Chapter Text
Iris Cygnet is a girl clinging to gods she cannot even name. The cramped space I am observing has been turned into a sort of temple or sanctuary, a small price paid for her comfort, the smallest granule of trust. Because we are both intelligent enough at least, to be wary of one another. She avoids me as much as possible and I do not wish or call for her company any more than necessary. She is my wife and a queen in title and public role, but nothing more. I have no real form of attachment or fondness for her, and I never will.
My fingers brush against the lip of a smooth stone basin. Water sits placidly inside, unmoving and beautifully clear. Its very existence here is insidious and mocking. I raise my eyes to the stone makings of her so-called gods. I feel nothing for them when I look into their faces; they are not my gods, and I do not believe in the feeble clinging to beings with no noticeable hand in the works of fate. I have no use for them; the red man with the ability to see the future’s outcome certainly has even less need for such beliefs. Though I wonder briefly if he has faith – or if his ability has given him the strange and unsettling luxury of thinking himself greater than any need or desire for ‘peace’ or religion.
But the Lakelander princess worships these chiseled beings, believes in their power, in their punishment, and in their protection. I will show her power and I will show her punishment. Then we will see if her gods will protect her or not.
Sparks spit from the bracelets at my wrists, fire lapping to life at my palms and jumping between my fingers. I raise a boot to the stone basin and kick it roughly. With force and the sound of stone scraping, it topples; it cracks though it does not break. It only fuels me, stoking the rising heat of my temper. My quiet rage continues and evaporates the water from a smaller, gurgling fountain before I turn it to ruins. Anything that can burn, does. My fire blazes hot, a wild and violent delight of mine. I pluck a piece of grey stone up in my hands, turning it over idly before smashing it against one of her god’s faces.
Every part of my usually perfect and calculated composure slips. I let it go; I shed that skin and persona of mine as if they were a simple hat and gloves. Years of being the perfect shadow, the perfect politician, the tired and heartbroken young prince all come into play. But so do the haunting voices of my mother, the hissing hostility of the noble families of Norta, their alliances and compliance a ledge I dare to walk without the promise of safety.
The Boy King; a monster. That is what they call me. Good, I think to myself, a dark and twisted smile finding my lips. I watch the fire spread, a hazard to everything in the room but me. I turn as it pops, rising and catching and feeding itself. I close the door behind me with smoke curling out at my heels like my own shadow. Without a word my guards follow, and I withdraw.
Where are your gods now, Iris? The thought sends a thrill through me and I lace my still trembling hands behind my back. Dinner will be served soon, and I should prepare.
My seat is rough, cut and crafted from the uncomfortably suppressing Silent Stone. It tugs at my already growing exhaustion. I am used to its harsh presence though and welcome it for the reassuring friend it has become. Though I hide it well, I still have much to fear and the material is enough to suffocate not only my powers, but those of anyone who comes too close. I cannot be harmed by another Silver or an Ardent, and so long as I am touching the stone, they are free of my wrath as well. It is equal parts a balancing act and a display of power.
A spread of intricate options sits before us; broiled quail brushed with a sweet fruit compote, filleted rockfish from Norta’s rivers, fluffy and flaky milk-wheat biscuits served on a bed of oil and herbs to soak them with a simplistic, earthy taste; potatoes roasted softly in pepper and a buttery substance, crisp roots – heated to an edible temperature though bland in flavor to cleanse the palate, a few platters of grapes and orange slices are available among a variety of cheeses, and a selection of spiced wines or water to wash it all down.
My appetite is almost non-existent; none of the food is appealing. Even so, I arrange my plate with quail and a biscuit, adding a small handful of red grapes. I don’t bother with the root and don’t imagine I will stomach much else. As expected, Iris chooses the fish, though she seems far from impressed. I watch that change after her first bite, evidently satisfied with the soft meat and flavors she continues to eat. I notice however that she has yet to drink even a single sip of water.
“It isn’t as mouthwatering as the dishes prepared in the Lakelands, but Norta’s fish is usually decent – caught fresh and prepared well in most cases.” I lower my gaze as I take a few bites of my own food. My stomach heaves in protest despite nothing being wrong with it. But I don’t miss the way her hands grip the silverware too tightly. My assumption was right; she has seen my handiwork. I am not satisfied though, so I take a few more bites of my food for show and even give a satisfied hum. Because I know it will unsettle her further – I continue our delightful and useless one-sided conversation. It is something I am used to by now.
“Wait until dessert. I am sure you will find something of it to be more satisfying and delicate. Maybe a soft and spongey cake, or scones that crumble at the smallest touch if they’re not held with care.” I offer too sweetly, my voice devoid of anything other than a sickening pleasantness.
“Why did you do it?” She asks softly.
“Do what?” I reply, my features set with ease and serenity.
Iris slams her hands down on the table, the cutlery and glasses shaking slightly under the force. The monster in me is satisfied by her outburst. I make slow work of my meal, knowing she expects me to speak or explain myself. I won’t give her that satisfaction yet. I can feel the weight of her gaze; I don’t even have to look at her to know there is a storm in her eyes. Words float back to me in a haunting memory; I could set this world on fire and call it rain.
“It wasn’t necessary, and you didn’t have a problem with it before.” Her voice is cool and smooth as ice; I want to break it.
“My wife speaking for me in matters that do not concern her also was not necessary.” I keep my own voice soft and amiable. I will push her over this ledge.
“I thought I was being helpful in showing a united front. I am your wife and your queen; people will wonder, Maven.”
The time my composure begins to fracture and slip; my hands hold too tightly to my silverware adding to my pallor and my vision narrows.
Cut for cut, my mother’s voice whispers. The corners of my mouth twitch into a sardonic smile. A united front. It is unfortunate that Norta genuinely could stand to benefit from the resources provided by the Lakelands. I myself fancy the use of its armada the most – and its youngest princess second.
“Next you will propose we consummate our marriage. Have you asked your gods for a blessing?” The last sentence lands the blow. Iris stands too swiftly and spills her water across the table, her cheeks flushed grey and draining of color, her chest heaving. I can see the temper behind her eyes, feel it spark my own though there is a strange calm that washes over me. Again, I find myself satisfied.
As she moves to leave and abandon her meal – I call after her for one final turn in our game of power. Because I want her to know who really controls who; that I will not listlessly become a pawn for her own plans – whatever they may ne. I am no fool. I am the king.
“Goodnight, my queen.” I say in the softest voice I have, unfamiliar to my ears in how tender and sweet it sounds. It is a voice I would have genuinely liked to share with Mare – had I been given another chance. But such things are beyond us now, and we are no longer children playing dress up and attending galas, they could not pretend any longer. At least not without meeting the consequences.
Cut for cut, I think, echoing my mother’s words as I sit at the empty dining table and stare beyond the shining platters and glittering crystal. I will cut everyone down, and I will burn it all – everything – to cinders if that is what it takes.