Queen Lydia

Chapter Nine: An Example

Katlyn

"Take her to Joyce. And make sure they look real," I told the servants carrying Lydia out of the dinning hall.

"Yes, my Queen," they all said in unison.

At first it had been weird when they started calling me by that title, but now that everything had fallen into place, it was nice. I was beginning to understand Lydia's feeling of accomplishment.

Now you just have to take care of any rebellion happening in the streets. I groaned. Those stupid people thought they still ran the world. Are they so illiterate that they can't read the laws that state that anyone over 5'4" is to be either imprisoned or enslaved? They no longer had the same rights.

The news from two days ago about uprisings in several different states and countries was so infuriating that the left over rage was bubbling up inside me again, reminding me why I was about to make this stupid speech.

The messenger that I had sent out to make sure everyone was following the rules had come back to me saying that there were outbreaks of uprisings throughout. I sent them back out to spread the word that I would hold an assembly of sorts. Everyone in the nearest cities was required to come, and it was all going to be taken care of.

Lydia was going to make the perfect 'example' of what happens when slaves don't obey their masters... Once Joyce completed her make up.

I looked at my watch: 7:05; just enough time for Joyce to make her look beaten to pulp.

"You there," I beckoned to one of the guards patrolling the hallways. "Come here."

He did as asked, and I instructed him to get the fake ball and chain manacle for the show so it was ready to go by ten. Then I would make a pretty speech, blah, blah, blah, then the people love me. I had to instill just enough fear into them all that they would do as they were told.

• • •

Joyce preferred to work in a quiet, solitary room, and because I needed this all to go well, I let her work alone in the room.

I looked at my watch; 9:37. I had set the time for everyone to arrive at ten. There were probably people outside right now, waiting.

I stood outside the door with four guards waiting with a ball and chain, getting impatient. My stress level wasn't as tense as Lydia's was, but I had approximately 20 minutes, and I was stronger than she was. I could handle this.

I could handle the stress.

I knocked on the door, "Joyce, finish up."

I heard a stifled sigh, "Yes, your majesty. Just a few more touch ups."

It took about 3 minutes, and the door creaked open. "She's ready," Joyce announced from inside the room.

On a small, love seat couch lay Lydia. She was long enough that her legs stretched across one arm rest, and head hung limply over the other. Her arms had been crossed over her stomach,  hands overlapping. She looked almost peaceful if not for the fake bruises.

Once I had walked in and gotten a better look at her face, I saw that Joyce had done a really good job. Both of her temples were a green-purple bruise color, and on one of her cheekbones looked like a fresh bruise. Joyce had even taken the time to add fake dried blood; her nose looked like it had been bleeding, and there was some that had been applied down the corner of her mouth. There were several 'bruised' spots on her arms. It all looked so real. Joyce, as asked, had made Lydia look as though she had been beaten. Her clothes had even been torn and dirtied.