WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 12

Iris

Gawking at the young sister, I watch her pick at the seams of the day dress she's been given by the seamstresses, kind enough to care about her appearance. Otherwise, she'd still be in those dreadful cloths Maven found her in.

"Do you like the design?" I ask, sipping at my tea; the servants thought it strange to be drinking the beverage so late at night. In contradiction to Maven's theory on the best handling of the girl, I enjoy getting to know her-as much as I can anyway. Giza screams more than she speaks. It was a challenge to persuade my Sentinels to allow her to have a hot liquid in close proximity to the queen. 

She bites her lip and immediately halts in touching the dress, and crosses her hands, an endeavor to act like a lady.

"No one here expects you to be proper. The hard fact is, that you are merely here as a bargaining chip. Valuable beyond comparison in your sister's eyes, but worthless to Maven's court," I explain this to her, though quickly in retrospect I realize I sound like an idiot, saying the obvious.

She takes a large swallow of the ginger peach tea; it still steams in the cup, but pride gets the best of her and she doesn't spit it. "Doesn't the queen have better things to do than host a tea party on this stupid balcony overlooking the stupid city?" Giza snarls, throwing the teacup to the brick flooring, splintering the porcelain so it's equally dispersed about the terrace. "I'd rather be left alone to die."

"You don't actually believe that she'll allow you to be guillotined? Do you?" I take into consideration that this balcony is stupid. What purpose does it really serve?  To allow a good shot for a sniper? 

"I wish I could," Giza admits, drained of muting out my probing. "Damn, she's too selfless. And unlike herself, my life has an expiration date in this palace. Whereas if she's here, the King will do everything in his power-which is a lot- to make her heart keep beating."

"Unfair, it is," I validate. Leaning in towards her, my chest digs into the wooden table. Though she generates the opposite effect by shirking backward, I strain as close as possible to whisper, "Between us, my husband is madder than a chicken with its head cut off. He keeps a competent attitude in public, but the maids talk. See things. Whitefire is an impossible place for secrets to thrive."

I was nearly to the stage where Giza makes eye contact with me, but she revokes my chance and starts up with her dress fiddling again. Seeing it best to have her speak next, I turn my neck out to admire the glorious yet tragic landscape that spawls before us. The Archeon Bridge- a striking beauty if one doesn't know the history behind it. 

Not long after our race conquered the red-blooded, we enslaved a good portion of them to prevent a rebellion. I've been told that it was a taxing war even with the power advantage, and we couldn't have afforded more loss. Magnetrons were occupied building the essential structures of West Archeon, and the overpass-an arch- was merely busywork for reds. And it exhausted and depressed them to the point where an insurgency was fruitless.

It seems next to absurd that the structure was one-hundred percent man-made without the use of abilities. It sparkles so finely in the evening light, the various metals refracting the dusk to their wills.

"Why does he love her so much?" The girl seeks.

I slowly emerge from my speculation, only to ask, "What?" Though before I can respond with a half-answer-solely the Gods understand that boy's head- Maven shows himself at the doors that partition my chambers from the outside. "Perhaps you should ask him yourself." 

Neither of them really heard me, as Giza averts her eyes from Maven and clasps her gloved hands together; it looks troublesome, her fingertips straining to make contact, as one of her wrists is cuffed to the seat. But it doesn't stop there. The seat is nailed into the balcony. Obviously.