The masked queen

CHAPTER 8

Chapter 8: The Queen’s Decree

The village square had at last quieted. Roman’s voice, strained from raising it in front of the crowd, had calmed the frightened townspeople, though many faces still wore expressions of doubt and fatigue. It had been so long since Roman had felt any peace himself, yet here he stood, watching as the flickers of hope emerged in their weary eyes. As their shouts faded to murmurs, he could feel his own exhaustion creeping back, his face cooling now that the crowd was settling.

Roman’s throat burned, hoarse from addressing the masses. The poor diet and grueling conditions of his imprisonment had taken a toll on his body. Bread and thin, tasteless porridge were his daily fare—scraps left from the soldiers’ meals, at best. He’d once received a strip of dried meat, though such days were as rare as a blessing from a merciful God. Now, even standing under the sun’s intense heat felt punishing, his heavy armor trapping the warmth, suffocating him beneath layers of leather and steel. He marveled at the guards who wore such gear daily, wondering how they endured the stifling weight and relentless sun.

And then there were the villagers—those he was supposed to protect. He saw only haunted eyes and trembling hands, peasants reduced to destitution. He had heard rumors of demons, of terrible creatures who emerged in the night, but he hadn’t yet faced one. He knew almost nothing about these enemies he was to fight, his training woefully inadequate. He felt as ill-prepared as he was underfed, and yet here he was, standing in front of desperate people, expected to be their savior.

A thin, hollow-cheeked man called out to him, breaking Roman’s thoughts. “Sir Knight, what are you going to do? To stop this? To save us?”

Roman struggled for an answer. These people were looking to him for guidance, to be the symbol of hope they so desperately needed. But Roman barely knew his own role, let alone a strategy to save an entire village. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, feeling a pang of guilt as the man’s face fell. “I’m no strategist; I’m just… better at following orders. Queen Madlene, though, she’ll find a way. She’ll know what to do.” He forced a weak smile, trying to inject confidence into his words.

A young woman stepped forward, her hand wrapped in a tattered cloth, covering what looked like freshly severed fingers. “You should stay out here, to protect us! They come at night, and you’re a knight! You can keep us safe, right?”

Roman’s eyes darted to Madlene, then back to the crowd. “I need to stay by Queen Madlene’s side. Her safety is my priority.” He struggled to keep his voice steady, hoping to quell their worries.

“She should stay out here, too!” an older man interjected, his voice sharp with bitterness. “Let her see how we’ve been suffering for years!”

Roman’s temper flared, and his voice cut through the murmurings. “Absolutely not. I won’t put her at risk to make a point. She’s your queen, and she’s here to help. You just got her back; don’t jeopardize that.”

Madlene, who had been quietly listening, stepped forward, her face grave yet resolute. She looked upon the crowd, her eyes scanning the haggard faces before her. She raised a hand, silencing them further, and spoke with a calm strength that surprised even her. “I understand your fears, your anger, and your doubt. I know what you’ve endured, and I won’t turn my back on you. But I must protect myself to be of use to you. Roman is right—my safety allows me to fight for you all.”

The crowd grew quiet, their initial anger cooling into something resembling cautious hope. They were listening, clinging to her words as if they were lifelines. Madlene’s voice grew firmer as she continued. “But I won’t ask you to face this alone. The doors of my castle will remain open. It will be a sanctuary, a shield for any who seek refuge. No one will be turned away.”