“Duke Lorth has arrived.”
Following the announcement, the doors to the throne room opened and a man appeared, dressed in armour he had worn in the morning, but the once clean, polished metal was now scratched, dented and stained with streaks of dirt and blood.
Duke Lorth held his almost severed left arm to his side as he stumbled towards the throne on slightly trembling legs, ignoring the greeting nods and bows from attendants, maids and other nobles in the room. In front of the steps to the throne, he knelt, releasing a shaky breath. Wearing heavy damaged armour, blood flowing slowly from cracked links in revealed mesh lining, the man’s legs trembled but his back remained straight.
Queen Janori, dressed in black, sat atop the throne, her attention not on the kneeling duke but on the trail of blood he left behind.
“This servant greets Your Majesty.”
Lorth spoke while facing the ground, a dented helmet hiding all his eyes would have said. His voice was much rougher than in the morning, he was breathing heavily with almost every two syllables that left his mouth.
Though he hadn’t said much, everyone in the room vaguely knew that things had gone terribly. Less than five hours prior, a team of thirty were sent off with horses and a carriage. Headed by Duke Lorth, twenty-six experienced knights, two alchemists, and the royal heir, His Highness Reyn, went on a research expedition together. It was a simple journey, all foreseeable harm had already been removed, short paths and strong protection, but with enough to satisfy the prince's curiousity, yet Duke Lorth returned alone on foot, with nothing but scars, wounds and ruined armour.
All eyes were on the figure sitting on the throne, but she paid them no mind. Her focus now on the doors to the throne room, waiting for her son’s appearance. Minutes passed in silence as she longed for the entrance of the boy who may never return.
“Duke Lorth,” Queen Janori glanced at the bloody man and said his name slowly, speaking calmly as she had always done, but the kneeling Duke felt his blood chill. She was angry, and there was something in her tone that told him not to move or speak. Thus, the room remained silent for a few seconds more, before she slowly spoke again.
“Where is my son?” It was a question asked calmly, but her words were barely audible despite the silence in the room. Had her husband, King Deryl, been present, he might’ve noticed the faint sorrow hidden in her tone. Unfortunately, the king was dead and it seems their son has gone to join him.
“Your majesty, His Highness Prince Reyn, has passed away.” A shaky voice responded to her question, it’s owner’s shoulders trembling and his armoured back was no longer straight.
“How?” If any looked up, they would notice the Queen was not nearly as calm as she sounded. Her hands had moved from the armrests of the throne into her lap, and her fingers were now tightly clasped together, turning a light blue.
“His Highness was slain in an ambush.”
Short gasps were heard, coming from the few maids and court attendants present. Officials, who had guessed the result, turned their heads away. None knew how to comfort the figure in black on the throne, and those who would’ve have all passed away.
“You failed.”
“Duke Lorth, you all failed.”
“Your sole duty was to protect him.”
The Duke’s kneeling body shook, and his head sank further into his chest. A once straight figure seemed to collapse on the wet stone floor, turning from a proud knight into a grovelling waste with each word she whispered. In high hopes, he led twenty-nine young men out for research, but failed to save any. Twenty-nine more lives lay on his shoulders, one significantly heavier than others. His rise to power had long stained his sword with blood and his body with scars, but the morning’s affairs left him with an empty heart and a heavy chest.
Lorth felt a rare moment of powerlessness, something he had hardly felt since his youth. His apology would be unnecessary and meaningless, his death could not save those who had fallen, so he could do nothing but remain slumped on the floor in silence.
“Leave.”
“Leave and recover the bodies. We will bury him in the tomb near his father. Have the others’ remains sent to their families.”
The Duke attempted to rise, but found it difficult to take a step with his numb feet. A maid standing nearby saw his difficulties and helped walk out, shivering slightly as she held the cold stained metal. After his exit, the remaining maids, servants, attendants and ministers in the room left one after the other, leaving the brooding queen alone on her throne. A little over two weeks later, Queen Janori stood, in grey attire, alone in her throne room again. Behind her throne, opposite where she was standing, a portrait of her late husband hangs on the wall.
He left her two years prior, similarly, in an ambush. His blood had stained her clothes that day, almost indistinguishable from the red she was wearing. A blade coming for her neck was only dodged because he pulled her aside, but in his distraction, the assailant facing him struck with a mace, hitting the back of his head.
She remembered the panic she felt as he bled heavily, watching helplessly as he collapsed by her side, holding her hand tight and giving her a gentle smile before his body went limp. That day, the usually calm queen shed tears in front of the people, knight or foe, holding her husband’s body while it turned cold, caressing the blond hair that was dyed different hues of red, listening for a heartbeat in a chest that would never rise or fall again.
Ever since, Janori had never worn a colour other than black or grey.
Now, in the empty throne room, she stares at his portrait and wonders if her time could also come to an end. She tried to live well for her son, and now he’s gone too. The attackers dealt with, and his body set to rest in a royal tomb, she had none left to torment but herself. As a queen, she knew she was quite incompetent, she was unfit to rule the public and was unable to lead the knights to war. In her absence, the kingdom could meet a suitable ruler, her nephew, the current grand duke.
Thoughts she used to force away soon clouded her mind.
Living without them is exhausting. And she was already too tired.
Tears fell from her eyes, each flowing smoothly down her cheeks as she walked to her lovers' portrait. She removed it from the wall, revealing the cherished long sword she had hidden behind it. Similar to her usual attire, the blade was grey but it’s hilt was black.
Lifting the heavy sword, she walked towards her throne, a clanging sound echoing in the room each time the sword struck against the stone floor. As she sat in the throne, she used a handkerchief to wipe away her tears. As a Queen, she refused to look fragile in front of her subjects in her final moments.
She could be seen as a bleeding corpse, but not with tears.
Satisfied, with her current appearance, she lifted the sharpened heavy metal once more, before using it to pierce her chest.
The pain she felt while bleeding out was difficult to describe, but she felt no regret. She wondered if they could see her, but remembering her current state, hoped they wouldn’t. Thinking of her loved ones, her eyes filled with longing. For the first time in the past two years she felt at peace, even a little excited, as her thoughts began to blur.
Since her loved ones were together now, she would go join them.
Hours later, as dinner time approached, a young maid knocked on the door, waiting to serve her majesty as usual. Minutes passed without a response and the maid knocked again, waiting ten more minutes before choosing to open the door. If the queen were asleep she wouldn’t be reprimanded, so the little maid walked in only to scream a second later. Guards and nearby officials soon rushed in but stumbled back at the sight of her majesty’s corpse in a blood soaked grey dress, limp on the throne, smiling with a sword in her chest.
