Look What You Made Me Do

Part XI

I'm sorry, the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now.

Why?

Oh...cuz she's dead

No man is perfect. My father was a wonderful king, fair in his judgements, honest but generous in his dealings. He was a good husband to my mother and an excellent father to my brother and me. But he had a horrible temper and he always struggled to control it.

My brother was a good man, too. He had many of my father's qualities and was extremely intelligent and even-tempered. It was easy to see that he would rule just as well as, if not better than, my father. But he too had his flaws, the most prominent of which were bouts of stubbornness in which he absolutely refused to listen to sense. Usually, he would change his mind himself if left alone for some time.

I thought my husband had been perfect. He was never angry, never refused me anything. He was intelligent, understanding, always willing to listen. He was so very handsome but never arrogant. He was warm and welcoming. I lived in utterly blissful of ignorance in those few months between our wedding and my parents' murders.

I'd learned a valuable lesson from him. If something appears too good to be true, then it is a lie. In his case, his perfection was a facade that hid his avarice and hunger for power.

I owed him for that. I would repay my debt with a lesson of my own: no crime goes unpunished.

I picked our anniversary date to end it; I was nothing if not romantic. Three days before that date, I washed off my disguise for the last time. I picked a white dress--the dress that my mother had been wearing at the time of her death.

Long before anyone else arrived, I entered the palace throne room. I sat on my rightful place on my father's throne.

I waited.

The sun rose, casting light onto the ancient stone wall. The quiet of night gave way to the bustle of the day as the castle rose from its slumber. A maid entered the throne room, sleepy-eyed, cleaning rags and soap-water bucket in hand. She spotted me, dropped everything and ran off screaming about ghosts.

A few minutes later, I heard the gruff voice of the head maid, scolding the younger one for making up stories. She stopped speaking abruptly when she entered the room.

Her eyes fixed upon me, she screeched before running off also.

They summoned the palace guards and the poor boys surrounded me, weapons pointed shakily.

I did nothing. I sat perfectly still, waiting.

Nobles began arriving. They stood behind the guards, eyes and mouths opened wide in disbelief.

When the last of them had arrived, I said, "A lifetime ago, I was condemned to death in this very room. There was no trial. You see what has become of those that asked why," I gestured at the piked heads around the tilted stage. "I have returned to right that wrong.

"I was accused of the murder of the Good King and Queen and their successor. Very well. Bring forth the accuser! Bring forth that man who calls himself your king! Will he stand in the court of law and repeat his claims?"

The noblemen muttered to themselves. Then one stepped forward and asked, "How is it that you are still alive?"

I said nothing.

More started speaking up, demanding answers.

I almost laughed at their audacity. I owed these men nothing.

One of them said, "We could have you arrested again."

I remained silent.

"Guards, seize her," he ordered.