My Beloved Queen

CHAPTER THREE

iii. the princess and the peacemaker

executioner
// his arms were weak, his hands unsuited for the handle. the blade was heavy—too heavy for him to hold. but he had to—he had no other choice but to swing.

————

The king sat at the head of the dining table, and across from him, at the other end, was the queen. Sprinkled between them were four seats—two on either side. One used to belong to your elder sister, but now your brother's wife occupied it, and she would remain there until your father's passing—your brother's crowning. Then her children would take her seat—yours and Didi's, too.

Didi and you would have no more use for them. You would be just like your sister, Idryla—married, with a new set of chairs and tables to occupy.

"[Name]—Didi." Your brother was the first to see you—his narrow, sympathetic eyes flashed from your face to Didi's. When he greeted you, you heard sarcasm in his low voice—sharp, but not hurtful. At least not purposefully so. "How wonderful. You two have finally decided to grace us with your presence."

You managed a sly grin. "Of course, Havel," you replied, your tone just as sarcastic as your brother's. Havel loved to tease, but the game was even more fun when he had a partner—a challenger. "How could we dare deny you our precious company?"

You sat down in your usual seat, across from Havel and his wife, Tealai, and between your father and Didi. Isil had broken away from you both once you'd entered the dining hall, moving to take his place against the wall, beside the other guards.

You wondered if Didi's Alourli was among them—standing in the shadows, watching your father, knowing that one wrong move, one misplaced stare or charged look, would send him away. Far, far away, where he would never bother Didi again. Where he would wallow until Didi forgot him—until he became a memory.

Or a legend.

You heard a chair squeak as it was moved—scraping against the nice, expensive floors—and you focused your attention back on your siblings. Now was not the time to think—not of things that had no future.

Havel's eyes glimmered with challenge, and he grinned wolfishly at you. You could see his teeth glimmering—shining in the candlelight underneath his beard. "Be careful, dear, or you might choke on your own ego." He spoke mockingly, but lightly, as though his words were merely that—words, with no weight or meaning. Frivolous. Pleasure without substance.

"You might want to take your own advice every now and again, Havel," Didi added. She usually didn't take part in Havel's games. She wasn't good at them—at words. Not like Havel, who reveled in eloquence and prose; who could recite great literary works and monumental plays from memory. "Your head could use some shrinking."

Havel's eyes slid to Didi's, eager and determined. What was better than one challenger, but two? "Well, aren't you a hypocrite," he simpered teasingly. "Here you are—the pot calling the kettle black."

Didi frowned at him, and you could see her floundering, stumbling for a retort—a reply as flowery and pompous as your brother's. "I—I'm no such thing—"

"Was that a stutter I heard, Princess?" Havel was too caught up in his own wordy revelry to see that Didi was no longer fond of his little game—that her enjoyment had been spent. He continued to press at her, to push her and prod at her, ignorant of her distress.

An inkling of panic wove itself under your skin, and you tried to get brother's eye, to shoot him a warning look because if he kept pushing—if he kept advancing—he would cross a line. Didi's line. But Havel wasn't looking at you.