Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

Alistair’s heart beat faster as she walked over to it, tore off a large white leaf, held it up, and placed it to her breast, as her mother-in-law had instructed her. She placed a palm over it and held it there for a good ten seconds, the leaf cool on her skin. Finally, she removed it and held it up in the light. If she was pregnant, it was supposed to turn yellow.

Alistair’s heart fell to see that it was still stark white.

She knew it was silly to try, so soon, yet still she began to worry: would she ever be able to have a child? There was nothing she craved more to bring her closer to Erec.

Alistair set the leaf down on the stone and dressed quickly, pulling back her hair, tying it tight, and turning to leave. As she did, as she was about to enter the forest trail, she glanced back one last time and took one last look at the leaf.

She did a double take.

Sitting there on the stone, she watched in disbelief as the leaf slowly changed colors before her eyes.

She walked over to it, and held it up to the light with trembling hands. As she did, her entire body froze, numb with shock.

She was with child.

Volusia opened her eyes, as the first light of dawn broke through the window, and looked over to see herself lying in the Touched Prince’s arms, her cheek on his chest, both of them naked beneath the silk covers. They lay asleep in his kingly chambers, in his luxurious four-poster bed, on the finest bedding she ever felt, and as she realized where she was, she woke with a start, immediately raising her head, on guard.

It all came rushing back to her; sleeping with the Prince had been a different experience than any man she’d ever been with. He was so truly mad that it had taken her hours just to get his clothes off, and he had resisted her most of the time.

But finally, after a certain point, she had tamed him, had made him hers. She did not enjoy it, not a second of it. But she could tell that he did—and that was what mattered. This was all a necessary means to an end, as all men had been in her life. She would climb the rungs of power in any way necessary, whether that required killing her own mother or sleeping with a thousand men. Nothing would ever stand in her way.

Nothing .

Volusia had a way of turning off a switch in her mind, creating a sense of detachment, carrying herself away to a faraway place. It was this cold detachment that allowed her to sleep with her worst enemy, or torture someone just for fun. The touched prince was an evil, sadistic man, who also happened to be mad. But in Volusia he had met his match: she could be more sadistic than anyone—even someone like him.

Volusia thought of their agreement, her vow to let him kill her only after she had slept with him. She smiled as she thought of it. She loved making vows.

And she loved breaking them even more.

As she sat up, the Prince opened his eyes and sat up, too. He turned to her, and as he looked at her, she saw something different in his eyes this time. There was a clarity she had not seen before, as if his madness had been calmed.

“My lady,” he said.

His voice surprised her. Now it was clear and cool, not filled with the erratic madness she had heard before.

“You have done something to me,” he said. “Sleeping with you…I can’t explain it. I feel different than I ever have before. I don’t hear the voices. I feel calm. Normal. Back to the self I once knew.”

Volusia stood, putting on her robe, and studied him, surprised. He stood, too, and put on his robe, lacking all of the erratic movements and behavior he had shown the day before. He walked around her, took both of her hands in his, and looked her in the face. She was baffled. Was this just another act of madness? Or had something really shifted within him?

She had not foreseen this—and it was very rare in her life when Volusia did not foresee something.

“You have given me life again,” he said sweetly, softly, holding her hands. “You have made me want to live.”

Volusia looked into his eyes, and she could that he was indeed a different man. She was speechless, and did not know how to react.

“My lady, stay here with me,” he said. “Stay by my side. Let me make you my queen. I will cherish you. My armies are vast, and I will give you all my troops to do with as you wish. Anything—it shall all be yours. Whatever your heart desires. Just stay by my side. Please . I need you.”

She looked into his eyes as he leaned in and kissed her, a soft gentle kiss, filled with lucidity. Volusia’s mind raced, as she tried to contemplate this turn of events.

In the distance, Volusia could hear a soft chanting. It gradually rose, greater and greater, and the Prince smiled and turned toward his open-air arched balcony.

“My people,” he explained. “It is how they greet the day—they chant my name. They worship me. Be by my side, and they will worship you, too.”

He took her hand and led her gently outside, onto the spacious balcony, right up the trail. Volusia looked down over the edge and her stomach dropped as she saw the steep drop below. Down below, the courtyard was already packed with thousands of people, on their hands and knees, bowing, all chanting.

“Maltolis! Maltolis!” they chanted.

He smiled and turned to her.

“Like you,” he said, “I take the name of my city.”

Volusia took it all in, and she could see that he was right: his people really did see him as a god. They worshipped him. Tens of thousands of people, a greater army than she would ever have.

He turned to her.

“We shall unite, and we shall rule the empire together,” he said.

Volusia smiled back at him, leaned in, and kissed him.

They held hands as they turned and faced his people together, all of them cheering wildly. Volusia knew that if she accepted his offer, all of it would come to pass. She would have everything handed to her that she needed to rule the Empire.

Yet as she stood there, Volusia felt something rising within her. It was a sense of resentment. She did not want to rule the Empire together. She did not want to rule an army together. She did not want to have the Empire handed to her. Everything in her life thus far she had taken. By force. By force of will. With her own two hands. Nor did she want the love of a man, mad or not, or a union to one. She did not want to be loved—not by a man, not by anyone. And if she wanted love, she would take it for herself.

“You offer is a generous one, my lord,” she said, turning to him. “But you’re forgetting one thing.”

“And what is that?” he asked.

In one quick motion, Volusia reached back, grabbed him by the back, and suddenly, unexpectedly, used all her might and threw him, head-first, off the balcony.

There came a horrified gasp from his thousands of people, as Maltolis fell through the air, shrieking, flailing, head over foot, until finally he hit the ground, a hundred feet below, with a smack.

His neck broken instantly, he lay there in a pool of blood, dead.

“I am the great Goddess Volusia,” she said proudly, down to his dead body, “and I share power with no one.”

Thorgrin stood facing the King of the Dead, the Sword of the Dead still dripping blood in his hand, and all the King’s dead creatures at his feet. Thor felt numb with victory.

The King stood on his throne and looked down at it all with an amazed expression.

“They said that you would come one day,” the King said, looking at Thorgrin. “The man who would defeat the darkness. The man who would wield the sword. The King of the Druids.”

The King looked Thor over carefully, and Thor did not know how to respond. Could it really be true? Would he one day be King of the Druids?