THE SUNDERING

MATO

Mato touched the taut skin over her womb. Pregnancy continued to elude her, and there wasn't much she could do about it. Just plan. Decide. Act upon her sacred whims. When she arrived at her destination, hopefully her plotting would come to pleasing fruition.

Her finger, too, looked overly bare. No ring, save the one that Sebastian gave her, adorned it. His wasn't the ring she yearned for, that she wanted proudly displayed while worn. That was something to work on for another day.
She'd be late if she continued thinking of Baz and how their conjoined future already stifled her.

Sighing, Mato trudged further along the wooded path leading to the palace. Staying hidden at this time of night wasn't as easy as it would seem. The villagers of each passing borough sat outside in the balmy night air, as they were poor and had little else to do except exchange conversation and bid each other pleasant dreams when they departed from each other in the early night. They watched in judgment, fingers holding pipes or babe, the children that were still awake shrieking as they ran in circles around their caregivers. Mato hated her neighbors, and she loathed the whispered things she wasn't privy to.

If they knew the truth, if they knew her deepest, hidden secrets, they'd hate her. That was a matter for tomorrow, when she could think clearly and didn't have machinations of bedding the king on her mind. If she thought about them at all.

Getting through the front doors of the palace wasn't difficult, just time-consuming. Mato only needed to flash the top, rounded plumpness of her breasts and the guards knew to let her through. It was getting past that obnoxious little brat that her king kept as valet that proved nearly impossible. Santh. She sneered, then sighed again.
If she weren't careful, he'd ruin all her plans.

Her secrets were her own, and those who dared broach them met the fury of targeted silence. If they knew better, they wouldn't cross her. She had a long list of those she'd condemned once her plans followed through.

Mato had just visited the healer living at the edge of the colonies for brew to promote her fertility. She warned her visit would stay hidden, or the old woman would face consequence. The healer shrugged, but stayed quiet while she worked. If she didn't care for or heed, Mato's warning, she soon would.
Disobeying meant death, for her and for any other. The moment Mato raised the crown to her head and gave life to her basest desires, those who thwarted her would pay.

Nothing would serve her better right now than to gain the king's babe, to feel it turning and twisting and rolling inside her, a coveted life paid for by the wages of her lies and with spread legs.
Her empty womb ached for that moment. Then he couldn't turn her away, and that annoying child that stayed by the king's side couldn't either.
But until that day, she knew better than to boast. Giving birth had already been denied her for many months, and the healer warned that Mato's illness kept those aspirations at bay.

What did the woman know anyhow?
She would conceive, and anyone who doubted that would see the wrath and her indignation that followed.

Mato knew there were others that frequented Tiran's bed. Simple enough. From the same woman, she also paid good coin to get an expulsive, pennyroyal, the preferred herb for forcing termination and to make a woman's bleeding begin. The healer hesitated only a split moment before handing the pouch with the herb over.

The difficulty for Mato lay in concealing the fatal tonic from both her lover and his current toys before those bed partners drank the tainted brew.

Making sure it happened meant the seduction and conniving of a squadron of men: the guards to beg against, courtiers to sway and convince, and the kitchen staff to woo. Fortunately for her, when others looked at her, they saw an ill woman, not a female, on the rampage of destroying and annihilating all competition. Wine that bitter must be suspect, but his sluts cared more for coin than knowledge. Anyone intelligent would know their lives were at risk for becoming the king's current bed-slave.