WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 8

Iris

"Where are we?" I ask wearily to one of my private Sentinels on watch nearby.

"Southern Piedmont, merely a mile outside of the Scarlet Guard's base. We'll be back in Norta by sooner than nightfall, Your Majesty," he replies dutifully, offering a dip of the head.

"I have far more pressing issues than those involving my sleep schedule," I murmur, strolling further abroad from the aircraft. A lazy breeze drifts across the pores of my skin, imitating the winds of the basin I once resided on. How I miss those years, awakening early in the morning to witness that enchanting sunrise over the lake, which never failed in conjuring shivers down my arms, raising the fuzz on my skin.

"Are we near the coastline?" I wonder aloud, the question otherwise burning a hole in my chest. Father took me to the ocean when I was still in adolescence, to hone my ability in the most powerful and magnificent way.

"Five miles, approximately, Your Majesty."

My heart sinks upon hearing the distance in which I'd have to run to reach, not to mention the return as well. So close, yet seemingly farther than ever. If the guards weren't dashing helter-skelter, to and fro, I'd trick myself into believing that the ocean could be heard from such a distance.

"Thank you," I mumble, not truly meaning it. The sentry bows his head obediently once more, then trails my footfalls, always so cautious to protect the Queen. Though it's doubtful he cares, not a chance any one of these guards genuinely are concerned. The sole purpose of preserving royalties lives entails the threat of death if overcome by failure.

Unfortunately for those two or three men-I don't bother to count- I'd put their efforts of defense to shame. Iris Cygnet of the Lakelands is more than capable of defending herself against a couple of assassins, much less meager reds, as the officers delight in naming them.

Maven poises serenely atop the knoll that overlooks the camp, acting so different to the emotions that are certainly blaring in the boy's mind, drowning out all else, so entranced with his thoughts he doesn't greet me when I stroll to his side. Or perhaps he simply chooses to ignore the imp that he refers to as "wife."

Accepting that I am doomed to utter my speculations first, I say, "Enjoying the view? Pity, it'll be ash by day's end." Unlike Norta's massive and imposing architecture, stretching into the sky so far I often find myself suffering from neckaches, the little civilization spawls out rather than upward. Buildings rarely more than two stories adorn the streets, made of all colors of brick containing burgundy and tan on the spectrum. "A simple, yet beautiful town like this doesn't deserve to be burnt." So peaceful, it's hard to conclude deadly lightning plays here.

"I was thinking more along the lines of mass shooting or lynching, but I suppose conflagration would be creative. I was going to attain the credit for myself, but blaming Tiberias would have its perks."

"Always the strategist, aren't you?" I cannot differentiate whether his humor is mocked or not. Either way, it sickens me. "Whichever style chosen is insignificant to the end game, because, my cherished, the cruel dance that you have been competing in is insignificant to the state of your soul." A queen never questions her role of authority, Mother taught me, the strict yet acquiescent women grinding my status into place from a time before I could make it rain. Not today, though.

He doesn't so much as blink at my claim, only taking an annoyingly long whiff of the salty ocean air. "Trust me when I say this, Iris. My soul has been tarnished for a very long time. So I do what I can with the years that remain. Months, perhaps," he says, predicting his premature death.

Incapable of continuing to stand near me, Maven ventures off to the Captain of the Sentinels to plan out last-minute strategy, abandoning me with my lonesome.