A Bloody Reign

Prisoner

She did not care to see the looks on the faces of those crowded around the room. Instead she held her head high and continued gazing at the back wall. She had stared at this wall so many times she felt she knew it by heart. Each crack in the stone, each fraying string in the fading banners. She knew them all. She had studied them countless times since she had turned sixteen. She tuned out the man standing before her as he babbled on about some misfortune that had befallen him. She did not care. She hardly ever did.

She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, toying with a loose thread. She glanced down at her lap, her emerald eyes tracing the pattern of silver and black thread that twisted its way into the shape of thorns running up her arm. She faintly heard the sounds of marching feet and drew herself back to the present.

She noticed the man had stopped speaking and was staring wide eyed at the heavy oak doors that had just swung open. Soldiers marched in in two straight lines. The man at the head of the column had removed his helmet revealing a dirt smudged nose, crooked from multiple breaks. His eyes were two different colors, one a brilliant blue, the other a deep chocolate brown. The effect of the multicolored orbs was unsettling enough, but the look of fierce hatred in his gaze would have brought any grown man to his knees. This was a man clearly hardened from years of conflict. Yet his build spoke of youthfulness. His whole physical appearance was disturbing enough, and the hand and a half sword at his belt along with the silver armor that covered his torso only caused those in the crowd to look away in fright. But the young woman relaxed and smiled at the sight of him. She stood from her chair and approached the edge of the dais. The strange-eyed man swept back his midnight cloak, dropping to one knee before her.

“M'Lady.” His voice was smooth and low, like dark coffee with honeyed whiskey.

“Aldor, it is good to see you again. How was the hunt?” The woman smiled as she gestured for the knight to stand.

“We speared two boar, a wild ox, and a flock of geese. But your Majesty, we come bearing distressing news...”

The queen's gaze grew somber and cold. No one in the room spoke. No one moved.

“What seems to be the problem, Aldor?” her tone was low, laced with caution. He had heard this tone before. He knew what he had to show her would upset her. And he knew that those who upset the queen rarely lived to tell about it. He hesitated before motioning two of his soldiers forward. They supported an unconscious body between them, the prisoner's head shrouded with a black hood.

The queen raised an eyebrow, stepping down from her platform and reaching for the bag that covered the identity of the captured soul. Aldor shook his head motioning to the crowd silently. The queen ignored his warning. She did not care about the bystanders. She wanted to know who her captain of the guard had taken for his hostage. She reached up and removed the hood.

Several things happened at once. The queen screamed, her hand flying to her mouth. The prisoner's eyes fluttered open. And there was the sound of breaking glass as a near by handmaiden fainted, the tray of goblets she had been holding, crashing to the floor. The prisoner lifted his head, grinning from ear to ear.

“YOU!” The queen scrambled backwards, clutching a dagger she kept strapped to her arm.

“Me.” He said simply. His eyes scanned the hall before finding their way back to the queen. His grin widened. “You haven't changed the place at all since my death, Little Sister.”