Short Stories from Yours Truly

The Last Court of the Fair Queen

The Fair Queen held court. True, there was drought and famine and civil unrest that scratched at the edges of her smoothed-out world like needy children...

However. The Fair Queen insisted that everyone heed protocol. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, court was held, and that simply could not be changed by some silly little anarchists. Order would prevail.

The Fool came forth first, as was custom. The timid jingling of his bells did not pierce the tense silence of the throne room, but poked it softly as the small, shaking man stepped into the center of the room to meet the Queen's cool gaze.

"Mistress," said the Fool, his voice high and piping, "Mayhap thou woudst like a merry jest to brighten thy day?"

And the Queen replied with the well-worn answer: "O Fool, my heart is weary and my soul lead."

A light sheen of sweat shone on the Fool's forehead.The Queen's mouth filled with a sour taste as she watched the trembling jester. "O Mistress, thy smile is my one w-wish. May I bring it ab-bout through a song?"

This was the most dangerous moment of the day for the Fool. He gulped as the Queen regarded him pitilessly. Did he just imagine it, or was there a faint gleam of sadistic joy lurking in those blue, doll-like depths?

"Please, minstrel. Play."

The Fool finally relaxed a little, retreating to the shadows where his lyre sat. The nobles, clumped together like a herd of frightened sheep, exhaled after what seemed like an eternity of breathless anticipation. When someone did not satisfy the Queen, well... it was hard to scrub the blood off of velvet robes.

At a nod from the queen, the courtiers arose and began to chat pleasantly with one another. And if they had nothing to say (which, the Queen thought primly, was quite often) they repeated "background noise," under their breath.

The Queen meandered through her little herd, giving a gracious nod here, a royal smile there. Every so often, she would look around the room of terrified nobles and the near-weeping Fool, and her lips, as red as fresh blood, would curve into a little slash of a smile. All was as it should be. All was in order. The Fair Queen prided herself on that; even now, in the midst of the chaos of a civil war, some organization could still be attained.

The universe itself must have hated her, for just as she finished the thought a commotion broke out in the hall just outside the court. The nobles fell silent, their flimsy attempts at conversing mowed down like grass before a scythe.

The Queen stood on the magnificent carpeting that extended down the center of the room and stared down the doors as they began to sway and buckle until they finally opened, revealing a young girl.

Her hair, long even tucked into its messy braid, was interwoven with gleaming, knifelike metal cords stained with fresh blood. Her face was flecked with dirt and streaked with blood and tears, but held a look of grim determination. She looked around the room, and all the courtiers took a step back. Even the guards strewn across the room drew away upon meeting the girl's wolflike gaze. The Fair Queen alone held her ground.

"I demand to see the Unfair Queen who imposes her order on natural chaos!" The girl's voice was scratchy and hoarse. The Fair Queen wrinkled her nose and stepped forward, the courtiers parting before her. She forced her mouth into a pleasant, smug little smile.

"Unfair Queen?"

The question hung in the air. Any sane person would have stepped away, for the Queen's madness was palpable, coiling off her in undulating tendrils. It searched, always and forever, for the next victim.

But this girl was different. She had a madness all her own, born from war and hatred and loss. She unsheathed her sword and put it to the Queen's throat. "So you are she?"

The Queen's lips drew back, exposing pearly teeth in a vicious grin. At last. Then, she opened her mouth to speak her last words--

--and was silenced. Many who were present say that hers was an expression of utter surprise as her head rolled to the floor and her corpse, thus sundered, fell, drops of ruby red staining the glorious carpet and slopping over the pristine tiles that covered the rest of the room. They say that by the time her head hit the floor, the face had twisted into an expression of rage as her last moment of order was turned into one of chaos by the girl, who bared her teeth and screamed victoriously.