Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

Volusia and her men were directed to follow, as all his soldiers fell in line, beginning to march after him. Volusia wondered where on earth he could be leading them.

Volusia found herself led back outside the castle, through soaring gates, and to another arched bridge, leading over the moat at the rear of the castle. They all hurried after the Prince as he stood there alone in the center of the bridge, nearly naked despite the cold, and reached out and held onto a long pole, struggling.

Volusia looked out over the bridge and saw that at the end of the long pole was a rope hanging down; at first she thought he was fishing, but then she looked closely and saw that at the end of it there was a man, with a noose around his neck, dangling in the waters of the moat. Volusia watched in horror as the Prince grasped the pole with both hands, holding on furiously with all his might, his muscles straining.

She heard shrieking, and she looked down and saw that in the moat was a group of crocodiles, biting the man’s legs and ripping them off.

The Prince yanked the torso, legs chewed off, up out of the water, the victim’s shrieks filling the air. He plopped him down on the bridge, thrashing, still alive.

Several soldiers rushed forward and grabbed the pole and raised the half-eaten man high up in the air, placing him on a hook on the ropes crossing the bridge. The body hung there, the man now moaning, dripping blood and water onto the bridge.

The Prince clapped furiously. He turned and hurried over to Volusia.

“I love to fish,” he said to Volusia as he approached. “Don’t you?”

Volusia looked up at the body, and the sight, even for her, was too much. She was aghast. She knew that if she were to survive this place, she had to take action, to do something quickly, definitively. She knew she had to relate to him on his own terms, to act crazier than he. To shock him out of his madness.

She suddenly stepped forward and reached up and snatched the crown from the Prince’s head. She placed it on her own head and stood there, facing him.

All of his soldiers rushed forward, drawing their weapons—and the Prince himself finally seemed to snap out of it. Finally, she had his attention as he stood facing her.

“That’s my crown,” he said.

“I shall give it back to you,” she said, “once you fulfill my request.”

“I told you, anyone who makes a request is killed.”

“You can kill me,” she said. “But first, grant me my one request before my death.”

He stared at her, his eyes darting back and forth, as if contemplating.

“What is that?” he asked. “What is it you want me to do?”

“I want to give you a gift greater than anyone’s ever given you,” she said.

“Gift? I have the greatest gifts of the empire. Entire armies given to me. What can you give me that I do not already have?”

She looked to him, laying the full beauty of her gorgeous eyes right on his, and she said:

“Me.”

He looked back at her, confused.

“Sleep with me,” she said. “Tonight. That is all I ask. In the morning, you can kill me. And you have granted me my request.”

He turned and looked her for a long while in the heavy silence, Volusia’s heart pounding as she hoped he went for it.

Finally, he smiled.

She knew that her powers were greater than any man could resist—not even a touched prince could turn them down. She stepped forward, held his face in her palms, leaned in, and kissed him.

He kissed her back lightly with trembling lips.

“Your request,” he said, “is granted.”

Thor followed King MacGil as he emerged from the blackest of black caves into a soaring underground cave, its ceilings a hundred feet high, more brightly lit than any other place he’d seen down here. Thor stopped short, as did all the others, in awe at the sight before them. This cavern was lit by massive fires, bubbling lava pits interspersed throughout, and was perhaps a hundred yards in diameter. In its center sat one singular object: an immense black throne made of sparkling granite, one solid piece within the bedrock itself, emerging like a tumor from the ground. Rising thirty feet high and wide enough to hold ten men, its arms ended in huge gargoyles, with sparkling black diamonds for eyes. All around it, bubbling lava pits cast a sinister glow upon it.

But that was not what shocked Thor most. What left him speechless was what occupied the throne: an immense creature, nearly the height of its throne, as wide as three men, with glowing red skin and bulging muscles. Its torso was that of a man’s, yet its legs were covered in thick black hair, hanging down low to the floor of the cave. In place of feet, it had hooves. Its face looked almost human, yet it was huge, grotesque, monstrous, its proportions too big, with a jaw wider than Thor had ever seen, narrow yellow eyes and long, black horns which twisted out in circles on either side of its head. The head itself was stark bald, its ears pointy, its eyes glowing. It snarled as it breathed, steam rising all around it, a dark red halo hanging above it, flames shooting out in all directions from behind the throne. On its head sat a shining black crown, made entirely of black diamonds, with a huge black diamond in the center, encased in gold. Like a beast emerging from the bowels of the earth itself, it sat there, steaming, glowing red, exuding rage and death.

It scowled down at them, and Thor felt it was scowling right at him.

Thor gulped, his hairs rising on end, sensing he was looking back at the King of the Dead.

As if all this were not imposing enough, all around the King hovered dozens of creatures, buzzing and flitting about with small red wings, bright red skin, little gargoyles that hung and buzzed in the air. At its feet, on the ground, stood dozens of guards, massively muscular men with bright red skin and horns, standing at perfect attention and holding glowing red halberds, their tips alight with flames. Snakes slithered and wrapped themselves all around the base of the throne.

Thor stared back, knowing he had come to the throne room of death.

Thor felt something crunch as he stepped, and he looked down and saw that the floor was littered with bones, bones and skulls lining the walkway to the throne.

“You have been granted an audience with the King,” MacGil said. “You will not be granted it twice. Be strong. Look him in the eye. Do not look away. You will die here, anyway: better to die with honor.”

King MacGil nodded back at him reassuringly, and Thor stepped forward, the others by his side, walking down the long, narrow walkway of bones as he approached the King. As he went, on either side exotic creatures, like massive bees, flew near his head, their wings buzzing. They hissed threateningly at him as he went.

Thor heard a moaning, and he glanced around at the periphery of the cave and saw hundreds of humans chained to the wall, huge iron shackles around their necks and wrists and hands. He saw creatures standing over them, lashing them, and heard their screams. Thor wondered what they had done to end up in this place.

Thor had a sinking feeling that he would never leave this place, that this might be his last encounter before he was confined to death forever. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and marched proudly down the walkway to the throne, MacGil’s words in his ears.

Thor came as close as he could, until his path was blocked by the guards, who lowered their halberds. Thor stood there and looked up at the King.

The King looked down at Thor, breathing heavily, a guttural snarling noise coming from its chest each time it breathed, as it clawed the arms of the throne. Thor did not back down, but stood there and looked up, determined.