-Chapter One-
I closed my eyes, the gentle breeze hitting my face. For a moment, I could pretend that I hadn't just given the eulogy to one of my dearest, most trusted friends. For a moment, I could breathe, but it didn't last long. Walter had been like a father to me, and he was gone. The Crawler had taken him, forced me to kill him. I felt sick at the thought of it. I was still rather bruised and damaged from the fight. I had refused to hit him, at first. I allowed him to beat me nearly to death before I raised my blade against him, but I still wept the whole time, knowing that it could only end with his death and my heartbreak.
I held him as he died, and he thanked me for it. That was what hurt the most. He'd wanted to die. He wanted it all to be over, and he knew he would be leaving me. He assured me that I no longer needed him, but he was wrong. I needed him more than he could have ever known, and I never told him. Perhaps it would have given him something to live for if he knew just how much he meant to The Queen of Albion. He was the father I never had, as mine had died very shortly after I was conceived. When my mother died, and when Logan took the throne, Walter had become my guiding light in the world, always pointing my compass in the right direction. I needed him in those days, as I needed him through the revolution. I would always need him, but he would no longer be there chuckling loudly or raising his tankard to me in the pub or shielding me from the harsh reality of the world.
I exhaled, putting a hand against the boning of my corset. It felt as if it had been laced far too tightly around my bruised ribs, and I leaned against the railing of my balcony, looking over toward the smokestacks of industrial. Was this what my country had become? Cold, smoking clouds of industry? The poor still suffered in the streets while the aristocrats dined on the finest cuisine. With all the good I was told I was doing, I thought a real change would have been made by now. I thought that those I had sacrificed for would remain at my side, but I realized that the hope had been the naïve aspiration of an idealistic girl. That girl died when Walter did.
My tears rolled down my face hot and unrestrained, and I closed my eyes. I had given everything I had to my people, but what was left for me? I felt hollow, full only of sorrow and anguish. I gripped at the railing, and I exhaled shakily. I thought with the defeat of The Crawler, this dark bundle of anger would have dissipated. I thought it had been the fowl creature's doing, but it was still inside of me. All along, it had been my own darkness that was growing like a cancer within me.
My eyes fell to the statue of another man who I had killed for the people of Albion. Logan pointed east, as he always did, his eyes set ever on the horizon. After his execution, I had been urged to tear the the tribute to his coronation down, but the thought brought more pain than I had anticipated. I simply couldn't. The statue had captured him as he used to be, firm, but regal and just. He had been such a different man before, but the people would never forgive him for the wrong he'd done. That day in court, he'd stood before me, his eyes full of remorse, but I still sentenced the only family I had left to death. The people cheered and patted me on the back for my choice, but I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but sadness. I'd thought I made the right decision, especially when he'd executed Elliot strictly to make a point to me, but I was wrong. I'd chosen wrong. I'd dug myself into this emptiness, and I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. I clenched my hand into a fist as I drew away to enter my bedchambers once more.
I closed the doors loudly behind me, and I saw that Angus was curled up on the edge of my bed, his wide brown eyes seeming to be just as sad as I felt. I approached him, patting his head gently, but it didn't stave off the sadness. I could think only of the people I'd lost along the road to my rule.
Elliot had been the first. He had been my first everything, after all, so it would only be appropriate that he would be the initial loss that would rouse my deep loneliness. He had asked to die, just as Walter had, and what could I do but grant it? It would have degraded him to be spared, condemning others to die. He would never have forgiven me if I'd asked Logan to kill the protesters instead. I knew him well enough to know that. He had been the innocent blood that Logan spilled that crossed the line. He had been the spark to the powder keg of my rebellion. His death was necessary, some might argue, to force my hand. Those protesters had never descended upon the castle, how different would my life be? Logan could not have pulled the weight of the world on his shoulders, as I'd been forced to do. Theresa had assured me of that. Everything and everyone had its purpose, and Logan was destined to fail. It was cruel of fate to deal him that hand.
Even Logan had asked for death, knowing that his crimes would never be forgiven. All of the men I loved asked to die for me, for my cause, for my salvation, for my glory. Could I be left so easily? Did I rate so low on their scale of priorities that death would be the preferable option to sticking it out and remaining at my side? Logan would have liked to live, I was sure, but he also knew that the life would have been empty of any sort of happiness but full of regret. Some might say that it was a mercy to grant him a swift and just end.
I found that Angus had fallen asleep beneath my soft attention. I withdrew my hand, and I steadied myself against the bedpost, I couldn't seem to stop crying. One dark thought after another crossed my mind, and I was pulled into a downward spiral. I almost felt like collapsing, giving up, handing the crown to whoever wanted it. Perhaps death would be preferable to this world. At least in death, I was assured by the monks there would be no pain. That was what they'd told me when they prepared Walter's body for burial, and I clung to that hope. Maybe the light had enveloped him like he'd said in his final words.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Yes, what is it?" I asked shortly, wiping my face. I stiffened, and I watched the doors as Hobson scurried within. He looked out of breath, as if he had just run all the way here from counting gold pieces in the treasury.
"I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but there is an urgent message for you," Hobson puffed, his round sagging face nearly purple from exertion.
I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. I cleared my throat, trying to shrug off the sadness. "Well?"
"Mister Reaver awaits you in the study," He told me, his jowls trembling as he continued to gasp for breath.
"That is what you consider urgent, Hobson?" I asked.
"He said that if you did not come to the study to meet with him, he'd come collect you himself," He said, finally catching his breath. "I thought that perhaps-"
"Does he not realize that I've just come from a funeral?" I asked, my heart pounding angrily beneath my breast. I gathered up the skirts of my black mourning gown, moved toward the door without even glancing at the state of myself in the mirror, and I hurried toward the study, each of my steps more deliberate and quick than the last. Hobson scurried behind me, trying to untangle the black lace veil that had been pinned out of my hair but pushed up out of my eyes. Soon enough I had torn up the stairs toward the study, and I threw the door open.
Hobson hurried forward to introduce me, "Queen Keira of Albion..."
"That is quite enough," Reaver said, his mouth twisting with distaste. "I know who she is. Scurry along. I am sure you will find someone else to annoy somewhere in the castle."
Hobson wheezed, and he withdrew, closing the doors behind us, leaving us in privacy.
Reaver stood in perfect form, his tall slender frame accentuated in a suit of all black, and he had his hat in his hands, as if he, too, were mourning. An act, surely, to butter me up for something or another. His eyes found mine, and I was struck by the darkness in them. If I required a lesson in treading the darkness, it appeared I needed to look no further. He surely had enough practice in his years of corruption and greed. He nodded softly, and he sucked in a deep breath, setting his hat down on my desk. His eyes flicked up and down my body, taking in my funeral attire and seemingly trying to decipher all it concealed. "Your Majesty, I am terribly sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, Walter."
"I'm sure you are," I said in a vehement breath. "What is so urgent that you would disturb me on this day, Reaver?"
"Your acquaintance Page has started circulating this," He whipped a piece of paper from his breast pocket, and he thrust it toward me, his jaw set in what looked like disapproval.
I took the paper, and I inspected it. It was a copy of a petition intended to come to me after it had reached a certain number of signatures. It clamored for control of Bowerstone Industrial to be passed over to Page. I read the words, and I glanced back up to Reaver. I could understand why he was upset, but this issue surely could have waited for another day.
"I understand your concern, Reaver, but I don't understand why you've brought this to me personally," I said, handing him the paper once more. "You could have set up an appointment to appear before me in court, like any other citizen."
"Oh, but Your Majesty, I thought we were both aware that I am not just any other citizen," He said, putting his hands on his hips. "I have advised you and done your bidding. I believe one could even say that I have been a rather good sport through all of this, with all of the naïve decisions you have made."
"How dare you-"
"Your Majesty, I am not trying to offend," He said, playing the martyr. "I am merely being honest with you." He loomed closer, adjusting the edge of the veil against my cheek, taking the opportunity to touch my skin 'by mistake' with a gloved hand. "This Page has done nothing but ask and take and clamor for more. I daresay, even if placed in such a position of power, she would not be content. I, on the other hand, am quite content where I am." His eyes flashed with humor as he offered me half of a smirk.
"Reaver, I am not in the mood to discuss such things," I said, turning away from him. I was frazzled, emotionally exhausted, and I couldn't help but feel like a mouse faced with a hungry cat. "Go, and we will continue this discussion at a later date. It is not as urgent as you've made it out to be."
"Oh, but My Queen, it is," He said, his face once again shifting to the more serious mask of the businessman. "You see, this petition will cause quite a stir amount people in Industrial. You could say it may give them rebellious thoughts. Hasn't Albion suffered through enough rebellion, Your Majesty? Can we not stop the fighting before it begins?"
I exhaled, and I nodded, returning my gaze to him once more. "I will meet with you tomorrow, and we can discuss the finer details then."
"Over a hot meal perhaps?" Reaver asked, leaning on his walking stick."I always find that business runs much smoother when both parties are full and satisfied." He tapped his stick on the floor softly as he rose up to his full height once more, a cloying grin creeping onto his mouth.
"Is this your way of inviting yourself to dine with me?" I asked, cocking a brow at him.
"No, no," He said, waving his hand and leaning his walking stick against the edge of my desk. "I am inviting you to dine with me. It has been a while since you have been to my home in Millfields, hasn't it? I promise, Your Majesty, it will not be as chaotic as it was the night of your first visit."
The Wheel of Misfortune, the balverines, Barry Hatch and his strange speech impediment...The night had proven to be rather chaotic and confusing. It was the night that I had come to see just how hot-headed and impatient Page truly was. Her half-baked scheme had gotten her men killed and put our lives in danger as well.
I gulped softly, and I was unsure of how to reply. To decline would be very rude and ungracious. To accept would bring a whole new set of problems on myself. I would have to be wary of anything and everything. Part of me still did not trust Reaver, as he had tried to antagonize me the whole time I'd been in the throne, but he was, at least, polite about it. He'd taken my repeated dismissal of his suggestions with great stride, or so I hoped. Perhaps getting me to his mansion in Millfields would be his opportunity to gain the upper-hand in our working relationship.
He waited for my response, his dark brows arching upward.
"I suppose that could be arranged, Reaver," I said with a small nod. "I will bring a compliment of guards, of course, in case we happen to... disagree on matters."
"Oh, my dear, you needn't worry about that," He said. "I think you'll find that I can be most accommodating." He chuckled softly, as if he had just made a joke. "Though, bring whomever you wish, Your Majesty. I merely wish to have the opportunity to show you generosity and kindness, something the people of Albion have been short on lately."
Generosity and kindness from Reaver? Walter would be rolling on the ground with laughter if he'd heard that particular bit of ridiculousness. The thought of Walter sent a blade of anguish into my heart, but I held it together. I merely gave him a tight-lipped smile, and nodded, as if to dismiss him. I tacked on, "If that is all, I think I will be taking tea soon."
"Oh, yes, Your Majesty, you mustn't neglect your tea," He said, humor and sarcasm edging his voice. "It just so happens that I have other obligations as well, though none so crucial as tea and biscuits, I'm afraid." He took my hand into his, and he laid a gentle kiss upon my knuckles, his eyes trailing up to mine once more.
My stomach jumped at the touch of both his hands and his gaze. It was so direct, bold. No one else had dare look at me like that for a very long time. I would have assumed that Reaver's skin would be cold and hard, as his demeanor could be at times, but his lips were shockingly warm. I tugged my hand away from his grip, and I straightened. "Good day, Reaver."
He bowed generously. His direct gaze remained on me, just as warm as his mouth had been, perhaps hotter. "I look forward to tomorrow, Your Majesty." He turned, sweeping his hat off of my desk, and he retrieved his walking stick. He exited the room, popping his tall black hat onto his head and whistling a blithesome tune.
I crossed my arms over my chest, and I felt myself slipping back into my melancholy. Reaver's visit had, for a few sparse moments, made me forget about how sad I was, replacing my sadness with anger, then distraction, but he was gone, and the gloom rushed back into place. I heard Hobson cross the threshold into the room.
"I'll take my tea now, Hobson," I said quietly. "In my bedroom."
"Yes, yes, Your Majesty," He said in a hurry. "Is there anything else you require?"
"No," I said, shaking my head, bringing my eyes to look at him.
He shuffled off out of the study, and I followed slowly. He turned toward the direction of the kitchen, whereas I continued toward my bedroom. As I reentered, Angus wagged his tail softly, his ears perking up. I returned to his side, and I stroked and patted him. His chocolate-colored eyes were sympathetic and wise, knowing how much I was hurting. He leaned into my touch, a soft sigh of contentment leaving him.
"You don't have any plans to leave me, do you, boy?" I asked softly, my throat tightening.
He yipped softly, almost chiding me for suggesting such a thing.
"Good," I replied. "I don't think I could take it." My tears poured anew, and I knelt beside the bed, pressing my face into the clean softness of his fur. He curled himself around me, giving me what comfort he could offer, and I held him tightly.
The tea was soothed my knotted stomach, but my nerves were still raw. It had been hours now, and I'd gone through a fair amount of tea. The moon sat in a corner of the sky, thin and waning, casting its dim light across the courtyard. Walter and Logan's statues looked dark, almost diabolical in the sparse light, and I forced myself to look away. I pulled my robe tighter against my body as the cold wind tried to urge me back inside.
Shivering a little, I leaned against the rail of the balcony once more. I gazed down to the gardens. I had spent many days as a young girl in those gardens, and now I could barely look at them. So many memories were held in the gardens. It was where I'd had my first kiss. It was where Walter had taught me how to shoot a rifle. It was where Logan had taken me to tell me of our mother's passing. He'd sat me down on a bench, and knelt before me, taking my hands in his. His eyes had been full of so much sadness and vulnerability, as if he wasn't sure how to break the news. I was barely eleven years old at the time, and I never expected that my mother, The Hero of Bowerstone, a seemingly immortal Hero, would have succumbed to a fever. She had always seemed to strong and full of life, but in her last years, something had changed. She withdrew from everyone, especially her best friend, Walter.
I couldn't be sure what had happened, but it had been life-changing. Maybe she'd lost someone or something none of us knew about. Maybe she'd grown tired of the crown and all of its obligations. I couldn't blame her. I was worn and tired after only one year.
Walter's statue caught my eye once more, and I sighed. His time in the world had been long and full. He lived much longer than an old soldier could hope for, and he'd died in battle. He would have wanted The Crawler beaten at any cost, and it was. He was gone, but his final moments had been full of light—an end to his darkness. I could only pray that an end to mine was coming soon.
I withdrew from the balcony, and I entered the solitude of my bedchamber. Angus slept sprawled across the chaise in the corner, and I stripped my robe, tossing it carelessly to the ground. I slipped between the sheets, the warmth of the blankets taking the chill from my body almost immediately.
Turning over to my side, I sighed. I was exhausted, but I knew my mind would not be at ease after such a day. I blinked softly, trying to think of anything but the events of the day. I, instead focused on the situation with Page and Reaver. He had every right to be upset, as he had been running Bowerstone Industrial for ages. He had even compromised, taking heed of my newly drafted laws outlawing child labor and imposing a higher minimum wage for workers. He merely requested that he be allowed to continue his work on my advisory council as well as in Industrial.
I had no idea whether Page was business-minded or not. She had enough experience revolting, sure, but could she run multiple businesses? Reaver not only ran his own businesses, but he dabbled in real-estate, selling and renting buildings businesses and families alike. He held the economy in the palm of his hand. Could Page do that?
I thought through he issue for an hour more before deciding that I would try to sleep. Perhaps more answers would come to me after a night of rest. I'd barely been able to sleep since The Crawler came to Bowerstone, but it was over. I needed to rest. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would take me swiftly.
A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, after a creative dry-spell. I'm happy to be able to start fresh and put out something that I will enjoy writing and that I hope people will enjoy reading. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think because I value the opinions and views of my readers. I will try to update as often as I can. Thanks for reading!
EDIT: My amazing cover art is done by AlexaStormborn, but her deviantArt username is Seraph Alexa. Look her up! She has some amazing work!
