To Kill a King

1: A Stolen Chandelier

It was my shoe that gave me away.

A ratty shoe I left on the Queen's royal carpets. I stole her chandelier. It was a hefty thing to heave through the window and my foot caught on the window sill.

A shoe, imagine that. Some Cinderella I make.

They saw me lurking suspiciously behind a garden bush, naked feet stark white against the dirt. They dragged me to the throne room in chains, threw me down on the mosaic floor and forced me to my knees. I stood up stubbornly. They shoved me down again.

"Lift her face," the woman on the throne commanded. Behind her, unrecognizable in the shadows, stood a man in a bejeweled doublet. His hand rested protectively on the back of the throne. "Look at us, pauper. What do you see?"

"A fancy-looking chair with some dung on it."

"Gutsy, aren't you? Guards!"

"This is the Queen, gutter rat," the guard hissed at me, pulling out a whip. The first slash cut through my tunic. I shrieked in pain. The second split my skin in half. I lost count after that.

"Ready to talk now? Where is your other shoe?"

I glared at her with loathing. "In a dump somewhere. I got rid of it as soon as I knew your dogs had my other one, but they sniffed me out anyway. Why do you care?"

"We fancied a look at the tramp that managed to strip a chandelier from our ceiling."

"Think of it as a favor. Your banquet hall looks a lot better without that ghastly trident hanging over your dinner plates."

"How old are you?"

I cocked my head. "Fifty-two."

"Guards, double the strokes."

"Alright, alright! Fifteen, I'm fifteen! Don't you dare lay a hand on me," I snarled at the guard who was advancing toward me with his whip. I turned back to the queen. "Can't take a jest, can you?"

"Name."

"You can call me Your damned Majesty—"

The whip bore down again. Blow after blow, it numbed my backside until the only thing I could feel was the blood soaking through the shreds of my tunic. Blinding pain exploded my senses, red and hot over every inch of my skin— "Cinclair!" I screamed. "My name is Cinclair!"

The guard flung aside his whip and kicked me to the floor. The side of my head thudded against the marble tiles.

I stared at her belligerently through tendrils of sweat drenched hair, breathing heavily. "Is a piece of leather your only weapon?"

"You're still screaming, aren't you? Living alone?"

"No."

"Who are you living with?"

"My pet pixies."

A look of irritation crossed her face. "The situation is simple, girl. You resist, you suffer. After that it's only a matter of how many times our guard has to raise his hand."

Suddenly, the man behind her throne bent down to whisper in her ear, staring at me. As he turned his head, the light hit him and I saw his face.

I jumped.

"Interesting," she murmured. "It seems Lord Beltane knows our little gutter rat. The Pink Mast?" A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Fascinating title. Does that sound familiar?"

A trickle of fear crept up my spine. "Didn't think my lord's presence would grace a whorehouse."

"Finally, her mouth opens!" She smirked. "We bet that happens a lot."

I glared sullenly at her. 

"Still working there? Tsk, so young."

"Hardly. I was the serving girl."

"Ah, the one looking on while the whores did their business. Our question is, why is a brothel serving girl stealing palace chandeliers?"

"I left the brothel behind a long time ago," I snapped.

"We see." Her black eyes stared at me shrewdly. "Born there, were you? Whore's daughter?"

"Depends," I shot back savagely. "Are you my mother?"

She laughed. "Beltane, we've a mind to keep her," she said to the man behind her throne.

I lunged toward the throne with my hands curled into claws. Before I could rake my nails down her pretty face the guards jerked me back and clamped my wrists together. "What am I doing here?" I snarled, struggling. "Why did you bring me here?"

"It's not everyday one sees a pauper insult the Queen of Mirador like it's the other way around. It's amusing."

I fought against the guards' grip. "Your face is amusing—"

"That mouth needs a leash." She leaned down and took my chin in her hard fingers, red-tipped nails digging into my skin. "She can learn to tame it in the dungeons. We'll let those prison boys see if she really is her mother's daughter, won't we, guards?" Her lips twisted in a savage smile and she released my chin, stalking past me in a swirl of poison and perfume.

Two guards seized me by my arms hard enough to bruise and dragged me down to the palace underground, while the guard with the whip followed behind, raining blows on the wounds that were still raw on my back.

I barely heard the queen's cruel laughter over the sound of my own screaming.

— -

Those dungeons turned you mad.

I couldn't tell time, couldn't tell if it was night or day, couldn't see or feel a damn thing save for a pair of cold, wet hands crawling over my body and a dull constant ache between my thighs, something I hardly recognized anymore because it paled in comparison to the pinching hunger deep in my belly.

The day I stole that chandelier, the sun hung hot and heavy over Mirador, and snow was falling by the time the chains rattled on my prison door. Three months spent in that stone cell.

A woman's silhouette stood in the doorway. She pulled me out of the darkness and I was grateful for my savior until I saw her face in the light, saw the same cruel smile that haunted my nightmares, heard the voice that caged me in hell.

"Your Majesty," I rasped. I clawed my nails down her cheek, squeezing my hands around her throat until her face turned purple and the guards ripped me away.

I felt a fierce satisfaction at the red coating my fingers and the three deep gashes marring her perfect royal skin. For once, the blood I saw wasn't my own but the blood of the woman who gave me the scars across my spine.

She had murder in her eyes when she took her hand from her cheek and saw it dripping crimson. I smiled—before months of hunger and madness slammed into my conscience and I collapsed in merciless unforgiving arms.

______

There ya go. Bit of humor, bit of sass and a bit of gore. Love, hate, or what. Can I get a vote in there? xD

Thank you so much to @MayraTijssen for making the blend! Check out her story Sunken: "Lost under sand and sea, the riches that brought death upon many lay waiting for discovery. However, not all is as it seems. Newly formed alliances are easily broken in the quest for the sunken ship that was brought under by the one person that was supposed to ensure its safe journey. But they are not alone."