Chapter 1 – The Gnat
"-Highness…Your Highness!" Walter leaned uncomfortably toward the throne, his squinted, concerned eyes flicking back and forth from me to the rest of the court. I stirred as if waking from a long sleep, blinking rapidly.
The citizens of Bowerstone that had gathered for the day's hearing were shuffling awkwardly and murmuring to each other, probably about my presence of mind. At that time I was likely to agree with them; a great ruler could build armies, conquer nations, move the very mountains with the force of her will – and be undone by a lover.
"What is your ruling, Your Majesty?" Walter asked pointedly, rolling his eyes toward the two people standing before my throne. His hands picked nervously at the hem of his tunic. I opened my mouth, but then closed it abruptly; what was the issue of the day? I could not recall the plaintiffs scheduled, or even moving from my bedchamber to the throne room. The previous night had been dedicated to military officials and the restructuring of the army. I'd spent the evening in the war room, then, with the generals. The generals and the main supplier of their weapons…
A sharp rapping silenced the chatter of the crowd, the resounding clangof metal on marble. I looked up, then, from glaring at the floor to glaring at a man standing upon it, the very man responsible for my current state of humiliation in front of some of the most influential people in Bowerstone. Had I been lacking in self control that morning, I believe I could have crushed the arms of my throne to rubble.
He glanced around the room to ensure that he was, in fact, the center of everyone's focus (and I feel certain he has never invested energy into anything in which he was not the object of interest). "Please, Sir Knight, it is obvious that our benevolent queen is experiencing a significant level of distress, and you are only upsetting her further. How tiresome it must be, rising morning after morning to sit in a chair and dole out decrees like candy. Let the woman rest, for God's sake. My dear friend and I will wait here, obediently as ever."
He grinned at me, that devilish smirk hoping to bait me into public banter; of course, I could not accept such a challenge, not in front of the citizenry. Before I could make any sort of cool remark, however, the other plaintiff interjected, and most appropriately.
"Don't you 'dear friend' me, monster." Page spat, stepping between Reaver and the throne. "And speak for yourself. Your factory is polluting the river!" She pivoted toward me, wildfire burning in her eyes. "Stop him, Your Majesty! The people who live by the river are falling ill and dying!"
"Oh, hush, Page. We've all heard it before. If a few poor sods must weather a fever, it is for the good of the kingdom. My industry is building the future, you know." He peered around the seething woman to wink at me, balancing with one hand on his cane. "Sorry, Your Highness, I should have said that most of us have heard it before."
I stood up; the room fell silent. My gaze lingered on Reaver, on the smile he was still wearing. Grin all you want, I told him with a glower, I am your master here. His smile only widened; I should have known better. A man like him lived off of unspoken dares.
"Page." I stepped down onto the main floor, signaling the end of the hearing. "You are correct. Our most valuable workers cannot be made to suffer for the profession in which they work," She nodded vehemently along with me, casting smugly victorious looks at her opponent until I finished, "but Reaver is not in tune with the people; you are. I believe the two of you should work together on redirecting the byproducts of his factories. Dismissed."
In that instant, their faces mirrored each other; dismay, hopelessness, a great sense of injustice – I could have laughed (but I didn't, for that would have been highly inappropriate for a ruler). Instead I stood quietly, stoically, properly, with my hands clasped together.
Page would not allow herself to crumble; her face became stone. She made a stiff bow before stomping away; as soon as she reached the hallway, her rage-filled screams echoed around the throne room. Seeing that the excitement was over, the onlookers had begun to file out of the castle and back to Bowerstone. Most would follow Page to some rally point; she'd rant until nightfall as long as she had an audience. I could see Walter's disapproving gaze out of the corner of my eye, hear his reprimanding words before he even spoke them.
"I would never have expected that from you. Petty revenge is no basis for rulings." He shook his head slowly, crossing his arms. "Granted it was the right decision, but the people were not on your mind at the time." He did not wait for me to respond, only turned, sighing.
Ah, understanding. I had won the battle, but he had won the war. A queen getting scolded by her advisor was a sight I knew he would relish for months.
As predicted, his face had gone from horror to humor in a matter of seconds. That infuriating cane tapped impatiently at the floor as Walter lumbered to the war room. "Funny, he never acknowledges me. Rather rude, don't you think?"
"Elda, come." I whistled to my dog (she jumped up at once, as always) and brushed past Reaver's shoulder. Disobedient subjects deserved no attention. Besides, I was needed to inspect the bridge renovations in Industrial. Against all hope, I prayed that my unwanted companion's presence was not also required – a vain wish in actuality, who else in the city could oversee such a complex project but he, the most complex of them all?
It was all too easy for those long legs to keep up with my brisk stride. His mood was not soured at all by my disregard; in fact, it seemed he fed off of it. "You're absolutely right, Your Highness, we should be off with utmost haste. We wouldn't want to keep those civilians waiting; that would be in poor taste indeed." He ducked around a stall that I had hoped would slow him down at least a little. No chance. It's amazing how years of hedonism could lend itself to agility.
From an outside perspective, brushing off a gnat seems easy. When that gnat is abnormally tall and also the most hated being in the kingdom, the task becomes more difficult. Despite the early hour, (only tradesmen and beggars were roaming the streets), a modest crowd formed around us. They dissipated with a look, bowing to me and cowering from Reaver, but the image of the two of us strolling like comrades would stay in their minds. The last thing I needed was another strike on my record with the public.
He'd fallen into stride with me while my mind wandered, and when I next noticed he had somehow produced a lute and was plucking an upbeat tune. He glanced down at me and grinned, slowing his play to a slow funeral march. "Shall I play a dirge for that icy countenance? What a pity to wrinkle such a pretty little face, my queen, tsk tsk." I gritted my teeth and stared straight ahead, but it only encouraged him. His song became merry and rhythmic, and he skipped forward a few paces until he faced me, walking backwards through the market, "How a about a jaunty tune for a jaunty evening, hmm?"
I don't quite understand why my patience runs out so quickly with him. I have spent days with Logan's bitter realism and even Page's incessant "ideas for improvement" and been completely sane by the end of it. However, Logan and Page do not delve into my personal business like a child with a pail of sand. I can confidently say that Reaver is the most morbidly curious person in my kingdom, possibly in the entire world. In my life, I have never been able to stomach him for more than a few hours.
In any case, I stole his cane. It was an easy task since both of his hands were occupied with ridiculous lute-playing. For such a long, shiny metaphor he'd left it sadly unguarded in a loop at his belt; I threw it to Elda. She caught it expertly, balancing it in her mouth like she did with abnormally large sticks or mercenaries' legs. I whistled and pointed toward the orphanage, a place inside which I knew Reaver would never set foot. The dog took off like a shot, weaving around legs and crates to reach her destination; the orphan children embraced her warmly, carrying the cane inside like it was an ancient relic.
His grimly defeated stare continued long after the doors had shut. The lute had fallen dramatically to the ground, where it was picked up by a delighted homeless man. I took the opportunity to slip away, hurrying into the smoky depression of Industrial. But like the dawn, he appeared on cue – right when I'd begun to feel secure in my escape.
From the light, rapid footsteps, I concluded that he was trying to be stealthy, but expensive shoes make quite the clatter on cobblestone. "You know, from the way you're acting, it's almost like you're mad at me." One deep brown eye hovered in my peripheral vision; a gloved hand snaked around my waist. "Are you mad at me?"
I jerked away reflexively, but that strong arm – the might of a true Hero – only pulled me closer. A zeal burned in his eyes like none I had seen since the hostile takeover of Brightwall Balustrades (he'd been positively giddy for days, it was borderline psychotic). Industrial was a terrible place to get caught in the moment – already, beggars were filing out of their well-concealed sleeping arrangements to take up familiar places on the street. I could not risk a scene, and his face had contorted into a primal grin; if left alone, the situation would be dire in a matter of seconds. In a fluid movement, I ripped the glove from his left hand and imbued it with flame; it would not harm a man like him, but it was enough to snap him back into reality. He practically disappeared from my side, rushing forth to greet the head of the bridge renovation team in a theatrical billow of white coattails. I joined him immediately, falling into the well-worn pattern of formality and requisites. My trembling hands still clutched his glove; I stuffed it quickly into a pocket on my dress, just as he was concealing his singed palm inside his vest.
