The Traitor Queen

Good morning, your majesty, a voice said as the blindfold was removed from Arren's face. Arren blinked rapidly, tears streaming down his cheeks as the sun seared into his eyes, blinding him as surely as the sweat-stained fabric ever had. Gradually, the burning white receded to reveal a manicured rose garden, a table, and a man with silvered hair, sun-darkened skin, and in his eyes, the color of the Tempest Seas, the King of Maradrena, Lara's father, his enemy. Arren lunged across the table, not caring that he was unarmed or that his wrists were bound, knowing only that he needed to hurt this man who had destroyed everything he held dear. His fingers, inches from their mark, Arren found himself snapped back against his chair, a chain belted to his waist, holding him in place like a dog to a post. Now, now, let's not be uncivilized. Fuck you, the Maradrenian king's upper lip curled with disdain as though Arren had barked rather than spoken. You are as your kingdom was, your majesty, feral. Was, the sneer turned into a smile. Yes, your majesty, was, for I'm afraid Ithacana is no longer, and your title now a courtesy you will have to do without. He leaned back in his chair. What shall we call you, Master Kurtel? Or perhaps, given we are family of sorts, a certain amount of familiarity is appropriate, Arren. I don't give a shit what you call me, Silas. As to your other point, the bridge is not Ithacana. I am not Ithacana. My people are Ithacana, Silas finished, his gaze gleaming with amusement. Pretty words, boy, and perhaps there is truth to them. Ithacana stands for as long as Arenal does. Arren's stomach twisted, the name of his city on his enemy's lips both unfamiliar and unwelcome. Such a secret to keep, King Silas Veliant shook his head. Yet a secret no longer. If you mean to use me to negotiate Arenal's surrender, you're wasting your time. I don't waste my time, and I don't negotiate, Silas rubbed his chin. Nearly all your people gathered on one island, cut off from supplies, and with no hope of salvation. How long will they last? How long until Arenal is not a fortress, but a tomb? No, Arren, I don't need you to see the destruction of Ithacana through to completion, it wouldn't come to that. Whoever was in command of Arenal would begin smuggling civilians out of Ithacana under the cover of the storms, north and south, scattered to the winds. But alive, and as long as they were alive. If I'm so useless, why am I here? Silas steepled his fingers together, silent. Arren's heart sped, thundering against his chest, each beat more violent than the last. Where is Lara? An unexpected question, given that Arren had expected her to be here, back in Maradrena, back at her father's side. That she wasn't, that her father didn't know where she was. I love you. Arren shook his head sharply, a bead of sweat running down his cheek. She'd stabbed him in the back, lied to him from the beginning. Nothing she'd said mattered now. I have no idea. Is she alive? Unease prickled across his skin, Lara's voice echoing through his thoughts. I thought I'd destroyed all the copies. This is, this is a mistake. The tears in her eyes had glinted like jewels. Your guess is as good as mine. Did you let her go, or did she escape? Please don't do this. I can fight. I can help you. I can- Allowing a traitor to go free seems an ill-advised choice. Yet it had been the one he'd made. Why? Why hadn't he killed her when he'd had the chance? The other man's head cocked. Then he reached into the pocket of his gleaming white coat and extracted a ragged and stained piece of paper. The guilt long worn off its edges. This was found on your person when you were searched. Such an interesting document.