The masked queen

CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6: Steps into Freedom

The realization struck Roman like a thunderbolt. Within hours of leaving his cell, he was free. Standing before the doors to the queen’s chambers, he let the weight of it wash over him. He was no longer trapped, though bound by an oath that had been forced upon him. But physically, he was free. He could leave the room, choose the next words he spoke, decide his next steps. The overwhelming sense of freedom almost suffocated him. He hadn’t made a choice in so long, hadn’t been given the luxury of decisions, and now it was all his. Yet, he found he had no idea where to begin.

Falling back on the familiar, he donned his helmet once more, keeping the anonymity it provided intact. At a respectful distance of six paces, he followed Queen Madlene, who moved effortlessly through the winding corridors. The role reversal felt strange, with him trailing her, yet he knew he had no sense of direction in this place. So, he observed and took mental notes, learning the paths and passages of the immense palace that, for now, was his world.

When they reached the main entrance, the enormous castle doors—a sight of unparalleled grandeur—began to creak open. Towering four times his height, the doors swung wide to reveal an entrance as massive in scale as it was in elegance. The ceiling was adorned with intricate light fixtures, and murals painted with vivid scenes of times past covered the walls. Roman’s eyes were drawn to a dome-like structure overhead, where script in an unknown language was carved into the stone. He had no time to wonder about it, though, as the doors fully opened, and he was greeted by the searing brightness of the sun.

Blinded momentarily, Roman lifted a hand to shield his eyes, the sunlight piercing through even the slits in his visor. For the first time, he took a step ahead of the queen and felt the sun’s warmth on his armor. The fresh air swept over him, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers. They were in the palace gardens, a breathtaking expanse of meticulously maintained greenery that stretched out before him. Hedges framed the pathways, guiding them through a landscape of vibrant flowers, each patch more colorful than the last.

The rich aroma of soil and blooms stirred a deep nostalgia within him, evoking memories of his past life as a farmer. The simplicity of those days seemed a world away. Now, he was a protector of the queen, the last remaining member of the royal family. His gaze wandered, losing itself in the beauty surrounding him. For a moment, he forgot the weight of his responsibilities, lost in the simple splendor of the garden.

Beyond the garden, he could see the village, bordered by the stone walls of the palace grounds. These massive walls, punctuated by tall towers, enclosed a tranquil paradise that seemed almost invulnerable. It was strange to think of such a peaceful place being so heavily fortified. What threats could possibly warrant such defenses? His thoughts drifted to questions he could not answer, so he dismissed them and pressed forward, nearing the steel gate that separated the palace from the town.

The town, however, painted a starkly different picture. Closest to the palace, the homes were sturdy brick buildings along cobblestone paths, orderly and clean. But as his gaze moved further out, the degradation was apparent. Neat rows of houses gave way to overgrown lawns, roofs of shingles to roofs of thatch, and cobblestone paths faded into muddy tracks. The air grew heavy with smoke, and the sound of his armored steps changed from a clear, resonant click on stone to a muted, hollow thump on dirt.

The place was as he remembered it, yet it filled him with an unease that twisted in his gut. Here, where his life had unraveled, was the scene of his darkest memories. “Open the gate!” Roman shouted up to a guard on the ramparts, who squinted down at him, unimpressed.

“And who the Hell are ya’ to be givin’ me orders, huh!? Gate stays shut! I’ve my orders!” the guard retorted, oblivious to Madlene at Roman’s side.

Behind him, Madlene’s patience was visibly wearing thin. She stepped forward, her voice as sharp as steel. “I am Queen Madlene. I am the rightful ruler of this land, and I demand that gate be opened this instant.”

The guard blanched, his posture immediately straightening. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty! Right away!” With a shuddering groan, the gate swung open, and Roman and Madlene passed through into the town beyond.

As they walked, Madlene was met with wary stares from the townsfolk, eyes that seemed to pierce through her with a mixture of reverence and accusation. The village itself was a ruin of what it had once been. Stone walls were choked with creeping vines, and the streets, once bustling, were now a mere ghost of the past. Broken windows, empty storefronts, and faded signs swung in the breeze, each detail another reminder of how far her kingdom had fallen. Madlene's heart sank further with every step. She could feel the townspeople’s resentment as they looked at her, asking with their eyes, Where have you been, Queen Madlene?

At the edge of the village, a group of children played amidst the decay, their voices rising in a haunting melody as they spun in a circle. Their laughter echoed off the crumbling walls, their game surreal amidst the squalor. They sang a nursery rhyme, and though their voices were light, the words carried an eerie undertone: “Harpy hare... where have you buried all your children? Tell me, so I say!”

But what caught her attention—and Roman’s—was the appearance of four masked figures joining the children. The strangers moved in perfect sync, their steps fluid yet unsettling, their masks blank and expressionless. The children seemed unaware of their presence, but to Madlene and Roman, their strange, rhythmic dance was chilling. They moved with a supernatural grace, an unspoken message in their movements, though what it meant, neither of them could guess.

Roman’s heart pounded as he stared at the masked figures, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t explain. His mind struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. The figures moved with an unnatural grace, their movements haunting, and he could have sworn one turned and looked directly at him. Beneath its mask, he imagined a face familiar to him, one he had lost long ago—a glimpse of his own son’s expression.

“Madlene,” he whispered, stepping closer to her, “did you see that? Did… did those children vanish? Were those the demons you spoke of?” He reached a hand toward his face, only to stop as his fingers met the cold steel of his helmet. “Perhaps I’m only tired,” he muttered, his voice small. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun, I—never mind.” He took a step back, swallowing his questions, telling himself it was only his weary mind playing tricks.

Yet as they stood amidst the ruins of a kingdom, Roman couldn’t shake the feeling that something dark had taken root in the heart of the land. The echoes of the children’s song lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of innocence lost, and the masked figures haunted his thoughts, leaving him to wonder if he’d ever truly be free again...