SIX
Queen Farah
The next morning Farah woke up hungry. Not for a hearty meal but for the idea that the man who’d stopped her had given her. Her thoughts churned as she tried to make some sort of plan in her head. First, she’d have to find him again. To do that she’d have to leave the castle…
Outside the castle, there was a plethora of potential issues, including but not limited to the Fae that had already torn through Queen Sienna’s castle. She recognized now how foolish it had been to go out without guard last night. Her mind had been fogged with the need to destroy someone, to be stronger than her opponent, and to continue to prove to herself that she was no longer the victim but the predator.
Guards were positioned at nearly every corner, their watchful eyes avoiding looking directly at the queen as she tore down the hall. The material of her long slender gown, a lovely blush color, rippled with every movement she made. The silk clung to her frame which wasn’t near as shapely as her younger sister’s had been.
She opted to skip breakfast as she was fueled only with the plans she was currently forming. Her staff swung at her side; she refused to let its end brush against the ground as she moved through her castle. Sienna’s staff stayed locked in the safe in her room.
The hallways were bare of art. A clean slate that she’d never bothered to decorate. There was something pleasant about feeling as if her space was clean and free of clutter that her other sisters didn’t quite understand.
Of course, she had things she’d fancied sitting out at one time or another, like the statue the girl had been cleaning last night. Farah passed it as she made her way to the exit. It was a little gold figure of a woman, some long forgotten goddess she assumed, seeing as there was a god and goddess for every mundane thing. Some were bound to be lost to collective memory. What remained special about the statue was that the woman didn’t look like anyone else she knew. She was muscular, similarly to the man who’d stopped her last night, and she held an ox over her head. A triumphant smile brightened her features.
Farah gave the statue a good pat before she reached the end of the hall and thrust the doors wide open. Grunts greeted her before the whispers did. The clouds that had blotted out the moon last night were gone, leaving the sky a crisp morning blue. The smell of fresh blooms mingled with the heady scent of sweat as the lineup of men that had gathered in the castle courtyard all stopped to bow. She swept herself down the few steps making her way to Bethra, the woman who led her guard.
Bethra was shorter than Farah by a good five inches but what she lacked in height she made up with enthusiasm. Farah was certain Bethra enjoyed a good beat down as much as she did. The queen had gone against the wishes of her sister as she’d chosen a woman to lead her guard. Farah wasn’t threatened in the least by the stocky head guard with chin length brown hair. It was clear Bethra had spent the morning in the sun as her white skin was turning pink along her cheeks and reddening where her skin was elsewhere exposed. Farah noted the slight streaks of gray that poked through Bethra’s hair and wondered, for the very first time, how old the woman was.
There was a long line of men that extended from the small square of grass that had been blocked off by nothing more than wooden training swords that had been laid down. Bethra stood on the edge of the makeshift ring and shouted out orders and cheered when one man landed a particularly good blow.
Farah’s fingers curled into her palms, the longing to be out there to join them became a weight on her heart. Mindfully, she clasped her hands in front of her as she came to a stop next to Bethra. Look like a queen. Act like a queen.
“Good morning.” Her head guard dipped her chin. “Have you come to get a good look at our prospects?”
“Indeed,” Farah said, squinting into the sun. “Any favorites?”
“There are quite a few men that have shown good skills. Per your orders, we’ll be accepting as many men as are capable onto the guard.”
“Perfect. Send the best to train with the soldiers.”
With the Fae, Farah had to double her guard, but she wanted to also add to the army. She had a feeling she and her sisters would be needing them to defend their borders. As one man brought another to his knees the fight was ended. The queen slid her gaze to the waiting line where a new competitor was escorted to the ring.
“Yes, of course,” Bethra agreed.
“And I’ll instruct the warlocks to increase their production of grimoires to sell throughout Pasia. Any extra funds received from that endeavor I will funnel into the care and training of our elite guards and warriors.”
Bethra gave a slight smile, her fingers pulling at the end of her sleeve—a thread that didn’t even exist. The queen shuffled. A fine dusting of dirt clung to her heels and the hem of her dress. Finally, Bethra spoke to whatever thoughts were plaguing her.
“How is Queen Sienna?”
Surprise formed a knot in Farah’s throat, though she should have expected at least some questions. She offered Bethra her own polite grin. “From what I hear she is well. Off celebrating her new king somewhere in the countryside. She’d kept the location secret from even me.” She added a wink.
“It was truly devastating to hear about her castle.” There was a lingering question behind the statement.
What happened? Everyone wanted to know how and why the castle had fallen. Yet the public couldn’t handle the truth, so the hardship of its secret would be kept by the queens.
“A shame,” Farah said slowly. “It was a beautiful castle.”
Her head guard stared up at her for a while longer, waiting and hopeful for further explanation. Farah only pursed her lips and stared straight ahead. Farah stayed like this for some time next to Bethra, watching men fight and smiling anytime someone cried out in pain. She crossed her arms over her chest and pushed her weight into one hip. The wooden stick of her staff sat lightly against her body, the waters in the globe rocked gently with her mild mood.
Another man was swept out of the ring nursing a swollen lip. A new prospect walked into the center and gave a quick bow. Locks of black hair were swept up into a small ponytail, the shortest strands near his face sparkled with hints of gold.
Shock struck the queen like lighting. Her eyes narrowed as she tried not to let her interest show so vividly on her face. The man, this man that stood before her and Bethra, met her stare with keen interest that showed in the slightest uptick of his lips. Had his skin not been so dark she might have been able to make out a blush along his cheeks but instead, she could sense, or perhaps she’d hoped, that if he recognized her, he was embarrassed.
The queen found it quite ironic that the man who had stopped her from pummeling some unfaithful man into the ground was now trying out as one of her guards. She shouldn’t have let him get a look at her. She should have been more careful. If he was wise though, he’d keep his mouth shut and not breathe a word of her presence on the streets of Saylor last night.
“Name?” Bethra called.
“Reed Copeland,” he said back, a single brow arching as he looked slowly from the head guard to the queen. Reed gave a deep sweeping bow. “What an honor it is to have one of our beautiful queens here to witness my audition for guardsman. The most stunning of the four if I remember correctly.”
It was three now, though they didn’t need to know that.
Farah snorted, bringing her empty hand up to her mouth as she chewed on her thumbnail. Her grip on the staff had tightened and the waves crashed against the glass just a little bit harder.
“Age,” Bethra bit out, not impressed with his attempts at flattery.
“Twenty-four.”
Farah dropped her hand from her mouth and folded her arms over her chest again. He was an impressive specimen at his age, she could admit. Farah was only twenty-two and she wondered if two more years would give her strength like he had if she continued to practice.
“Very well. You enter the ring.” Bethra pointed a finger at one of her guards who stepped forward cracking his knuckles. She gave little warning to either before she shouted, “FIGHT!”
The two moved into motion easily. They became a beautiful choreographed dance of strikes and blocks that even surprised Farah. However, the fight didn’t last long before Reed landed one solid blow to his opponent’s temple. The guard’s face jerked to his right, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and his body crumpling to a heap on the grass. Applause from the surrounding men erupted before the guard’s body fully hit the ground with a thump.
Bertha looked up at the queen with a smile that suggested she was impressed. “Potential soldier material?”
Farah gave a dry laugh. “Give him two guards to fight off this time,” she whispered as Reed helped his opponent, who was starting to come back to, gently to his feet.
“Go again, Copeland.” Bethra nodded. “You two.”
Two of the large guards stepped into the ring, sizing Reed up as he looked at them with a nervous chuckle that sent a thrill of excitement through Farah that settled between her legs.
“Fight!” Farah yelled before Bethra could get it out. She was too eager to see Reed fall, too excited to find some sort of weakness.
Both guards lunged for Reed who ducked and weaved through their arms. He moved a little slower now, though every punch he landed still stunned the men he was fighting for a few seconds. The loose red shirt he wore darkened to crimson as sweat seeped into the fabric.
Farah never blinked as she took in every swing, miss, and strike. One of the guards fell. Reed pushed his limp body away with his boot before he spun and flung his hand into the other guard’s gut and a loud crack echoed. The guard let out a long wheeze before he held his ribcage and knelt to the ground.
“Another victory!” Bethra commended.
Farah was impressed, even if that feeling was buried deep down under the ick of her jealousy. Reed had to fall. One way or another Farah would see that he did.
“Another round,” the queen barked. Reed and several other gazes snapped suddenly to hers. If it had been anyone else, they’d already be packing their bags to join the queens’ army. “Three men this time,” she commanded.
Bethra sighed but that was the only sign she gave that she didn’t agree with the queen. She waved three more guards forward. Reed shook out his arms as he stepped in a slow circle while the guards surrounded him. In the next breath, Bethra was shouting for the fight to begin and all three guards lunged.
To the queen’s surprise, he was still able to give the first guard—whose hands had been far too low to protect his face, Farah would have to mention that to Bethra—a solid swing that sent his body hurtling backward. Reed’s strength had not wavered but his speed was certainly the issue as the other two men swept him up in their grip. They held Reed between them with wicked laughter at their triumph.
The third man rose, rubbing at his chin and growling under his breath. Farah’s heartbeat slammed inside of her chest. She took a small step forward. A single fist met Reed’s jaws. Then another to his ribcage, a mockery of the punch that Reed himself had landed earlier. The guard jabbed Reed’s face and there was a crunch as his nose broke and blood poured out.
With a shudder, Reed sagged in the guards’ arms. It wasn’t good enough. The guard turned to look at the queen, his victorious smile fell as she shook her head and said, “Hit him again.” A punch landed against Reed’s solar plexus leaving him coughing. Blood splattered from where it fell over his mouth. Reed spit into the dirt.
“Again,” Farah said. Bethra shuffled next to her.
The guard struck.
“ Again .”
Blood appeared over Reed’s eyebrow, oozing into his eyes. He wobbled between the guards but took a shuddering breath and lifted his head to glare at the queen.
“Again!” she bellowed as the guard hesitated.
The locks of hair that sat around Reed’s face had dampened with sweat and blood. The gold didn’t shine as brightly. He grunted as another fist found his middle.
“Again.” Farah repeated this process over and over, the guard looking at her questioning between each one. “I will tell you when you’re done!” Water slammed against the globe of her staff now.
Reed was hovering on the edge of consciousness but his silver-gray eyes remained fixed on her in challenge. She couldn’t let him win. He wouldn’t.
The guard flooded Reed with strike after strike. Farah didn’t stop him even when Bethra whispered a warning that Reed could very well die. Only when his shoulders slumped, and his head lulled to the side did Farah call out to the guard.
Turning to the Bethra, Farah tried to hide the way she smiled much like the small statue with the woman holding the ox did. “He is not fit for the guard or army. When he wakes up, dismiss him.”
With that one command and the sense of her ultimate victory swelling inside her, Farah escorted herself inside for brunch.