Queensmen

Chapter 27

"Bren," Oris murmured as she was roused from sleep by a noise from beside her. The dream had been a memory, coming from a time she had long chosen to forget; a time she thought she had hidden deep enough to never resurface again.

She woke up with her heart racing and her breaths heavy but she didn't open her eyes, hoping to call back the dream and sink back into it. It was one of the sweetest things she owned, that memory.

It had been so long since she had felt so loved, she didn't want to go back to the cruel world, the reality where she had to fight to survive.

It had been so long since his name had passed her lips. So long used to addressing him as her Knight, Oris had thought those four letters would never form on her tongue again.

Yet they had.

And she missed it.

She missed him. Her Knight, her first love. But like the sands of time and dessert, the dream slipped through her fingers entirely, leaving her heart hollow and aching no matter how hard she clenched her fist.

"Our Mistress has been asleep for a day and two nights," a voice argued quietly from somewhere not far from where she laid, "I doubt that she will wake in time for the selection."

It was the voice that had woken Oris, and it belonged to Mayree.

"Hmph!" The person the maid was conversing was conversing with was not pleased. "The selection cannot be delayed any further, if your mistress cannot attend then even the female god of damsels cannot save her."

And then he left, his footsteps like knocks against Oris' skull, a dull pain compared to the rest. Mayree left as well, retreating to a place unknown, but Oris didn't dare to call her.

Who knew if they were being watched?

She opened her eyes slowly, already expecting to be in a dungeon or its close equivalent. Her experiences had given her enough mental fortitude to anticipate imprisonment fearlessly even when it meant that she was dated to attend an execution.

She was met with darkness at first, as her sight slowly adjusted. There was a throbbing pain in her neck and it hurt to move her limbs, but she figured that that was because she had been laying down for too long.

Two nights and a day. It wasn't too long compared to how she had suffered at the convent. In fact, the experience now gave her a better understanding of her body.

She had not been injured badly and simply lost a bit of blood. Her throat was sore and she could already tell that it would hurt to swallow or speak, but that was only because the wound was on her neck and her body was reacting in order to clear infections.

A simple concoction of herbs would fix her up straight away.

Slowly, she sat up, the movement just as grueling as she expected. She lifted a hand and touched the gauze wrapped around her neck.

For a queen, she had already accumulated a handful of scars, both from her times as a peasant and ruler. But the one she knew would form where she now touched pained her especially.

She had always avoided injury to her face and hands. Call her vain, but she didn't care.

Though she didn't find herself as beautiful as Eve, a man once called her the apple of his eye.

He once teased her, saying that she should not sleep in the barn any longer before the donkeys there confused her head for an apple. And she had replied him by turning the bucket of grain she held over his head of blonde hair.

If her scars were where no one could easily see, then it would be easier to forget about them. And if he didn't see her scars then as her Knight he wouldn't take the blame for them.