Martin Greenberg - If I Were an Evil Overlord

A very pale young man stumbled forward and dropped to one knee. He was shaking so hard it sounded as though he was tapping his bow against the floor.

“Conner Burd isn’t it? Your mother runs a small dairy on the outside of the capital.”

The young archer managed part of a nod.

“Let that be a lesson to you all, if my life is in danger, don’t worry about my clothing and don’t feel you’re redundant just because another five arrows are heading for the target. Those arrows could miss. Good shot, Conner. General Palatat.”

“Majesty!”

“Stop trying to break through the door and go through the wall.”

“Majesty?”

“No one ever thinks to have a wizard spell more than the door. Get a few strapping young men up here with sledgehammers and go through the wall.” Her tone suggested she’d better not have to repeat herself a third time.

The queen was not the first to step through the breach in the wall. The queen was the sixteenth to enter, after fourteen soldiers, General Palatat, and her son. The first soldier through the breech took a tapestry pole to the back of the head.

The throne room was empty except for the royal family. King Giorge sat slumped in his throne, head on his chest. Queen Fleya sat at his feet, sobbing. One of the princesses, her hair a mass of tangled mahogany curls and showing just a little too much cleavage for the situation, stood snarling by her father’s side, the tapestry pole having been taken away from her with only minor damage. The other princess, blond hair neatly tied back, arms folded over her sensible cardigan, stood just behind her sister, frowning slightly.

“You can’t touch him now,” Queen Fleya cried as Arrabel approached the throne. “He’s gone beyond your control!”

Arrabel cocked her head and studied the king, his lips and eyelids were a pale blue-green. “Took poison, has he?”

Eyes red with weeping, Fleya’s lip curled. “He knew he could expect no mercy!”

“It’s hardly practical to leave live enemies behind me now, is it?” she answered switching her attention to the queen. “I wonder what he thought I’d do with you.”

“You will force me into exile with my daughters and the body of my dead husband and we will live out our lives torn from the country we love.” She wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “It’s what is done.”

“Really? The upholstery on the throne-it’s expensive is it?”

Fleya looked up at the embroidered gold velvet under her husband and back at Arrabel, confused. “Yes but-”

“Hard to keep clean?”

“I expect so but-”

“General Palatat.”

“Majesty.”

“There’s no reason to make things more difficult than we have to for the staff. Have King Giorge’s body dragged down to the floor then behead him.”

The queen and the dark-haired princess screamed out versions of, “You can’t!”

The second princess said nothing at all.

When Giorge’s head came off enough blood gushed from the stump of his neck to partially obscure an impressive mosaic map of the kingdom set into the throne-room floor. Released by the soldier who held her, Queen Fleya ran to her husband’s side.

Danyel said, “But Mother, he was already dead.”

“Dead men don’t bleed like that, Danyel.” Arrabel stepped back as the blood spread. “The poison only feigned death. After the three of them reached exile it would wear off and Giorge would rise from his supposed grave to seek vengeance.”

“But how did you know?”

“It’s what I would have done, dear. Wallace.”

“Majesty?”

“Make sure he’s cremated.”

“Nooooooooooooo!” Fleya’s wailed protest drew everyone’s attention. Sitting on the floor, her silk skirts soaking up the king’s blood, she held his headless body clasped tight in her arms. “You will not take him from me! I will not go into exile without my Giorge!”

Arrabel sighed. “Of course you won’t.” She raised her hand. Because of the late king’s body, four of the arrows went into Fleya’s upper torso, the other two went one into each eye. “All right, who risked the eye shots?” When two of the archers admitted as much, she smiled at them and pointed a teasing finger. “There’s no need to show off, I know how good you are. Now then…” Lifting her skirts, she walked around the growing puddle. “This is taking far too long. You.” The same finger pointed at the dark-haired princess, held struggling between two Tabards. “You’ll marry my son, giving his claim to rule this kingdom validity.”

“Never!”

She raised a hand. “I expected as much,” she sighed as the body hit the floor and pointed at the second princess. “ You’ll marry my son and give his claim to rule this kingdom validity.”

The girl stared into Arrabel face for a moment then shrugged. “All right.”

“Don’t shrug, dear. It’s common.” A slight frown as recognition dawned. “That was your voice at the door.”

“Yes.”

“The poison was your plan.”

“Yes.”

“And your brothers’ attempt?”

“My plan.”

“Really? What’s your name?”

“Mailynne.”

“How old are you, Mailynne?”

“Seventeen.”

“I imagine you have some ideas about how the kingdom should be run.”

Mailynne’s gray eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Mother, I don’t want to be married.” Danyel reached to grab her arm, noticed the gouge on his vanbrace and thought better of it.

Arrabel and Mailynne turned together. “That’s not really relevant, dear.”

“But…” He paused, mouth open. “Wait. I’m to rule this kingdom?”

“Under my guidance.”

“But you’ll be at home?”

“Yes.”

Dark brows drew in. “And I’ll be here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” His smile showed perfect teeth and an enchanting dimple. “Well, that’s different then.”

His mother placed her hand in the center of the princess’ back and gently pushed her forward. The girl was wearing some kind of harness under her sweater that probably held at least one weapon. “You will rule Mecada with Mailynne at your side.”

“As you say, Mother.” Danyel bent and kissed the princess’ hand. “I want an enormous wedding,” he announced when he straightened.

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. You don’t bankrupt a county that’s recently lost a war just so you can have a party. Wallace.”

“Majesty?”

“We’ll need someplace central with good security but high visibility.”

“And somewhere we can release a hundred white doves!”

“Doves aren’t really relevant right now, Danyel.”

“The surviving nobility that served my father should be there,” Mailynne suggested as her future husband pouted.

Arrabel turned a maternal smile on the girl. “That’s not really relevant either, dear.”

The wedding was short but beautiful. As a wedding present, Arrabel left a regiment of the Queen’s Tabards in Mecada to help keep the peace. Her new daughter-in-law narrowed her eyes but accepted the gift graciously.

Because there was correspondence to go over, Wallace rode with her in the carriage on the way home.

“Wallace?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“How long do you figure Danyel will last?”

“Majesty?”

“I expect she’ll keep him around until she has an heir. And I expect that will happen as soon as possible.”

“But Majesty…”

“As much as he adored me, he was becoming a distraction. Mother this and Mother that and eventually he’d distract me at a bad time. This girl was a good choice, Wallace, I won’t live forever and I’d like to think-on that very distant day-that I was leaving my people in good hands. Hands that wouldn’t undo all the work I’ve done.”