Black Reign

Ellette

Instead of being in my kingdom tonight, I am in his. The Golden Man sits on a throne carved of a wood so dark it could've been purple. All else in the throne room is the exact same shade. There are no windows, a single door and nothing save for two large, gold-framed pictures lying in the dead centre of both length's of the narrow room's walls.

His hands rest inside gauntlets which lie upon the throne's armrests. Simple, handsome features are honed into tranquility. And, instead of hunting me down to kill me in this nightmare as is, I have realised, the typicality of such dreams, I am taken to him in shackles. Prisoner.

No longer do I wear the navy gown I wore upon consciousness. In its place are soiled breeches, a pale, dirt-streaked shirt and the rattle of metal that blares through my eardrums as I am forced to my knees. I connect to the ground with such force my teeth sting. The floor isn't as hard as I imagine.

The Golden Man's lips curl into a small smile. It puzzles me for it does not look sinister nor kind; nor does it malicious nor forced. I try to lift my eyes to his but attempt to do so with no avail.

He lets out a tired sigh, the barest flicker of emotion I've seen from him in all my dreams–nightmares.

His muddy eyes pool with fatigue, shoulders fall and calloused fingers lift to his brow where he drags them over and down the edges of his face. His lids shut. When will you leave me be, dearest queen?

What do you mean? The words do not form on my lips. I remain silent.

Seeking me at day, at night, he says, you enter my dreams and turn them into nightmares. It is only a matter of time before you storm my kingdom and rip the crown from my brow.

I wet cracked lips. And what kingdom is that? My own voice startles me. It is ragged and cracks at the first syllable. As if I have been left parched and screaming for days.

The ghost of a smirk plasters itself across his face, But you know already, of course.

My mind runs fractionally through my continent's kingdoms: North, Fallen, South...

I curse myself, This is nothing but a stupid dream, Ellette...

I ignore my mind's rambling, hone my attention in on his beautiful brown eyes. They are whimsical, so much so that it draws affection from the depths of my chest.

Soon, I am intoxicated. My heart snags on any and every shift in his beautiful features. My muscles loosen, shoulders cave in the slightest and I want to stand. I want to walk to him, to drop to my knees at his feet and beg him to let me serve him.

I want to serve him.

This man that has killed me numerous times... I want to serve him. To help him.

My affections begins to swirl and he smiles. It is indescribable. White teeth gleam in the otherwise dark room. I feel my eyes widen the slightest, caught on his face. His eyes. His utter simplistic beauty. Perfection. How can someone that beautiful ever commit sins? Do evil? Harm anyone?

He stands and walks to me. Something inside my chest begins to thrash, clawing and scraping at my insides. I ignore it, cast it aside. I want to serve this man. I want to help him.

I want to help him.

He curls his index finger beneath my chin and tilts up my head. His lips move closer to my ear, what I think—hope to be sweet nothings hanging at the tip of his tongue—

But instead, he flicks his eyes to the guards holding the chains to my shackles and says, Kill her.

And just like that all my affection dissipates. My love, my want. All of it. Gone.