My sister raises her golden goblet from across the table, "Sister-My queen," she speaks, toasting my new status, "To a long and peaceful reign."
I smirk, holding my goblet up as she does, "A one in which magic is allowed to be practiced freely."
"And revenge. Sweet revenge." She replies, and we drink to the long and prosperous years ahead.
I replace my goblet on the table and begin slowly cutting my meat. Here I am, Queen of Camelot. Earlier today I accomplished striking fear into the Knights of Camelot, sent Arthur away cowering for his life with Merlin, revealed everything to my father so I could see him hurt, and Gwen is currently leading my immortal army to my futile brother.
I press the blade harder into my meat.
Images of today's events flash through my mind, and I feel something well up in the pit of my stomach.
Is it triumph? Pride? Joy? Satisfaction?
No. I don't feel any of those emotions.
I feel miserable. Pitiful. Scared.
What have I done?
Out of anger my hand accidently slides, scraping across the metal of the plate causing a screech to break the silence in the large room. My sister looks up at me, her eyebrows furrowed over her large brown orbs. I fake a smile, easing her concern, and she bows her head to continue eating in silence.
My feet shift uncomfortably. Never, never has a dinner been so quiet. I remember how Arthur and I would make little snips at each other, causing Uther to shout out in laughter. Or Uther, Arthur, and I would discuss affairs of the kingdom. We'd placate our father's worries together. He'd tell us how proud he was of us.
Out the window I hear crys, screams. The people are upset that I am having the Knights of Camelot hanged. They hate me.
I hate me.
Revenge isn't sweet, not at all. It's more sour-so sour that you just want to spit it out and get the terrible taste away.
Bitter.