King of the Beasts and Queen of the Clouds

Chapter 3: True Words of Distress

Chapter 3: True Words of Distress

The sun asks the wind to and fro,

What might his chill mean for love,

And she frowns upon an awful woe,

Told that cherished warmth is solely above.

:o:-:o:-:o:-:o:-:o:

"Alack! Alack! What might this be?" the Queen cried out at the sight of the caged animals, eyes wide in shock. She took a hasty step forward, some of her red hair tumbling out of her crown's hold as she grasped her husband's arm, gaze locked on the poor things.

A pair of black turtles sleepily blinked up at the woman, hiding beneath the oversized leg of a strange . . . something. A bear, maybe. Or a wolf. Or a lizard. She wasn't quite sure which.

The King softly brushed her hand away, quirking a half-smile. "I told you before, my dear. They were purchased from the local forest. Those animals are suffering because of their deformities and ailments, so we must be kind to them and put them out of their misery."

Her heart panged with hurt as a few servants proceeded to carry them away, towards the back of the palace, where the storage and kitchens were. Oh no, no . . . She never took well to the occasional deliveries of the creatures from the "weird generation of deformities", as her equal once put it. But she always had to watch when he returned from his trips.

And it pained her every time.

Adjusting his gloves, the King started down the hall, moving further into their regal home. Quaint and natural as it was, the vanity still existed in tiny accents, a crystal chandelier hanging in front of a ligneous archway or a country rug across the floor with gold thread knit into the seams. The windows were covered in beautifully maintained vined plants. Flowers of all kinds dotted the gardens and every now and then she could catch a glimpse of them outside.

She followed the King despite her initial need to protest, hurrying along the polished stone walkway in attempt to catch up to him. He made no visual effort to slow, but she was able to match his pace. Her lips pressed into a pouting line, posture straightening.

It was silent as they descended the staircase, apart from the clicking of their shoes against the reformed ground. The Queen's eyes found much interest in that ground. Until the quiet tension broke, that was.

"Enoch continues to deny our compensations," he said, not turning his head in her direction. "The messenger brought back all of the meat we offered so I had it sent to the market to be sold to the vendors there, like we've been doing with the extra food for the past couple of years. I thought . . . you might wish to know."

Sold? It seemed such a waste. The poor could not afford to buy meat very often. "What for? It would be better to donate it. Our funds are satisfactory."

"They shall stay that way, now that we are properly participating in the economy. We should not keep easily handing out our riches to people who do not return them. At least not without a way to keep the funds coming back," the man said, voice carrying a hint of frustration. "This is the best we can do."

She didn't want to argue, but she would have, given that the King's response was entirely biased and false. Maybe should have. Pottsfield was supposed to get the provisions for free, meaning that there would be no loss if someone else were granted them. And meat was rare, almost, in the Unknown. A delicacy. Life was cherished. Only under special conditions did anyone eat other than a vegetarian's diet.