To Love A King

25

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The carriage jolts up and down whatever bumpy trail we're on. 

My hands are folded so tightly my knuckles turn white on my lap. My lips are a bloody mess from my incessant biting. My heart beats so wildly in my chest that I can feel it in my throat.

The king could not possibly look any more bored as he speaks, "Calm down Lillian."

It takes everything in me not to snap back and tell him exactly where he can shove his words, but just as I open my mouth the carriage jerks to a stop.

I mumble a prayer to Hylla and crack my neck as the king stands. And when he offers me his hand, I take it.

+++

The land is barren of any life, of any green. 

The king and I walk side by side. The wind whispers its secrets in my ear as we approach a building that looks more prison then castle. 

Ares, per usual, is silent. Even his steps are lighter than mine. It feels as though my feet manage to crunch anything and everything in the close vicinity. 

I straighten my back as we get to the door. It's a type of metal I've never seen before. A light grey, it reflects the harsh sun and sprays the streaks of sunlight in all directions.

A beautiful prison I suppose. 

I grip the king's hand so hard it is sure to leave marks. It feels like something is crushing me, suffocating me. The same feeling that I got when I stepped into the house made of fae and witch magic.

Ares smirk is cruel as he says, "You're so sensitive to magic. It makes one wonder why exactly."

I say nothing and I continue staring at the door. He couldn't know about Rose. He doesn't know about Rose. He's just pissed he doesn't understand. 

The door clicks multiple times, metal on metal, scraping so loud it hurts.

With a gust of air, the doors finally open.

I now know fear has a smell and a taste and even touch. 

+++

I don't quite fit the chair like the other queens and kings in the room. I feel like nothing in the face of such powerful beings. 

The dark oak table has five sides for the five kingdoms. It is about the size of my village home. 

My chair is stiff and straight and I haven't looked at the king since stepping into this rotten place. That's what this feeling is. This rotting beautiful prison. Like a flower poisoned. 

The fae queen sits alone. So gorgeous I can hardly keep from staring. A goddess reincarnated. She sits right next to the two witch queens. And when the fae queen smiles at me, showing teeth a bit too sharp, I give her one back. Her smiles only widens. 

One of the only things I got from Anula's lessons is that they are allies. I regret not paying attention now. So lost. Alone in a world where knives in the backs are common occurrences. No friends here now. 

But things can change.

And change is coming. When I look at the other queens I know. Change is coming. It has to. 

I turn my head slightly to take a look at a legend in the flesh. The dragon queen, or better known as, the queen of blood. 

Her black hair is cut short like mine. Her eyes lit with a fire I lost years ago. Not beautiful, but deadly, and often I confuse the two. And when her eyes dart to mine, I don't look away.