FIVE
Queen Farah
Anger had started like a storm, dark clouds in the distance that grew closer and closer until it was a downpour in Queen Farah’s backyard. From the moment she heard the news about Sienna to the second Idalia had disappeared down the steps of the Tower of Divinity her frustration had only grown stronger.
Her sister wasn’t supposed to die. Fae shouldn’t be back in Pasia. Farah could already see herself stumbling back to the days when she was weak and defenseless, but she wasn’t anymore and the feeling was suffocating. Fury was building inside of her head, a headache that pulsed against her skull.
She needed to show herself that she wasn’t that girl anymore. She needed release. She knew she needed it on the way back to her castle when she’d nearly ripped the carriage door off its hinges as she’d opened it. She’d fixed it quickly with a wave of her staff, but the driver had looked ghostly pale as he hurried after her to gently close it.His eyes had lingered on Queen Sienna’s staff that Farah still had with her, with Idalia’s blessing. Even through the small carriage window, he stared as if in a trance for almost a minute before he scampered back to his seat and the carriage was bouncing down the uneven path.
It was a peculiar thing about the staffs that Farah noticed the longer she stewed on all the things she couldn’t control. Sienna’s cloud that had looked more like a light fog moments ago was quickly turning pitch black and pressing against the glass globe. Farah held it carefully away from her with the fear that it might suddenly burst and magic would consume her. Her staff, with her normally calm waters, sloshed about, sending droplets clinging to the glass to drip back down, most being washed away quicker than they could complete their course.
Both staffs still looked like that when they finally made it back to the castle. No one had said anything as Farah escorted herself to her room. The sound of her steps, loud in the barren hallways, was muffled as she walked over the rugs that stretched across her floor.
Gripping her staff, her dress was immediately changed to something less showy with the help of magic, something more common—an utterly atrocious brown dress that reminded her too much of her childhood. The globes chimed together and then against metal as she shoved the staffs into a tall metal safe, that she’d worked with both a blacksmith and locksmith to create, and closed the doors.
What she would be doing tonight had nothing to do with her magic. No this would all be physical.She needed to remember that she was still greater than she once was even without the aid of the staffs.
The safe closed, followed by a series of clicks and ticks of the locks. Her brown cloak with minimal embroidery on the hood and edges met her fingertips and was clasped around her neck in less than a minute. Its soft worn material triggered her body into recognizing this routine she’d built within the last year. Excitement became a tingle that traversed over her skin and settled in the steady beating of her heart. This was her addiction.
Her castle halls were empty with the exception of one servant who was meticulously dusting. The girl was smart enough to look away and pay no mind as the queen rounded the halls and disappeared outside. Not a soul followed her. No one questioned her. They’d learned their lesson the first time when she’d hung the last person to do that in the banquet hall. A broken shard of wood in each palm and foot from the chair legs the queen had snapped off did the trick.
Farah let her hood cover her features, she left the castle so rarely she often wondered if she should even bother. Did the people even know what she looked like? She let her attention linger on shadows and any suspicious noise that felt even remotely threatening.
She knew the path from the castle to the tavern fairly well considering she hadn’t grown up in Saylor. She could count on her fingers how many times in the past year she’d slipped behind the castle walls to come out here. Always here. Never anywhere else. The queen wasn’t sure if it was that the old tavern gave her a feeling of security or if it was just her weariness of new places that kept her coming back.
Above her, the sky was so covered in clouds that it blotted out the stars as well as the moon. It made the streets that much darker and Farah even less certain as to what hour of night she’d decided to venture out. Every time she’d gone to the tavern it was always after everyone had their fair share of drinks and was too far off their rockers to even notice her slip in and examine the crowd.
From a short distance, the queen spotted the small building with its rickety sign hanging from a wire that looked as if it was almost rusted completely away. The front door swung open letting out a ray of light that cast itself on the sidewalks. A long shadow stretched out too.
Farah slowed her walk. The shadow became a figure that stumbled out the door. The figure quickly became a man who righted himself and chuckled before turning down the street. He was already long gone by the time Farah had gotten to the door and slipped inside.
A woman sat in the corner with an out of tune violin that she played with a somber expression. The music grated against Farah’s ears but she ignored it as she walked to an empty table and sat to face the general crowd. The tavern was made up of only two rooms. The main room where the bar was crowded with men who were tossing coins at the bartender and cheering loudly.
The queen grimaced when she realized that it mustn’t be that late in the night. None of them were all that sloppy. Yet.
She continued her gaze through the large open doorway that led into the next room. There was a single window with the curtain drawn and about six scratched up wooden tables. Farah didn’t even trust most of the chairs here—when you sat in them they groaned and swayed as if it might be their very last day.
The sad music from the violin carried into the other room. A few of the patrons who drank in there—a couple busy at a card game, another reading a book, and the last who downed his drink—bobbed their heads to the music. It was the last man that Farah focused on. The bob of his head quickly turned into a slow sway as he rocked back and forth in his seat.
He was very drunk. Just the way Farah liked them.
A server came around the side of the bar heading in Farah’s direction. If she sat long enough someone always came to see if she wanted a drink. If they knew who she was they never said a word.
Farah stood from the table quickly, nearly toppling the chair before she grabbed the back and righted it. She waved off the waitress as she slipped between tables, then scowled down at the musician in passing.
“I’ve heard better music from a pack of fighting cats,” Farah said under her breath.
The men in the corner playing cards banged their hands against the table as one of them won a round. The sudden noise set Farah on edge, more so than she already was. She gave her hood one last tug over her face as she lowered into the seat across from the man who was still dancing to the music.
Up close she supposed he was handsome. A good jawline covered with a well-managed beard. His eyes were a light, near crystal, blue that took up nearly half his face. A few wrinkles formed at the corner of his eyes and branched out toward his hairline where shaggy brown hair was flattened as if he wore a hat all day.
The man stopped dancing as he realized that someone had materialized in front of him. Farah smiled a little bit at the shock on his face. That shock quickly melted into a sweet smile when he got a good look at her.
Farah knew she was pretty, prettiest out of her sisters her mother always said, though Farah never wanted to be pretty. Not like Sienna did or even like Idalia. Farah always wanted to be the best. She wanted to be the fastest, the strongest, and the most well versed on any given topic. It only helped to fuel the feud between her and her oldest sister.
“Hello,” the man said.
Farah supposed he’d meant to be charming given the tone of his greeting, but she caught the way he dragged the word out a little too long, and no matter how he tried to still himself he continued to sway ever so gently. Yes, he would do nicely.
“Hi,” she whispered back, offering him one of her dazzling smiles. The smile always got them. Always. “I was wondering if you could walk me home. It’s a little dark out there so I thought some company would be nice.”
“A walk with a pretty woman such as yourself?” He stood from the table and his beer stein tipped over, the drizzle of yellow ale flowing out its top.
Farah set the cup upright. His arm was already outstretched to help her out of her seat showcasing the ring on his finger. A married man, she noted. Either he was incredibly gentlemanly or stupidly disloyal. Either way, his night was still going to end poorly.
She placed her hand in his sweaty palm to stand but quickly adjusted him so she could hold his elbow. The closer she stood to him now the more she could smell the liquor on his breath. Not to mention the lingering scent of coal or something of that nature that left dark black smudges on his clothes.
A long sigh of relief escaped her, releasing an ounce of her tension. It wouldn’t be long till she reached her high. The pair weaved back through the small building and out the door, unnoticed. The cool evening air was refreshing as it washed over Farah and helped to ease the stench coming from the man whose arm she held. He was looking down at her with that same stupid smile on his face.
“Which way?” He gestured to the street.
“This way.” She turned them the opposite direction from which she’d come.
She gave the road ahead a little look over. The sidewalk was empty and she couldn’t so much as hear the clomping of horse’s hooves which told her no carriages were heading their direction.
“It isn’t far.” She gave his arm a little pat and he hummed a bar of the gods-awful violin song.
“What’s a girl as pretty as you doing out? Don’t tell me you’re selling your body?” The last question was whispered roughly, his stale breath grazing down the length of her neck as he leaned into her.
“I have something I want to take care of. A need if you will.”
His shoulders bounced with a laugh at that. “A need…what are you insinuating?”
“Nothing.” She smiled prettily again.
After the tavern they passed a series of shops, all of them closed with their doors locked. Farah didn’t turn until she reached an alley where the light from the lamps on the street didn’t reach. The queen could admit she was a creature of habit as this was the alley she always stopped at on nights like this.
“What is this?” the man hummed as they turned and he took in the darkness. “You little minx.” His chuckle was softer now, his hands finding her hips as he pressed her into the brick wall.
Farah was trapped between the cold bite of stone and the excessive heat of the man before her. She took a deep breath as he lowered his face to hers. The funniest thing was always when she was able to shock them in some way.Men always assumed she’d drawn them away from the tavern for a good tickle of the tonsils. That was never the case, though on occasion the queen would indulge herself for a minute or two. Sometimes longer if she found the man to be particularly of her liking.
He pressed his lips to hers more gently than Farah had expected, easing them into a kiss. She opened her mouth further to him as he pressed his firm chest into her. His lips were full and soft. Though the rest of him smelled of beer and his clothing was dirty, he still tasted almost sweet, like he’d been sucking on candy all night.
Her slender hands crawled up his chest to his face, where she teased at the beard along his jaw before sinking her fingers into his hair. She could feel the way he smiled against her lips before he deepened the kiss. Had his wife taught him to kiss so well? It didn’t much matter.
Farah allowed him to kiss her until she was certain that he’d forgotten she was a stranger. He even moaned a name against her throat as his mouth traveled from her jaw to the curve of her neck and his hands rested on her ribcage . Was it his wife’s name? A mistress? It didn’t matter. She reminded herself again.
The queen drew circles against his scalp with her fingertips and tugged at the hair forcing his face back up to hers before he could bury himself in the slightest bit of cleavage that poked out of her dress. He watched her with those glowing, half hooded blue eyes, tongue darting out over his lips. He wanted to kiss her again. Farah almost wanted to kiss him again. The want wasn’t bad enough nor as urgent as what waited underneath.
The space between them started to disappear as Farah felt her way from his hairline, to his temples. Anticipation was dancing through her veins, pulsing with the steady beating of her heart. Barely able to contain her growing grin, she hooked her thumbs into his eye sockets.
He stiffened and that’s when Farah realized she’d never even asked for his name. Oops. Her thumbs pressed more fiercely against him as she channeled all her anger and frustration into the movement. Until those beautiful blue eyes dented and mushed beneath her grip. It was several long seconds before she registered that he was screaming. Not just screaming, but clawing at her hands, his short nails gouging at the skin.
Farah pulled away, her fingers leaving his face with a suction sound and then a slurp . Blood dripped from his eyes as he held his face, taking a couple of steps away.
Her chest swelled with adrenaline, her heart filling with pride that someone like her could do damage like this. This was it. This was her high. Her cheeks ached from her now uncontrollable smile. A euphoric peace settled over her once racing thoughts.
“What the fuck!?” he screamed. “I can’t see!”
The feeling inside of her, the one that had begun to eat her alive in the very best of ways, bubbled up her throat and escaped her in a series of giggles. Though he couldn’t see he still managed to turn toward the exit of the alley. It was even amusing to the young queen that he tried. Farah yanked him back by his collar, her free hand clenching.
Air hissed out of his lips as he doubled over, a hand still holding his face, the other holding his side. Her first hit slammed into his ribs. She hardly felt it herself, what used to be sore knuckles was now the release of tension that coiled in the pit of her stomach.
The next hit was to his groin, her knee swinging under him as she pulled him back upright, toppling another shout from his lips. Farah raised her fist to strike again, aiming this time for his head—for that stupid hand that still cupped an eye. She wanted to hear the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh, even better the crunching of bones. The man below cowered as though he could sense the next hit coming. He was shrinking down into himself, trying to crawl inch by inch toward the street while blood fell down his cheeks like tears.
Fingers wrapped around Farah’s wrist, a too tight hold preventing her next hit from landing. She gasped as she realized the strength it had taken to keep her from moving. Her eyes narrowed to slits on the hand that held her.
“That’s enough,” a raspy masculine voice hissed.
She lifted her gaze to meet the face of the man who dared to stop her. He was mostly shadowed but she could still make out the locks of hair that were clasped with rings of gold on the ends. His eyes were gray, almost silver as the moon found its way around a cloud and the light bounced off his high cheekbones. He was her height but his frame was possibly triple hers. Muscles stacked on muscles.The kind of strength she was constantly seeking for herself.
Farah gave him a feral smile. He stared intently at her face, some shade of shock written in that expression as he took in her features and pieced together the fact that she was a woman. Her other hand was already swinging, her knuckles digging into his gut.
He inhaled and retracted only slightly, but his grip on her wrist loosed allowing her to pull herself free. This stranger was obviously much stronger than the last. That only made her crave beating him that much more. To be stronger than someone so much larger than her…that appealed to the queen.
Farah loosed a breath, twisting with her whole body as her arm flung out aiming for his jaw. The bigger the man the harder they fell. Oh, she wanted to see him fall.
His forearm rose, blocking her hit, his brows pulling together in confusion. The queen was aware that somewhere behind her the other man was whimpering and still trying to get himself away. She took a step back, slamming her boot down on his ankle.
The opponent opposite her frowned as he advanced while the other man let out a yelp. A shoulder met Farah’s stomach as she was scooped up off the ground. She pounded her fists into his broad back and flailed her legs, hoping to get at least one knee to collide with his chin.
Just as quickly as she had been picked up, her boots hit the ground. Her entire body staggered backward as she was thrust into the street. Small pebbles were cast away from her with the shuffle of her feet. At some point, her hood must have fallen because light from the lamps was cascading over her face. She grabbed at the material looking from the alley where the large man was blocking its entrance and breathing heavily and then back toward the castle in the distance. She could still see the top of its towers and if she sprinted it wouldn’t take her too long to get back.
“I’m not fond of hitting women but I will. Get out of here before I’m forced to do something I regret!”
Farah wanted to laugh at that but the man took another step forward. She was strong, she knew that. She’d built muscle this last year, giving herself a more athletic build, better to intimidate with she thought. She’d killed for her strength. Still, this man might just be stronger.
Jealousy rose its ugly head inside of her, deflating the high she’d just achieved. She wanted to be the strongest! She wanted what he had. Maybe another night, she’d be back out trying to find him. She tried to memorize his striking features. There was the slightest bend to his wide nose. His square jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together tightly and huffed another breath. It was those eyes though, those gray eyes that sparkled in the moonlight she found most attractive. Farah wanted to swim in those eyes. Maybe one day she’d gouge them out and display them in a jar on her mantle.
“GO!” he belted.
Farah jumped when he yelled this time, trying to escape the quickly escalating thoughts that were roaring in her head. She had plans for this man, if she could find him again.
Her boots pounded into the pavement, the cloak flying up off her back as she turned into the night and ran. She peeked over her shoulder only once to see if the man had followed. Her spirit deflated when she realized he had not. Deep in her spirit though she knew that she would see him again.
Never again. She’d sworn to herself as a child, freshly after her tenth birthday. Never again would she be too weak to defend herself. Never again would she allow a grown man to overpower her. Not after it took so long for the bruises on her neck, stomach, and legs to fade. Not after she’d cried to her eldest sister about how the sensitive parts between her legs had hurt for hours and ached for days. Not after Idalia had patted her hand softly and told her that it was a lady’s place in the world to stay quiet about such sickening matters or else she’d be the one to blame.