The Queen of All that Lives
Page 8

I slip my weapon into the bodice of my dress and approach the king’s guards, leaving bloody footprints in my wake.
Time to meet the man of my nightmares.
The future is no place for civilization.
I stare out the window of the chopper that circled high above me only hours ago. Even this far away from the surface of the earth I can see the destruction.
What does a century and a half of war look like? It looks like ghost towns, like rust and wreckage.
Here and there I see evidence of small towns where people must live. Nothing about these settlements follow any sort of city planning. There are no straight lines, and they have none of the symmetry I recall from the time before the war.
The king appears to have left more than just me to rot.
Over the course of the flight, I notice the settlements change. They get bigger, nicer, and they seem to have some of the symmetry that the other ones lacked. Perhaps not everyone is suffering in this new world.
Once we begin to descend, I have an idea of where we’re headed. A swath of deep blue ocean stretches below me, broken up by islands every so often.
The king rebuilt his Mediterranean palace.
An unnatural dread settles into my bones. It’s going to feel like nothing’s changed. I just know it.
As soon as we land, I stand, and the king’s guards step into formation.
Dried blood flakes off me. I suppress a grimace. I’m a mess.
The back of the chopper opens, and I follow the soldiers out, the metal floor cool against my bare feet. My hair kicks up around me as I exit the aircraft.
No cameramen wait for me, nor any eager civilians. Instead, an armored car idles off to the side of the runway, and other than the few soldiers that stand in front of it, we are alone.
Still no king.
And now my mind skips back to the first time the king retrieved me, back when I thought he ordered my father to be killed. Even knowing that he was last person I wanted to see, he’d come for me.
Perhaps that’s why he didn’t show up today.
Because it if there is one person I do want to see, it’s Montes.
I was right.
The king’s world is all so eerily familiar.
The palace is just as abominably beautiful as his palaces have always been. Just as big, just as grand, just as oppressive. I stare up at it as the armored car I ride in comes to a stop. Exotic, flowering vines grow up the sides of its walls. Beyond the walls, the ocean stretches on and on.
Just as before, no one waits for us.
I slide out of the vehicle before anyone can try to help me out.
My entourage of guards fans out around me.
I can’t look away from those tall walls.
“The king’s inside?” I ask.
“He is,” one of the men says. “He’s ordered us to take you to your chambers, where you’re to shower and dress.”
I feel my upper lip curl. Of course he would want me to wash away all my sins like they never happened.
I follow the soldiers up the marble steps. Before I can cross the threshold, one of the men guarding the door clears his throat. “Your Majesty, your gun.”
The cold metal rests between my breasts. “What about it?” I ask.
“You can’t bring it inside.”
“Says who?” I ask.
“It’s the king’s policy.”
Reluctantly, I reach down my bodice and hand the gun over. I stole that one; I can always steal another.
Walking into the king’s palaces always felt like entering someone else’s dream. But now, more than ever, it feels surreal as I pass the colossal columns that line the great entryway. I’m in a time and a place that I don’t belong. There is a bone deep wrongness to the situation, and I can do nothing about it.
So I settle for getting perverse pleasure dragging my bloodied skirts and dirty feet across the king’s pristine floors.
As we wind our way through the halls of this place, I keep my muscles tense. The guards may have promised to keep me safe from the Sleeper, but their allegiance ultimately belongs to the king.
Our footsteps echo through the lonely, abandoned halls. When I was newly married to the king, his corridors bustled with politicians and aides, servants and guards. Now they’re eerily empty, the artwork that lines them covered with drop cloths.
Has my terrible king grown eccentric in his old age?
The few posted guards I pass stand stoically. If they’re shocked by my presence, they show no sign of it.
Eventually my retinue stops in front of a set of double doors.
“Your chambers, Your Majesty,” one of the soldiers says. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be right outside.”
I nod to them and enter the room.
I could still be an emissary and this my suite for all the similarities I see.
My eyes move over a large, gilded mirror, a canopy bed, and elaborately carved table and chairs to match.
I run a hand over and intricately carved piece of furniture. This is too similar to the time I left. It’s destabilizing. Confusing.
On the far side of the room, two French doors lead out to a balcony. They have already been thrown open, and a sea breeze rushes over me. I’m sure that if I walked out there right now, I’d see the ocean in all its glory.
Instead I pace.
I’m right back to where I started, here where the tragedies of the world can never touch me. Everything about this place mocks my existence.
He should’ve just left me to die.
I press my palms to my eyes.
I don’t want any of this.
And then there’s what I do want. Answers, revenge, repentance.