail glow over the dank, stone walls of the dungeon, barely illuminating the shadows that clung to every corner. The narrow corridor echoed with the steady, heavy footsteps of a pair of guards, their armor clinking softly as they walked. The air was thick with the stench of dampness and decay, a reminder of the souls locked away here, forgotten by the world above.

The guards finally stopped in front of a cell door, barred with rusted iron. Inside, Roman Miller lay on the cold floor, the former family man who had lost everything. His clothes were torn and dirty, and his once-vibrant eyes were hollowed by grief and exhaustion. One of the guards sneered, banging on the bars to wake him.

"Oi, get up," the guard barked, his voice harsh in the oppressive silence. "The council wants to see you. Your execution’s been postponed." He slid the heavy key into the lock, swinging the cell door open with a loud creak before striding in and roughly kicking Roman awake. "Scum," he muttered with disgust as Roman stirred, his groggy eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Truth be told, Roman wasn’t asleep. When the bars of his cell rattled and a gruff voice called out to him, he didn’t need to be kicked awake, and the guards knew that. They always knew. They just didn’t care. The family-man turned degenerate never did much sleeping anymore. Instead, he’d lay awake and stare at the moldy ceiling, refusing to close his eyes as if afraid of the images painted within his eyelids. There must have been a time when he had nice dreams, but he couldn’t remember it if so. When they were alive, perhaps? He never wanted to do much sleeping in those days, lest he miss his boy’s first steps or words.

With a groan, Roman flipped on to his stomach, his ribs aching both from the beating they just laid upon him as well as the one they’d given him the week prior. Each guard took an arm and hoisted the giant up to his feet. He didn’t struggle or respond in the slightest. His eyes were far away, imagining some reality separate from his own where everything had gone differently. It wasn’t until they bound his wrists and dragged him into the corridor that the events registered within his mind.

“Post…poned..?” he echoed the words, his eyes despondent and yet his tone almost… Excited? Relieved?

Roman had no reason to live, and yet, he didn’t want to die. No matter how bad it got, dying had never registered as an option. Within him, he carried the last vestige of his family, parts of them that they had entrusted with him. Their memories, their hope, their love. His own perishing meant that his family would truly be dead, less than a memory. The very thought made his fists clench, something that was rewarded with a swift strike to the back of his head. They were so insistent on beating him into utter submission. “Yeah,” one of the guards hawked, shoving their prisoner forward. “Postponed. Now move!”

Meanwhile, in the grand council chamber, a heated debate raged. A large, circular table dominated the room, surrounded by ten elder council members, each clad in flowing robes of crimson and gold. The chamber was a stark contrast to the grim dungeon below, with polished marble floors and tall stained-glass windows depicting the kingdom’s history in vivid detail. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting colorful patterns on the floor, but the mood inside was anything but serene.

One of the younger councilmen, a man barely in his thirties with a clean-shaven face and a look of barely contained fury, stood, his voice trembling with disbelief. “Are you insane, Elder? You want to place a killer at the queen’s side? Have you forgotten who this man is?”

The elder at the head of the table, a man with a long silver beard and piercing eyes that seemed to see into the very soul, raised a hand for silence. He spoke slowly, his voice calm yet commanding, the kind of voice that brooked no argument. “Yes, Roman Miller is no innocent,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over the council members. “But he is a man who has known suffering in its rawest form. His family was stolen from him, and grief has consumed him ever since. Who better to serve our queen than someone who understands her pain?”