Dark Queen

Chapter 3

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The sands of the fighting pit crunched under Maeve's feet. The princess turned to face the small iron gates. Her broad obsidian sword gleamed in the sunlight as she expertly spun it and twisted it around her for show. The crowd cheered again, eager to watch the show she would put on. She loved their praise. She lived on how they chanted her name. For off the pits she was nobody, but here she was a Champion.

Guards with iron-tipped spears forced four males, chained in pairs, onto the sands. One turned to run back to the gates, only to have the iron posts crash down into the ground on top of him. His dark-colored blood spewed onto the hot ground. The crowd booed and Maeve bared her teeth. It was a waste. The male chained to the now-dead faerie pulled desperately at his chains, trying to free himself. Maeve ignored him, turning her attention to the two other males who stared at her in terror.

The simple blades they had been given to defend themselves against her were held slack in their arms. With her black hair and armor, she knew she looked like the angel of death. That is who she was, for the criminals who ended up on her sands. She fought and killed the worst of the worst. No matter how you looked at it, anyone who ended up across from her on the sands deserved to be there, for one reason or another. Some were murderers, others rapists, even a few thieves made their way onto the sands. It did not matter what their crimes were, all would die at her sword. Maeve forced herself to focus on the crimes and not the person. It was not her fault they were there.

The largest of the prisoners, a male with large horns that curved up from his head like spires of a tower, regained his composure. The male bared his teeth at her in a hiss. Maeve gave him a lazy smile. He was not a mere thief. Not with the way he greedily raked his eyes over her body. She growled as she began to slowly circle the chained pair.

The criminal launched himself at her, dragging his chained companion along with him. He raised his sword over his head as he charged forward. Maeve spun out of his way, her blade slicing through his thin leather armor and into his chest. The male fell to his knees and in a single swift motion, she pivoted on her heels and sliced off his head. It rolled on the ground as his body crashed into the sand. Red blood staining it once more.

The crowd roared their delight as she turned to the fumbling captive chained to the now headless criminal. He crawled backward as she pointed her sword at him.

"Get up and fight," She growled. He stuttered and continued to slowly crawl backward on the ground. Maeve brought her sword down on the dead criminal's foot, severing it where the chain had been. The captive scrambled to his feet. He held his sword in front of himself.

"Fight!" She growled. He swung his sword at her and she blocked it. He swung again as he backed up another step and she blocked again, his sword flying from his hands from the force. Maeve spun her sword in her hand and raised it to the male's throat.

"Any last words," she growled, though part of her pitied him. What if he was just a debtor, trying to pay off his debt by fighting? Though, usually, someone of his age chose another route to pay off debts.

"Please, my Queen" the Faun, centries older than she was, gasped and Maeve hesitated for a moment. Queen? There it was again. The prophecy over her birth began playing in her mind. The male was temporarily spared as movement caught the corner of her eye. She spun in time to catch the blade of the Phouka who had been chained to the idiot killed by the gate. The Phouka was faster than the others had been. His black-tipped orange ears lay flat against his head. His fox tail flicked behind him as he crouched to attack.

Maeve watched him with a wicked smile. The male projected his every move with his tawny eyes. He tossed his sword to the side and growled. His long-clawed black nails gleamed in the afternoon sun. The Phouka bared his teeth and hissed. Many creatures saw it as an insult to call them Unseelie. The Phouka wore the slur as a badge of honor. They tended to be more primal and were far more ruthless on the battlefield, able to use claws and teeth as weapons, giving them a clear advantage over faeries with little to no magic. However, he had no advantage over her. Maeve's skill with her blade made her one of the most feared warriors in all the kingdoms.

Maeve ducked out of the way but his claws caught her in the arm. Red angry lines formed on her bare skin as the blood began to push to the surface. Maeve hissed at the male. The Phouka smiled, baring his sharp teeth at her. This fight would be fun. Maeve launched herself at him. Her sword swinging to strike and block. She ducked under his claws and sliced across the back of his legs. The Phouka fell to his knees. Maeve did not hesitate as she ran her sword through him. The Phouka slumped to the ground.

Maeve turned to face the old Faun bolting towards her with his sword held over his head. Yet she looked behind him, at the wall of the arena where the Witch stood a smile on her face. Maeve blinked, her distraction barely noticeable to anyone save for maybe her father and sister. In a blink, the Witch was gone.

The old male was only an arms-length away now. Maeve did not move from her spot, waiting until the last second to step aside and avoid the blow. Maeve raised her sword, blocking his blow. The male's face was twisted into something cruel and almost evil. The feeling hit her hard. How had she believed he was innocent?

"You know who I am little girl?" The Faun whispered as their blades crashed against each other.

"Should I?" she gave him an equally feral grin as his own.

"I am the Piper," he whispered so softly that she barely heard his words. Maeve pushed him back, snarling loudly as she did. She knew who he was. The fact that for even a moment she thought that her father had given her a debtor to fight made her sick. This male was far from an innocent old male. He was the worst criminal of the last century. Luring children of all kinds to their deaths with his music and candies. 

Maeve felt her body go cold as a dark rage boiled within her. She pulled the faun in close and snarled back in his ear, "Téigh go hIfreann," as she ran her sword straight through his dark heart. 

Maeve pushed the Faun off her blade. His eyes were wide with shock. He grabbed at his chest where dark ice sprouted from his wound. Maeve stepped away from him, as his heavy body thudded to the ground. A pool of dark crimson blood began to form on the sand beneath him. Maeve watched with a carefully blank expression as the Faun bleed out and froze to death at the same time. The ice, her ice, freezing his dead body. 

The crowd was roaring with excitement, none seeing the small crystal-like shards that formed around the wound. With a shove of her boot, she pushed him onto his stomach, concealing what had happened from anyone looking too closely.  She was not even sure what had just happened. 

Calming her fraying nerves, Maeve flashed a wicked smile to the crowds. Turning to face every side of the arena, she lifted her sword in triumph. The Piper's blood still dripping down the blade. She thrust it into the air as they began chanting her name. It was madness.

Maeve looked to her father who was smiling proudly. It was Titania who saw through her mask of indifference. She watched as her sister got up from her chair and hurried off the platform. Maeve swallowed hard. She knew her sister would be waiting for her when she got back to the armory. 

As Maeve retreated back towards the opening iron doors she sheathed her sword to her back. Her exit was nowhere near as dramatic as her entrance. She did not slow her pace or look back as she escaped into the dark shadows of the pit tunnels. She wanted to be far away when the guard discovered the faun was frozen solid.