Queen's Light

The Visitor

It would take more than one measly fever to keep Rhiannon in bed.

The next day, she refused to see the physician, despite the insistence of her maids. The dizziness had passed, but she still felt the burning ache of a slight fever, though she would never admit so aloud. She woke and dressed, taking breakfast in her parlor.

She would not allow an illness to keep her away from her duties.

It was a day of public visitation, when citizens could come in and plead their cases directly to the queen. Normally, nothing was presented to her that was any worse than a poor family unable to pay the bread tax, or something of that ilk.

The page assigned to announce visitors jumped in surprise when she entered. "Your Majesty!" he exclaimed. "I—I thought you were ill."

She plastered a smile to her face. "Was, young sir. Was. Now, send in our first guest."

The page gaped openmouthed for a few moments before nodding and rushing out to receive the first visitor.

The first man who arrived reported a few stolen chickens. The second wanted the queen's blessing for his daughter's marriage. The third needed the queen's permission to exit the city gates, as he was a foreigner to their kingdom. The fourth wanted the queen to settle a dispute between his minstrels over their fluctuations in salaries.

By then, it was midday, and Rhiannon was already beginning to feel drained. The page had escorted the last citizen out, and came back in alone. Strange, since usually he would re-enter with the next person who wished an audience with her. She frowned as he dashed forward, approaching her.

"My Queen, there is a man here who says he knows you," the page panted. "He is referring to you by name."

Rhiannon's frown deepened as her mind sped through a litany of names, men she'd known once upon a time. But why would any of them be back here?

"Who does this man say he is?" she asked.

The page was still catching his breath. "He said you would know who he was."

Rhiannon's eyes narrowed. "Send him in."

The page was surprised. "But, My Lady, he—"

"I said," Rhiannon fixed her glare onto the young boy, "send him in."

The page gulped, then nodded, racing back out of the room.

The door reopened. Rhiannon leaned to catch a glimpse of the person opening it.

"Rhiannon, Rhiannon," said a voice.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Her heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach. Her vision blurred, and was filled with the redness of rage. Her fingers curled.

Damien.

A tall, broad, strapping man in his mid-forties dressed in a sweeping purple cape strode out from behind the door. He smirked, glancing about the room and striding in as if he'd just bought the castle for himself. Which, as Rhiannon thought of it, he could likely do if he so pleased.

"Been a long time, has it not?" His arrogant smirk curled further as he studied her. Here was a man trained to drink in and commit to memory every detail, every iota of information he could. She noticed his eyes lingering in places they shouldn't have been for much longer than she was comfortable with.

"You look better in your armor than in a dress," he said nonchalantly, gesturing to her white and purple gown. "Dresses cover too much."

Rhiannon said nothing, but if looks could kill, the man before her would have been rotting in hell before he'd ever stepped foot in her kingdom.

He spread his hands in mock innocence. "Why that look, Rhiannon? Or, shall I say, Your Grace?" He chuckled. "That is what they call you here, is it not? You've made quite the name for yourself among the northerners. Some even call you a hero."

Her knuckles were white with the effort it took to keep from throttling him.

He continued speaking. "I assume that if any of these northern fools knew a thing of your past, they would be quick to dethrone you."

"Get to the point," she hissed, unable to keep quiet any longer.

Damien raised a brow. "What? No 'hello, Damien'? 'Nice to see you, how have you been since I slaughtered your family and forced you to bury your own children?'" He pressed his lips together. It was his turn to be angry.

"Have I not yet done enough to redeem myself in your eyes?" she spat. "I did not kill them."

"But you sent them to their deaths," His finger shot out to point accusingly at her. "Knowing full well they would never return home to me."

"They knew the risks as well as I," she said. "They sacrificed themselves for all our sakes."

"They didn't know better!"

"That," she said, eerily calm, "is not and never was my problem."

Damien's hand shot out to strike her, but her muscles had been poised, and she caught his arm and threw him backwards. He stood, panting, for a moment.

"It took me years to find you," he said. "All this time I spent searching, only to learn that they made you queen. If I'd had my way, you would have been dead before the peace treaty was even signed."

"What are you here for, Damien?" She'd never been able to withstand his presence for long. "You didn't spend years searching for me just to yell at me, did you? Because that would be an unbelievably foolish thing to have done."

He scoffed. "I have on good authority that you are hosting a ball in some weeks' time."

Rhiannon straightened. "What of it?"

He smirked. "I am also aware of your intention to entertain foreign royalty at this ball."

Rhiannon didn't respond, but felt her breaths shorten. She was beginning to regret not having stayed in bed that morning.

"Eastern royalty, to be exact." Damien inspected the rings on his fingers. "It would advantageous for me if a northern kingdom were to engage in some sort of..." he waved his hand about, "...political bloodshed."

"I am not going to war with a foreign kingdom on your account."

Damien's malicious smirk grew. "You will," he said, "because I know what will happen to this kingdom if you are no longer queen."

Rhiannon blanched.

"Ah, see," he pointed, "now I've gotten your attention." He took a step closer. "Hypothetically, if I somehow had proof of multiple occurrences that would render you unfit to be queen, and I released that information to the public, well..." He shrugged. "Not everyone in your kingdom adores you. Some would gladly escort a traitor from the throne. But there are other reasons why you specifically are queen and no one else, hm? And I would imagine that terrible things would ensue on account of these reasons if you were to no longer be queen, yes?"

Rhiannon's fists clenched. She felt herself trembling.

Damien stepped closer. "You're going to go to war with the eastern kingdoms. Because if you do not, you can say goodbye to your precious little band of misfits, or whatever you call yourselves."

He spun on his heel, then hesitated and turned back towards her. "Oh, and..." He leaned forward. "Leave that Pendor out of this."

And then he was gone.

The page came back in. "Your Majesty, there's..." he trailed off as he saw her. "Milady, is something wrong?"

Her gaze was still fixed on the last place Damien had been visible when her knees buckled underneath herself and she tumbled to the floor. The page, shocked, bustled to her aid.

"Your Grace, what is wrong?"

She looked at him, at the youth in his eyes, seeing another young boy who had once asked her that same question a day before his death. She grabbed his tunic sleeve.

"Get..." she pondered for a moment, breathing heavily, "...someone."

The page nodded, then stood and rushed away, hopefully to find one of the others.

(Feel free to rp)