Abandoned Queen

By J A Fleming

Queen Peydra has refused to submit to the curse’s inevitability for nine years, but...

Still struggling against the darkness of the ever-nearing curse and growing affections for her mysterious attendant, Peydra has occupied the throne of Drayden for nine years. During that time, she has spent untold hours crafting a proposal to remove the Protection Dictum from the Law Books, but her hope flounders after a meeting during which Ruling Council ignores the main tenants of it, even in conversation.

The evening after the discouraging meeting, an assassin brings a crooked blade down upon her bedclothes and Anthony is wounded as he fights with the intruder. He hides it behind machismo, but it backfires. While he recovers, and as things seem to be calming, hooded men abduct the queen and demand she give them the Stone of Drayden, a legendary object that grants the possessor important monarchical rights.

When she is found and returned to the palace, she is not the same. Anxieties that she could quiet before the abduction roar in her ears and give her chest pains. Then Speaker Glorienzel is found dead at his estate and a new enigmatic man comes to take his place just as her proposal to remove the curse from law is threatened by The Cleaning of the Law Books, a tradition which she knows has the power to destroy her proposal’s viability, and the nine years she spent crafting it. With that hope-squashing thought, she soon begins to lose confidence, especially as Anthony abandons her for Theôran.

Questions about Anthony’s identity and whether he will return shroud her days. His absence leaves her vulnerable to the machinations of the new Speaker of the Council. Will she abandon hope of defeating the curse and listen to Ruling Council’s demand that she ignore her intuition and place the handsome new Speaker on the throne?

Abandoned Queen is the second of Fleming’s four book series, Curse of Royalty. Queen Peydra continues her struggle against the darkness of the curse, endures consequences for her bad decisions, and denies the growing affections for and dependence on her attendant. Anthony attempts to keep the queen safe despite her foolish decisions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J A Fleming
• Release date: Jun 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005554996

J A Fleming

JA Fleming makes her home in southern Louisiana. With a laugh, she describes herself as a lily– white redneck southern woman.A teller of stories and a heroine of elaborate imaginary games when she was a child, Fleming began to put stories on paper in middle school. She started by transcribing tales her father wove for her and her sisters while on long car rides – tales that were scary but with “funny” endings. When she was sixteen she wrote the first lines of what would become the debut series she’d share with the reading world, Curse of Royalty.A few of Fleming’s favorite authors: Laura Lond, Chris Fabry, Louis L’Amour, Jerry B. Jenkins, Timothy Gautreaux, Jane Austin, Ted Dekker, JRR Tolkien, Frank Peretti, CS Lewis.

Book preview

A Burnt City

From a bare hill in southern Drayden, Queen Peydra surveyed a smudged landscape that seemed to smolder to the horizon. Smoke still snaked skyward from blackened trees. Their stripped trunks jutted awkwardly from barren ground like spears marking a battlefield. A carrion bird circled near the foot of Raven’s Mountain as villagers combed through what was left of their homes and shops. Unbelieving, Peydra turned from the scene. It seemed that wind from the grasslands had blown the wildfire into the Scorpion Desert whose dunes and sandstone caves shimmered on the far western horizon.

From the corner of an eye, she noticed a concerned expression on Anthony’s face while he too took in the extensive destruction. Together, they watched Commander Gaius and the troops move among the people, helping to keep peace and bury victims. Commander and Administrator Justus huddled with several skilled men making plans to rebuild and provide for immediate needs from stores of things Justus had managed to gather when the queen insisted they leave the palace earlier that week.

In the nine years since she had lost her mother and shouldered the weight of the crown, Drayè marauders had set several fires as they raided villages along the southern border of Drayden, but none of those fires had caused such widespread damage as what she found before her that afternoon. She gripped a fistful of fabric at her side. It seemed despite the hundreds of soldiers Commander Gaius commissioned to patrol and protect along Drayden’s border with Hillat, the villagers still suffered from periodic raids.

After the hurried journey, Peydra had been surprised to find the Hillatite emissary already moving among rubble, his copper hair a vibrant spot of color in the darkened landscape. The man disengaged himself to approach as soon as he noticed her. While he spoke plainly with her about King Tal’s concerns, she held her tongue. He relayed the king’s offer to send laborers to help rebuild and a profuse apology that they had been unable to route the villains before they set the fire.

I understand. I’m sure your army has been preoccupied with the peasant revolts near the coast. Have those eased any since we last spoke?

We are making progress, but it may take another six months to clear everything up and even then, we may still find small pockets of people who don’t know the revolt is over. He scratched behind his ear leaving a smudge of black on his neck. King Tal has mentioned that he’s also willing to send some men to clean out the raider dens and camps like we did three years ago as a sign of good faith.

Peydra looked past the man. Was there truly something that could have prevented the blackened structures, the charred carcasses, the ruined winter food stores? The raiders must have also been hungry after the severe regional drought of the last year. She saw evidence of a merciful weather change, but it felt like too little. Please thank him for me, but I believe our marauders will have moved camp after this disaster and won’t be as easy to find. Besides, it might be time for us to consider a different course of action.

The emissary pulled at his chin whiskers in a thoughtful way but didn’t offer another comment so she extended her hand. Thank you for coming.

He kissed her ring and went back to what he had been doing among the villagers.

Wind shifted, bringing unpleasant smells and drifting ash. She lifted a sachet to her nostrils while her eyes followed a small child who pushed through a pile of charcoal at the corner of what must have been a home. The child sneezed, wiped his nose with the back of a wrist to leave a prominent mark. Not two seconds later, the child pulled something from the pile, and after examining it, hugged it close.

•

Queen Peydra moved among the people for hours and yet at dusk she hesitated to retreat for rest. Administrator Justus disengaged himself from the crowd and began to climb the small rise to where she and a handful of her attendants gathered. She avoided his eyes by studying some low hanging clouds with hope that they brought much needed moisture.

Bowing and requesting an audience, Justus approached.

How many? she asked, unwilling to verbally ask what she really wanted to know.

Mousy-brown caterpillar-thick brows met above his gray-blue eyes as he considered the question and framed an answer. Only five so far, Majesty, but there are three missing.

Her heart fell. And the livestock?

He moved to her side and gestured to the village. As Your Majesty sees, not many are left in the village. They believe most escaped into the grasslands. It’s best they remain there for now – where there is food and water. Gaius has sent an escort with some of the herdsmen so they can bunch the ones they find.

Peydra clinched the fabric she’d been squeezing at her side. What can we do?

What can be done is being done. The rest is up to nature and time to restore. He rubbed the back of his neck. Councilman Demitri has offered a tract of trees at the base of Raven’s Mountain for lumber. And though no time is ideal for this sort of trouble, it is good that we are soon to enter the growing seasons of spring and summer. Winter food stores were mostly ruined, but there is hope of plentiful harvest later this year. Much of the early crops have yet to sprout. The fire merely cleared the land.

She looked aside at him, a corner of her mouth lifted momentarily at his positivism.How long before there are enough shelters? Nights are still cold.

Some should be completed soon and the tents your Majesty had the wisdom to request are on their way. He shielded his eyes and looked north along the road that scarred the flat land they peered at. In fact, I believe that may be the caravan.

Peydra strained her eyes. Tall rain clouds met the northern horizon. Vague dark shapes of what appeared to be the supply caravan shadowed the road.

Examining Raven’s Mountain and its dry trees, she marveled that for as terrible as the fire had been, those had escaped its touch. Remembering the feeling of panic that had pressed her when she’d been told that a wildfire raged in the south, Peydra had stood immediately from the throne and began initializing a course of action. Administrator Justus, Commander Gaius, and Speaker Glorienzel had risen with her while they listened with growing horror to the bedraggled messenger who had come. She remembered how impatient she had been to go to her people, to somehow ease their suffering, to protect them. This feeling was understood but tempered by Commander’s response of caution; however, she had insisted that they make haste.

The supply caravan arrived just after dark while smut-smudged villagers were trying to find ways to keep warm. Feeling the first few icy drops of rain, Peydra still loitered on the small hilltop, but Sharon appeared at her elbow through the circle of guards and attendants.

At her light touch, Peydra turned, knowing Sharon desired to usher her out of the rain. Pulling the mute attendant inside the carriage as well, Peydra instantly regretted the decision to sacrifice space for speed when she’d decided to ride in the smaller day trip carriage. Anthony hadn’t agreed, as evident by his physical reaction when she’d declared she was going with them. Peydra frowned slightly at the recollection while her eyes strayed to the covered window. Had she taken the larger carriage, the space could have accommodated nearly nine people whereas this one – two people comfortably and four in tight quarters.

•

Relentless rain fell through much of the night. Wakened from dozing by departing thunder sometime after midnight, Peydra rubbed her eyes. Sharon snored softly from the other corner of the carriage. Smoothing her skirts, she noticed soot and ash clinging to the fabric. Lifting her shoe past the grungy hem, she saw what she imagined she would – dark stains on the shoe leather. Curious about how everyone had faired after their little squall, she peeked out of the window and marveled at the city of tents her men had managed to erect in the dark rubble despite uncooperative weather.

Shafts of moonlight illuminated a group of patrolling soldiers. A dog stood up, circled its place then settled again. Peydra yawned and scanned the dark camp. Her eyes settled on the tall hills further north. Demitri’s stone fortress was clearly visible on the side of the tallest hill like a thorn. She’d often wondered why they called them Raven’s Mountain when they were no more than a cluster of hills. They did look mountain-esque compared to the surrounding land, much of which was flat grasslands and especially now when much of what could be seen was denuded of foliage. All the windows in his fortress were dark, or seemed to be so. No small wonder that he, High Priest Philloth, and Councilman Rolf were the strongest supporters of any move she made to protect the border. They were some of the men who stood to lose the most from the destructive raids.

Peydra pressed herself back from the window. How was it possible that she had managed to survive not only the excitement of her inaugural tour, but each moment of the past nine years?

•

At sunrise, Queen Peydra reassured herself that the villagers were in good hands with the men Gaius and Justus planned to leave behind for the restoration efforts. While the small trap rattled north along the muddy road, Peydra saw Anthony ride past the open window. Her eyes followed for long enough that she realized she was staring. Averting her gaze, she mused about the steady coming and going of suitors at Drayden Palace after she’d returned from the tour. She’d endured nine years of tactful comments and annoying interruptions, and only one of them had been remotely interesting.

Peydra arranged her skirts and sat back from the window. Rightly divining her disinterest, the most eligible of them had eventually given up, but still, there were too many who persisted, she suspected, with hopes of sitting on the cursed throne beside her.

The queen pressed fingers to her eyes as a familiar anger filled her. Didn’t they have good sense? To sit on the throne was to choose a premature end. Why would anyone do such knowingly? The lure of power and the hubris that oft accompanied such power was what she imagined drew them, what made them bold enough to risk their very lives to gain the throne. Even despite a more than 200-year history of monarchs who had been unable to escape the curse, these men continued to believe that the curse wouldn’t touch them. Or was it that they didn’t consider the risk within their plans. The only suitors’ presence that made a strange kind of sense were the men from surrounding kingdoms.

While her carriage rattled and jolted along the muddy road, her mind drifted to rest on the face of the one man she’d felt an affinity for, reliving their meeting. He had appeared at court about a month after the tour. That evening, the meal concluded and the general assembly moved into the great hall for dancing and mingling like they typically did. Her attendants parted the crowd and Peydra had gained the dais at the front of the room. Once she seated herself on the throne’s hard cushion, the orchestra began with a happy dance tune that had her tapping a slipper beneath her skirts. Several council members had approached to discuss matters of business. She had endured these, silencing thoughts about how annoying it was that they couldn’t wait for the morning’s council meeting instead. Just as she decided she would leave them to their gaiety, an unfamiliar noble caught her attention.

He stood beside Councilman Chanteclear whose hand seemed continually to pull his too small tunic over his paunch. The man wore a cloak pin with a Rogellian crest and rich colors that seemed to make his eyes gleam even from across the room. Feeling herself begin to color at his prolonged eye contact, she turned away and scanned the dancers.

Brightly frocked people milled about: nobles, emissaries, ranking military leaders. Decidedly uncomfortable with the number of men she knew were there to compete, not for her, but for the wealth and power that would be granted whomever sat at her side, she remembered an intense feeling of loneliness. Swallowing the feeling, her eyes had swept the room again, but stalled on the Rogellian noble who nodded a show of respect and when she returned it, disengaged himself from his company and strode towards the throne.

At that moment, Councilman Morde had approached. She remembered her impatience with him as he had drawn her attention from the younger man with a question about her opinion about taxes. Studying the older man’s countenance that evening and stalling on his interesting angular nose before settling once more on his black eyes, she’d told him that they could discuss it the next day. He’d seemed pleased by her response, but as he melded back into the crowd, Peydra noticed that Anthony had moved from behind the throne to her side. She glanced past him and seeing the Rogellian noble, she resisted a desire to lift a self-conscious hand to her warm cheek. Instead, she sat a bit straighter and waited for him to request an audience, but he moved before the platform and took a knee. With a wave of her hand, she invited him to speak.

In a light Rogellian accent that immediately told her he was a learned man, he said, Thank you for Your Majesty’s welcome. We’ve come to express King Cephas’ deepest gratitude and to deliver this season’s tribute.

Peydra motioned for him to stand, and as he rose, she said, I hope Administrator Justus has welcomed you properly. At the man’s nodded answer, she asked, How long do you and your company intend to remain at court?

That depends upon whether or not you grow tired of our presence. He tilted his head and a note of hesitancy entered his voice. I am escorted by several men of valor. May I have the great honor of introducing them?

Speaker Glorienzel, who had been sitting nearby, rose and bowed while he approached. At her nod, Speaker stood beside the Rogellian as she considered how to phrase her response. Her eyes swept the room, hoping to find the group of men who may have fit his men of valor description. Not seeing anyone who had any particular interest in what was going on at the foot of the throne, she tilted her head a tiny bit. Of course. You may introduce anyone you like, but you have not given yourself the same consideration.

Another wide smile made his light colored eyes disappear in a way she found disarming. I’ve forgotten myself. Your court is beautiful. Something in his tone and the way he was looking at her made her believe he wasn’t speaking about the courts. They call me Simon, Majesty. I’m one of the lesser men who frequent the Rogellian court.

Her eyebrow twitched. Lesser?

He smiled in answer, his natural charms drawing her in even without her permission. Her shoulders relaxed and she leaned back in her seat, a masked smile threatening to escape to mirror Simon’s. Lifting her chin, she asked, Where are these men of valor?

Seeing Anthony outside the carriage window, Peydra sighed. Simon had been a dangerous distraction while she’d been trying to establish herself as queen. And Anthony had not hidden his expressions of disapproval very well – something she’d found amusing and intensely annoying at the time. She’d felt attached to Simon enough to believe she could trust him with some sensitive information – information that could have caused her trouble. Fortunately, she’d found him to be duplicitous just as she had been forming the words on her lips. She’d not been able to muster any response but shock at the time. Councilman Morde had helped to disengage her from Simon without creating a problem for Drayden, but only later did she see how very wrong he had been for Drayden and how surprisingly naive she’d been at the time. Anthony and Councilman Morde had insisted that they send soldiers to gather Simon and his men to give an answer for their actions, but once Simon had realized he’d been caught in his tangle of lies, he and his men of valor wasted no time leaving court. She’d been hurt enough by the lies and abandonment that she’d nearly banished all single non-council members from court.

On rare occasions since then, Peydra found that she did wonder if she would ever find someone kind like her mother had described to receive the gift of being King of Drayden, but she’d generally shake the feeling off in preference of spending spare moments within the royal study to seek a way out of the curse instead of bickering with nobles about what would be exchanged upon a marriage agreement. She was several months into her twenty-seventh year, leaving just over three years before the curse would come, and to her mind, leaving no time to waste evaluating potential partners. Besides, she couldn’t discard the belief that choosing a king would be more like sentencing an innocent man to an untimely end. Perhaps some of the men at court needed their conniving cut short, but she understood their compulsion. If they became king, their family’s standing would rise at court until he was taken by the curse, but since he was not of royal descent, she would still have more power than he did since she was considered a direct descendant of the first king. Of course, given that each royal eventually succumbed to the curse, the royal bloodline wasn’t pure with each royal forced to marry outside the family in order to have an heir, but her child would be considered of the royal bloodline and would eventually have more standing at court than even she did.

When Queen Peydra wasn’t studying the Books of Law and histories to find a way to counter the curse, or the "Protection Dictum" as it was properly known, she took time to travel the kingdom, often once a year during the warm months, mostly to encourage young men to volunteer for her army and to give the common man a face for the often faceless monarchy. Her people had been awed by her impromptu visits, but her spies brought back reports of how they questioned if she would marry and produce an heir to secure the future of the throne. It was the additional pressure of their expectations that made her question if it would soon be time to make a definite decision about whether or not she would have an heir.

As she noticed the coal-black stains at her hem, Peydra discarded the line of thought in favor of determining what must be done to prevent the invasions from happening again.

.2.

Resistance to Change

Having returned from the southern border just that afternoon, Anthony suspected that the queen would be pensive, perhaps more than usual. When they entered the palace courtyard, he’d dismounted, giving the reins to the first stable boy he encountered and replaced the footman who had been about to open her carriage door for her. He felt her eyes on him, but kept his gaze averted as usual while he offered his hand to steady her descent.

After several meetings with Administrator Justus and Speaker Glorienzel, she’d paced out of the palace and into the gardens. Though he’d been surprised that she would decide to disregard the possibility that the low clouds would begin misting again, he and her guards followed without comment.

Noticing her shallow footprints in the moonlit mud at the lakeshore, he held one of the torches aloft for her and the group of attendants and guards. A restless figure moved in a shadowed alcove just ahead, he and one of the guards went to her right side to be between her and any potential trouble. Soon their firelight illuminated the alcove enough for him to identify Councilman Rolf and High Priest Philloth. The older man sat on the bench with Rolf before him, his back to the queen’s approach. The two men were entangled in such an animated discussion that snatches of Rolf’s agitated voice reached them.

The queen seemed about to pass them without comment when Councilman Rolf’s posture stiffened. He whipped about and bowed. The steady cadence of her steps faltered and stopped as she acknowledged the councilman, but Anthony found himself noticing the angry lines of Rolf’s expression that he had not masked before facing her. Anthony speculated at the topic of their discussion and why the high priest had looked submissive to someone who had very little power compared to the older man. High Priest, Noble of the Marshlands, and ranking member of the High Council, Philloth rarely allowed anyone to speak to him like Rolf seemed to have been doing. Were they discussing the wildfire and their losses or something else?

Philloth rose from his seat to acknowledge her. The queen excused herself to continue her stroll, but Anthony remained where he was, watching the two men abandon the alcove and move towards the bright palace lights. The priest walked slow, favoring his left leg. Councilman Rolf matched the pace set by the older man.

•

Peydra squeezed her eyes against the candlelight. Her mind still worked unceasingly upon the problem of the Drayè marauders and the destruction they’d wrought upon the southern villages, but despite her weariness from the trip, she couldn’t still her mind.

Snuffing the light, she also tried to still anxiety about what might happen in the morning. After a lifetime of studying the tenants of Draydenian law and having carefully gathered information about the cursed dictum for the last nine years, she anticipated presenting some of her ideas during the next day’s council meeting to test their inclination to change. She hoped a verbal discussion would be all she’d need to spur them toward a favorable outcome. And if they were also as distracted by the wildfire’s aftermath as she was, they might at least allow a short discussion of her ideas.

•

Bright afternoon light filled the Ruling Council chamber when Queen Peydra entered with Anthony and two elite guards. Nobles loitered in the room having banal conversations after their mid-day meal. Peydra noticed Philloth and Zalulous watching her from one side of the room. Despite a fluttering of nerves, she gathered her courage and had the two priests drawn over.

When they neared and bowed, Peydra said, "I would like to introduce a sensitive topic of discussion. I’d like to propose that the Protection Dictum is past its use. Her mind blanked and out slipped a thoughtless question. What are your opinions on the subject?"

Zalulous’ lips parted in disbelief, but Philloth touched his fellow priest on the shoulder and stepped forward. Highness, he said, taking a sweeping bow before standing straight to address her. I would not want you to think that what you are suggesting is not within our power to change; however, if you do not mind me speaking frankly, he said, his frosty eyes looking up at her from beneath his unruly silver brows before continuing. "We are creatures of habit – not at all comfortable with changing important traditions, especially ones which safeguard the position you currently hold.

When you happened upon Rolf and I in the gardens last evening, we were discussing the very subject in an attempt to come to some possible solution; some way of keeping our valuable tradition from scarring Drayden’s future. He scratched his neck and looked away. Naturally we were only speaking of this because of your marked disinterest in producing an heir. And though it is the welfare of your land that an heir would protect, it is your well-being we are most concerned with.

Beside Philloth, Zalulous’ face puffed up. Indignation shimmered from his eyes and his bald head glowed pink in the vivid light of the council chamber. In a patronizing tone, he said, You are queen, but Your Highness may not understand how important this tradition is to your people.

The nearest councilmen, Uncan of Morose Valley and Rolf of the Southern Plains, turned at the man’s sharp words and eyed her. Other conversations hushed.

She tilted her head. What don’t I understand? You’re saying that the people, the common man, would revolt if this curse weren’t enacted? I find that a tiny bit ridiculous.

Curse!? Zalulous bristled and his shiny head became a deeper shade of red than before. He sputtered a little. It is what has always been!

At that moment, Peydra noticed the eerie quiet of the chambers. Before long, all eyes were directed towards her and the flustered priest. Their attention made her shoulders stiffen, but believing they would all benefit from hearing what she had to say, she lifted her voice and her eyes scanned the room before returning to Zalulous.

That’s a weak argument for a tradition that has stolen the life of every monarch since the inception of our great kingdom. She gestured and continued in a guarded tone. Surely it was never intended to remove every monarch from the throne in such an unnatural way. Taking further advantage of their attention, she gathered her nerve and asked, One of you tell me why this ruling body clings to this cursed dictum when it is perceived by our neighbors as a sign of weakness and superstition that we would kill our royals in this way – in a way detrimental to the solidity of the kingdom?

They looked stupidly at her so she continued. "No? How about explaining the wisdom of enacting the Protection Dictum when neighboring kingdoms consider it a moot point to develop relations with Drayden because their rulers never know whom they will be dealing with. Who is to say that the next monarch will remember or be likely to honor any previously ratified treaties or trade agreements? This ruling body has used that dictum to curse the ruling family for over two hundred years. It destabilizes our government! Were it not for our renewed military prowess and our lucrative trade routes, Drayden would cease to exist."

Zalulous looked angry enough to bite a leather belt in half. Other faces reflected surprise, one or two seemed to agree, but the vast majority seemed appalled that the queen would dare express an opinion about their beloved curse divergent from what had become common.

Noise in the council chamber rose quickly and Speaker Glorienzel’s voice echoed above the din as he called for order. Once they quieted, Glorienzel poured himself a glass of water and held it while he addressed the group. This is a place of discussion. Should we not address concerns about the future of our kingdom? Our queen brings up valid points we must discuss. He sloshed his cup towards the queen and asked, Highness, have you completed your rumored proposal?

She colored. I’m close.

Let us defer this touchy topic of discussion until we have a proposal before us, shall we? As you can tell, there are strong opinions about this and the day is growing short.

Feeling chastised, she took her place in the council chamber and Glorienzel called them to their seats. Speaker then started the discussion she had put on the agenda for that day – what they would send to the south to help rebuild after the wildfire.

When the session ended, Queen Peydra quickly excused herself. But that night while Sharon combed her hair and her other female attendants helped her ready for bed, she couldn’t shake the disillusionment at the priest’s melodramatic emotional response to her simple comment; and Philloth’s seemingly sinister one. She had introduced the main tenants of her proposal and they had told her to be quiet. Why did no one seem able to discuss the curse in a logical and thoughtful way?

Sitting as close to the fire as she dared, she shivered in her thick robe despite the hearth’s heat. As soon as one of the servants had warmed the sheets with the pan, she snuggled beneath the comforter.

•

In stillness of pre-dawn hours, Anthony woke Queen Peydra, a hand pressed to her mouth. Instead of batting his hand from her face, she read his serious expression as he focused on the balcony. Trepidation shivered across her skin. His eyes flashed to her face and he removed his hand, a finger of that hand going to his lips before dropping to support her elbow while she slipped from the bed to stand beside him.

His attention shot back to the windowed balcony doors for a second or two before he hurried her to the nearest secret passage entrance.

Peydra toggled the switch; it cracked open.

Not waiting for it to fully open, Anthony’s hand left her elbow to gently press her forward into the space before closing her inside.

In the dark quiet of the passageway, Peydra wrapped her arms about herself and trembled, realizing she’d not thought to gather her robe or slippers. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed two pinpoints of moonlight piercing the opposite wall. Through peepholes, she scanned her room, thinking with alarm that she should have those holes plastered over or have a plate cover for them that could only be opened from inside.

Hearing a slight shuffling and the metallic whisper of Anthony’s blade being drawn, Peydra strained her eyes with a cheek pressed against the cold marble. She caught a glimpse of shadowy movement at one of the balcony doors. The shadow disengaged the lock and stepped into the room.

Moonlight glinted off a tightly held crooked blade. Her eyes searched for Anthony, but he had vanished.

Fostering a growing suspicion, Queen Peydra watched as the intruder slithered to her bedside. With the thought of how life-like her pillows appeared beneath the quilt, she had to cover her mouth to stifle the sound that rose in her throat as he lifted his knife and then forced it down into the bed covers.

Light of awareness didn’t shine on the intruder until Anthony sprang upon him. She lost sight of them quickly as they moved about the room, but she could hear them clashing, gasps of pain, and to them knocking things over. Unsure of the outcome until she saw the intruder stumble out onto the balcony, she watched him hastily climb over the railing just as guards burst into the room.

Peydra's heart lurched. She couldn’t see Anthony even in the blazing light of the guard’s torches. She heard their shoes slapping the floor as a group of them left her chambers. Two of them remained to search the room, probably looking for her. One of them paused and knelt beside the bed, but she could not see well enough through the holes to tell what he was looking at even though she pressed her face painfully against the rough stone. Peydra pulled back from the peepholes, arms about herself, pulse quick.

Fear glistened in her eyes when the door finally slid open. Peydra’s breath caught as she stared at the blood on Anthony’s tunic.

.3.

Assassin’s Aftermath

At Anthony’s direction, the last two guards rushed from the room, intent upon aiding the others in apprehending their intruder.

Realizing she still stood inside the secret passage, Queen Peydra took a weak-kneed step towards Anthony, barely able to think past the dark glistening blood on his tunic. Reaching out, she almost touched him, but mentally chiding herself for the concern she did not wish to feel, she clenched her hand and pulled it back. Yours?

Ignoring her question, he