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By my faith and by witness of the Lady I herefore vow,
To be bane to my Queen's bane,
And balm to her balm.
To serve by blade and body.
To work her will.
To be true, faithful, fidelitous.
And to serve at her pleasure.
— Oath of the Queen's Guard of Iounn
They spoke their oaths, and then they knelt in rows, still, silent, and waiting. Every eye was upon the Queen. She reclined on her throne with the languid grace of a panther. Time stretched before the initiates like summer sap, counted only in the clicks of her black nails tapping steadily against the armrests. When at least the Queen rose, the whole room exhaled at once.
With each step the Queen took, two centuria of eyes followed her. Their attention honed to a fragile point by the patter of her nails, every footstep was a crack of thunder, of descending judgement.
Safe in the third row, Katrin clutched her spear with white-knuckled fingers, doing her best not to tremble. Her fresh-pierced nose ached, and the cool weight of the nose ring that marked her as an initiate of the Queen's Guard did not soothe it. Like all her sisters, her eyes followed the Queen's every move and her ears strained for every sound.
Inspection.
The terrifying the test-of-tests, the last step before Katrin could put six years of training to use. To fight, kill, and bleed for the Queen and the realm. Part of her knew it was silly to be so nervous. Hardly any guards failed Inspection, and those that did and lived could always find work in trades where a woman of determination and skill was valued even without her eyes.
But this was the closest she had ever been, would ever be to the Queen, and her heart felt like it was going to tear itself out of her chest from fear, excitement... and an unnamed, desperate ache.
She often wondered if every woman in the Queen's Guard bore that ache.
My Queen.
Katrin dared not look turn her head, but just the flush and sweat-gloss on the neck of Maia in front of her told her she was not alone.
When the Inspection began, Katrin could no longer see the Queen, but she could hear her footsteps moving from right to left as she walked the line of her soldiers. Whenever those steps paused, Katrin held her breath in painful sympathy for whichever sister had drawn attention to herself.
The first row proved fortunate. None of the pauses lasted for more than a few moments. The steps grew louder, echoing now from left to right. As the Queen passed in front of Maia, Katrin could see her again. Her hammering heart threatened to stop.
Seven steps later came another pause. One breath. Two. Ten. Katrin tensed. There was a terrifying finality in that silence. The sound that broke it a breathless moment later was an agonized scream, followed by the clatter of steel on marble. The footsteps resumed. Fainter, fainter... and then they grew louder once more, and Katrin's grip on her spear became so tight she knew she'd be able to see the grain of the wood in her palm for hours. Goddess, please, by my faith, let me not disappoint her, let her find no fault, let her...
And then she was there. Katrin hadn't noticed her pass by Roana to her right, and now the Queen was in front of her. The footsteps stopped. Every muscle in Katrin's body became stone. She kept her eyes low, focused on the hem of the Queen's gown. Her breath was frozen in her lungs. The scent of copper made her nose itch, and her tongue almost had the temerity to dart out between clenched teeth to wet her lips.
"Oh." The voice was throaty and delighted. It wrapped around Katrin like the silk of the Queen's gown clung to the Queen's form. Reflexively, Katrin glanced up. By the grace of the Goddess, a smile had bloomed on the Queen's face, and it was like gazing into the hallowed night itself. Katrin knew with certainty that she'd never seen anything so beautiful before. As she gazed transfixed, one regal hand stretched out and traced a crimson-damp nail along Katrin's cheek leaving a line of wetness. The touch burned, and though the Queen moved on, Katrin was lost to the sensation of it, the presence lingering on her skin. The nameless ache inside of her screamed in satisfaction she wouldn't have even dared to pray for.
The rest of Inspection was lost in a haze of that lingering feeling. Katrin knew not if others failed it or how long it lasted, only that by the end of it, her cheek was dry and the Queen stood once more on the dais, arms upraised.
"By my faith, and by the witness of the Lady, I accept your vows. Serve with honor, and go with the Goddess." It was the voice that woke Katrin from her reverie, and she exhaled a shaky gasp. Her legs screamed with protest as she tried to stand. Her fingers were numb on her spear. All around her, others began to rise. The voice cut through the clamor of scraping armor and shifting bodies. "Initiate Katrin. Stay."
Her heart, which had mostly ceased its frantic drumbeat, leapt into her throat, and she sank back down to one knee. Maia, already on her feet, gave her a stricken look, and Katrin regretted declining to share the woman's bedroll the night before. She did her best to put that regret into her expression, unable to speak. Had I known...
The sudden realization that she had failed tore at her, made her want to weep, wail, rend her clothes like a funeral crier. But the temptation had to be mastered. She would not weep. Whatever she had done that had disappointed the Queen, to compound it through a loss of discipline would be unforgivable. Perhaps at least in death I'll give satisfaction. She remained kneeling as the others, now sworn initiates in truth, departed. Some who passed her gave her looks of sympathy. A few offered contempt. Three were brave enough to go as far as to brush her shoulder for comfort in passing. Maia. Eris. Odette. She'd carry their names on her tongue across the last River, and speak them every day to the judges beyond, so that when her sisters fell, they would be welcomed as heroes.
At last, the throne room was empty of the trod of sandled feet and the clinking of armor and spears. Only Katrin remained, waiting. Her thighs and calves trembled. Her arm, still holding her spear, had long since gone numb.
"Initiate Katrin." Why did she let herself imagine affection in that voice? "Come to the dais." The Queen had not said to rise, but Katrin didn't trust herself to crawl without scraping the fine flagstones. Eyes held low, she struggled to her feet by fractions, and swayed, listening for a sound of reproach or displeasure. None came. Only then did she dare to look up. The Queen lounged on the throne, elegant repose in every curve. Katrin had never felt more like a lumbering tree trunk of a soldier. She knew she looked a mess. The edges of her curls, plastered against her forehead by sweat, blurred in her vision with every step. The padding beneath her cuirass was glued to her skin. Every part of her that could ache did. Somehow, she made it to the foot of the dais, and she sank back to one knee. Her legs let her know they would never forgive her for it, and she didn't have the heart to tell them they'd never have the chance.
She wasn't sure how it would happen. A sword? A cord around her throat? Some small, hysterical part of her reminded her that traitors to the realm were fed to hyenas. But she wasn't a traitor. She didn't even know what she'd done. There was fresh wetness on her cheeks, even though she had forbidden herself the indignity of tears. She craved to beg forgiveness, but the Queen had not given her leave to speak.
Fabric rustled, and then footsteps sounded, descending from the dais. For the first time, she realized that she was terrified. She didn't want to die. Not like this. How would this serve the Queen? How would it serve anyone? It wasn't fair, wasn't right. She was a good soldier. Maybe she could have been more diligent with sword practice, or not been so shy about learning to stitch a wound. Maybe she could have done something to prevent this, escape this—
Warm, gentle fingers wrapped around her chin, and drew her face upward into the glorious sunset of the Queen's smile. As Katrin watched, it shifted into an expression of concern. "Oh, you poor thing. You're crying." The thumb that rested under her jaw, electric in its contact, brushed upwards and wiped away a tear. "You must be terrified." Flakes of dried crimson crumbled from her cheek at the contact. "Come here."
The fingers drew her up, and she rose with them. With the Queen standing on the last step of the dais, her eyes were a scant few inches above Katrin's, the irises the color of moonlit silver. Katrin held the gaze, entranced. Without warning the queen's arms wrapped around her shoulders, and drew her in. Her body felt incandescent against Katrin's, the silk impossibly soft. Defiance didn't even occur to her even as the panic in her climbed to a crescendo. She'll slip her fingers beneath my ribs and tear out my heart...
The weight of Katrin's helmet vanished as it was lifted off her head, and she felt a gentle hand run through her close-cropped curls. Frantic trembling rippled through her. "I'm not going to hurt you, you lovely creature." The Queen's voice was a caress. "Shh. It'll be alright."
The emotional dam of terror, shame, and desperate devotional need crescendoed over Katrin. Her chest jerked in a last, gasping attempt to keep some measure of control, and then she broke into heavy, racking sobs, her face nestled in the Queen's shoulder, her mind reeling from a wave of relief as sudden and directionless as her terror. The Queen simply held her close, stroking her hair until Katrin was able to catch her breath and steady the heaving of her chest into a semblance of regular motion. Then, the wondrous and terrifying contact vanished and the Queen stepped back.
Katrin swayed. If not for the nearly-forgotten spear in her hand, she might have fallen. She clung to it with numb fingers. The Queen looked her up and down, and Katrin felt her cheeks flush. If she'd been a mess before, she must now be a calamity. Her eyes red with tears, her cheeks smeared with dried blood from the queen's fingertips. Her armor, as clean as she had been able to get it, had left dust and grime on the black silk of the Queen's dress, who was examining the mussed fabric with an amused expression. Katrin had never felt so lost in her life. Why had the Queen kept her here, if not to execute her for some failure Katrin had never even realized? —Oh, Goddess, the Queen touched me, embraced me, her hands were in my hair— Katrin didn't, couldn't process it, understand it, accept it. Not for a moment had she been tempted to run from execution, but now, the desire to turn and flee was overwhelming. It fought in brutal contest with the sudden need to sink to her knees and bury her unworthy face in the Queen's skirts in gratitude for mercy.
Some of that conflict must have showed in her face. The smile returned, and the Queen's eyes ran over her form from top to bottom in a way that was decidedly... pleased? Hungry? Katrin couldn't say, only that she craved to be looked at like that again, and again, and again.
"Mm. Yes. You are going to be such a delight, my darling girl." The Queen extended a hand to grace her cheek with another touch, drawing one fingertip all the way to Katrin's lips, and teasing across them in a way that made her knees weak. The Queen's gaze flicked over Katrin's shoulder toward something, or someone, behind her.
"Prepare my chambers for Initiate Katrin. Draw a hot bath. And see about a new wardrobe for her, something more suitable than..." her hand flicked, indicating Katrin's armor, "...all that." Katrin didn't turn, but heard a patter of rapidly receding footsteps. Her mind was an incomprehensible whirl of the possibilities, but one part, strangely, stood out. Initiate Katrin. Her oath had been accepted. She hadn't failed.
The Queen stepped down from the dais, past her, and took a gentle grip on the collar of Katrin's cuirass. "Come, sweet thing. Come serve at the Queen's pleasure."