My Beloved Queen

HIS DREAM

(another special that does not follow the plot chronologically. a moment with Orelus. chosen by readers on Quotev as the special for 3,000+ hearts. feel free to skip.)

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iv. the avenger

determiner
// the wonder of a daydream—a honey-colored hope, all sunshine and butterfly wings, dancing and twirling in the summer air. never before has joy been so close, nor delight so sweet and kind. may he keep to it well and love it with all his bleeding, broken heart.

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The warmth of the bed was a balm against Orelus's flesh, and the moonlight a candle, showering silver light upon the queen's face. Gently, he held her, and his hand shifted to her stomach and paused there to rest. The night was soft—soft as it could ever be—and the shadows swirled but did not gather. Her face was tender when she slept, tender and gentle, but not half as carefully smooth as when she woke.

Her dreams flashed across her brow and cheeks and lips, and the richness of her smiles was almost unfair. Waking diluted much, but sleep was a wonder. It stole many things and made true others, and perhaps now Orelus might learn to appreciate its powers.

What an aloof, shapeshifting creature it was. Once cruel and contemptuous—a fierce bear, baring its dagger teeth and roaring at the top of its lungs—and now as demure as a cat.

Its gentleness would not linger, but the calm could be enjoyed while it remained, and the cruelty would be little more than a gnat against his heart. Dreams would become nightmares, but they were all one in the same: memories of a time that was no more, yet dreams of tomorrow were equally uncertain. A hope for a life free of the sword Qodes dangled above his head; a fear that such a future would occur only once the blade was sunk into his heart. Yet he would sleep well enough regardless. Neither dreams nor nightmares were real, and the gods would never betray how they hoped to kill him.

Had the queen ever suffered a nightmare? No—how could she? The gods had been kind to her; Edite herself had plucked her from among the ranks of the nobility and deemed her worthy of a gift as wonderful as a silver tongue. She was their favorite, a beloved adored beyond measure, and he had stolen her. He, their bane—their fault made enemy.

Had her father even known? Perhaps King Johan had not cared. The gods could not have protected Alaimore from their scourge, and had they tried, Orelus would have torn the whole kingdom asunder.

The queen shifted, and her brow crumpled like velvet. Sweat was beading upon her skin, and a frown pulled at her lips, but then it was a grimace and now a look of horror, fear so pale and pure Orelus could almost taste it. Her breathing quickened, and then the quiet in the room was severed by a sudden, sharp gasp. It ripped itself free of her chest, and she nearly followed it. She sat up with a start, one hand clutching her breast and the other set firmly upon the bed, and her chest rose and fell with the weight of her gasps. She was shivering; she was shaking so awfully she might fall apart, and so he moved his hand.

A name was just rising to her lips when the tips of his fingers brushed her arm, and she froze immediately at the touch. She whirled to face him, and her eyes were as wide as a deer's, but the moonlight made them pale, made them burn like fire when they fell upon him. The sweat clinging to her forehead gleamed, and her eyes were wet, wet but not crying. She had yet to ever shed a tear before him.

"What's wrong?" His fingers curled around her arm, and he propped himself up on his elbow. The words were quick and his tone low, but his eyes were narrowing, and concern pressed at his chest.