The reflection of the Queen: Exile

Prologue

"Well. Bring before my presence all living insurrectionists. Without exception."

The commander nodded and they walked together across the battlefield strewn with bodies to their own camp, which was bustling with activity. Everyone was on the move after a few hours of rest, packing up in preparation for the return trip and tending to the wounded. The mirror followed the Princess at all times, but there were many more places where she could see herself reflected. There were crystalline surfaces all over the camp that she could use to defend it in case of danger, and the shields that the men had used during the battle, and which were now scattered around the black cloth tents, were mirrors. These objects were indispensable to her victories. She knew that, as long as she had one at hand, she was invincible.

They arrived at a tent in the center of the camp, the one the officers used for meetings and planning. Some high-ranking members of their army were already there, along with six members of the Insurrection, handcuffed and on their knees, presenting various injuries that no one in that place was planning to cure them. The prisoners of war were very valuable. All the officers who could be of use to them either fell during the battle or took their own lives in a last and ridiculous act of bravery. For that reason they always made sure to look for survivors. If they knew nothing, they died, but if they suspected them of possessing information, they would spend as much time as they had left in the dungeons and torture cells of Krysthei's palace.

The temperature of the place seemed to drop several degrees when she entered. As soon as they saw her, when the prisoners saw her beautiful blood-spattered face, her pure white hair, her silver eyes and the mirror next to her, some tried to hide their look of fear, but none succeeded. She smiled, satisfied.

"I guess we can skip the introductions," he said, leaning gracefully against the map-covered table in the center of the tent. "Gentlemen, I'm going to set the record straight right now. Your lives are worthless. Your revolutionary ideas are worth nothing. Your beloved Insurrection is worth even less. Right now your comrades are being eaten by crows."

She looked carefully at the six faces before her. Her words had made more of an impact on some than on others. One of them was managing to suppress most of his reactions. A senior officer, probably, another man who thought he was a hero.

"There is only one thing with a shred of value in you: information. Some of you possess it, and some of you do not. Those who do not, will die."

One man visibly swallowed saliva. He was not supposed to know anything. The princess held back a grimace.

"Those who can give me what I want have two options: one is to spend what is left of their miserable and useless life in the dungeons of the castle, being the plaything of our executioners. And mine, of course."

She stepped away from the desk and walked around the store quietly. The silence was sepulchral.

"The other is to tell me everything they know, swear allegiance to the Queen and die peacefully as old men. What do you say?"

The insurrectionists were silent, looking at each other. The Princess grunted to herself and said:

"This is my question: where are your leaders hiding?"

Again, silence. She glanced sideways at his reflection, which was visibly exasperated. Well, more drastic methods should be tried.

She turned to the guy who had swallowed spit earlier. Private, probably. With tanned skin and a rough gesture, for sure the only thing he had been taught was to walk, obey and wield a weapon. No one trusted secrets to someone like that.

"You," she said, pointing at him. "What do you choose?"

He gave her a look that did not reflect much intelligence. That was confirmed when he spat on one of the Princess's bloody boots.