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February 10 - February 13, 2024
“Honesty, a good heart, a conscience… What use are those to a queen?” “You better serve your people with cunning than with compassion,” said Godwin. “A compassionate ruler allows enemies to outsmart her, to overrun her. A cunning one cannot be bested.”
“Now, now,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Don’t go and try to flee on me, snow rabbit. I’ll catch you in a second and rip out your throat with my teeth.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t be frightened,” he murmured, settling himself on his knees so that he straddled her where she sat. “It won’t hurt a bit. I keep my blades sharp. You’ll feel a little pinch, that’s all. I’ll hold you ‘til it’s done.
“Or maybe,” said the assassin, tracing his finger from her throat to her chest, between her breasts, and resting it on her stomach, “I ought to gut you like a pig. Wouldn’t that be fun? We could share facts and stories about ourselves until you eventually bleed out. I’d enjoy watching the life fade from you, minute by minute. I could make it painful, if I wanted to. I could twist the blade. Reach in, play with your…”
In the face of death, alone and helpless, there were no kings or queens. Only people, fragile bones and pumping hearts, blood beneath paper-thin skin.
“Don’t you have a preference? There are so many ways I could kill you. Each one, unique and lovely. And no matter what death you pick, don’t worry. I’ll enjoy it.”
“I underestimated you, little queen,” said the assassin, tilting his head. Blood flecked his face, and the scar over his eye was starkly white against his skin. “I thought you’d be such an easy kill. I dreamed of your blood on my fingers, sticky and hot.” He smiled wider. “But you surprised me.”
“You know nothing about me,” Elma said, his words cutting an unseen gouge in her flesh. His lip curled. “Don’t I? What do you think I see when I look at you? Other than a pincushion for my dagger.”
“Look how your cheeks redden when I talk about killing you,” murmured Rune, almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “And your eyes… your pupils are enormous. What are they doing to you in this place?”
I wanted you to look me in the eye before I killed you. Before you bled out all over me. Makes for a far more enjoyable experience.”
“I will personally see to it that you’re silenced.” Rune stepped forward into the light and leaned arrogantly over her chair, practically draping himself across it, smiling viciously. “She means I’ll cut out your tongue.”
“The offer stands,” he said, keeping up with her easily, their gaits evenly matched. “I’m not above fucking my enemies. And you could use a distraction.”
He was the only bright thing in a world of frostbitten death.
And she had sent him out alone, perhaps to die. Suddenly, the thought of losing him became too much to take. Her thrumming heart became an ache. It frightened her how desperately she feared for him, that he might die before she had a chance to properly hate him.
She would find her bodyguard and stay by his side. He would not die without her permission.
She wanted to rip the sword from his grip and gut him with it. She wanted to watch him writhe and bleed on the flagstones, begging for mercy. She wanted to feel his hands on her, to know what else he might elicit, what mad, hateful ardor he could summon forth.
Wear your heart like armor, they had said. Grow a craggy, hard shell. Open up for no one. You are loved. You are ready. You are Queen of Rothen. A hot tear ran down her face. She didn’t want any of that. She ached to be soft again. She yearned to open up like a bloom, to trust, to be vulnerable.
Rune was real, solid, and true. Elma had accepted death, yet here was this beautiful, deadly creature returning her to life.
“Sweet, depraved creature. I’ve never met anyone with such bloodlust.”
“I hate you.” “As you should.” Rune moved toward her, and the air between them seemed to electrify. “But strangely, I don’t hate you. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Your father was an effective king. His people feared him, and he defended his walls mercilessly. Rothen stands on the foundations that your father and his ancestors created, blood-soaked as they are. But you…” Rune looked at Elma as if she were the only thing that existed in that moment. “You could be loved, Elma Volta. You could grow a garden.”
“If that’s what my bloodthirsty queen so desires.” She glanced at Rune sidelong. “I am anything but yours.” He grinned, but something tugged on the corners of it, weighing it down. “If it makes you feel any better, Majesty, I am nothing if not yours.”
“They are animals. Brainless and violent. There is no language they understand but the drums of war.”
“Fuck you. Get off of me.” “But if I let you go, you’ll try to kill me. And while dying at your hand would be my greatest privilege, I’d at least like a chance to explain myself before that happens.”
“Tell me who it was, and if he’s not dead already, I’ll have him killed for you.”
You could puncture me full of holes, Your Majesty, and I’d only beg for more.”
He was a star, and she was the night, yearning for his light.
“Rune,” she said, breathless against his throat, “I want to see you bleed.”
“You’re so beautiful when you bleed,”
It was infinitely intoxicating, Rune’s willingness to do this with her, to bleed for her. Once, they had been at each other’s throats. Once, they had been enemies. They were enemies no longer, though the spilling of blood remained. And now, Elma realized, with a spark of clarity, that the bloodletting was a promise. Mutually assured tenderness.
she could have opened her chest and shown her beating heart to him, and he would not harm it. Instead, he would light her from within, melting away the years of cold and ice until she was herself again.
A coil of undeniable warmth grew in her chest. This was what it felt like, then, to bloom unharmed in a frozen wasteland. This was softness and trust.
