EIGHT
Queen Farah
Farah had expected a long line of suitors wanting to get into her event as there would be at all of her sisters’ parties—as there had been at Sienna's—but the line still surprised her. Men stood together for blocks past the edge of the castle gates as far as she could see. The line disappeared into the distance and she wondered if there was even an end.
Only a limited number would be allowed into the castle. Farah's style was much more intimate than the other queens’. The guards had very specific instructions on what kind of men to let into the event. Attractiveness had little to do with it. She wanted someone worthy of standing next to her. Someone she hoped could be her friend one day.
Sometimes this castle got lonely. Though according to Idalia she needed someone she could control, Farah hoped for someone, longed for someone , who would match her in every way except for power.
She'd heard the way people talked about her, the way people reminded her of her beauty, several times before. Being beautiful would be the death of her. She supposed that's why there were so many suitors. She was the prettiest sister.
She knew that if she flaunted her beauty, she'd only be more targeted. Not that she had any interest in doing that anyway. A lifetime of compliments, even when she was too poor to be anything but pretty , had left her shrinking away from the lingering looks and flirty phrases.
Velvet was draped over her, cinched at her waist by a gold brooch shaped like a lion's head. The green suited her and brought out the color of her eyes. She'd asked that her hair be left down to cover her bare shoulders. The soft curls ended at the top of her dress and the tiara with fragments of King Rome's crown melted into it was nestled above the slight wisp of bangs around her eyes.
When a new suitor was let into the room they could never decide where to look when they caught their first glimpse of Farah who sat on her bone white throne. Her staff and her sister's staff had been placed on either side of her. Their eyes skipped from her dress, the bit of cleavage, the illusion of curves the cinched fabric created, her face, the crown and her staffs never knowing where to look. She leveled each of them with an apathetic stare, reserving the smirk that made men stupid for when she needed it most.
Today's venue was an intimate dinner-esque event. A long table with room for her and twenty others was adorned with a length of green garland dotted by small white flowers. The monotony of the subtle colors was broken by the stark contrast of the tall red candles and their flicking orange flames. Farah tried not to stare at them too long because it was only a fraction of time before the dripping wax started to resemble blood.
The queen sat this way for a solid hour as men were either let in or dismissed. She remained on her throne, her seat at the head of the table empty as the last of her suitors were let in. There were other empty seats as a few of the men lingered on the edge of the room to mingle. Not a single man had been brave enough to walk up to her throne and say a word to her. Spineless cowards.
Perhaps she had not been specific enough with her instructions for the type of men she wished to be allowed in. Or maybe she just elicited that much fear since she was the lesser known of her sisters. She likeed that option much better.
Appetizers were placed down the table around the candles and garland. She'd instructed the men to eat as they pleased and wine glasses were quickly drunk and re-filled. Farah inhaled the savory scent of bacon wrapped meats and seasoned vegetables all pressed together on small skewers.
She closed her eyes trying to calm the way she itched to run from the room. The single violinist she'd invited to the dinner played quietly in the corner and she forced herself to focus on that, to get lost in the swell of the music. She could feel every gaze that fell on her skin and pulled away and felt more like the centerpiece for the room than a queen.
The door closed with a thud that made the violinist pause for half a second. Farah cracked an eye at the disturbance as the music picked back up in a cheerful tune that felt foreign.
A tall wide figure straightened the lapels of his navy blue suit jacket, pulling the room’s attention to himself. The queen inhaled sharply as she stared down her nose. Thick locks hung just past the man’s shoulders. Bright eyes met hers. Two purple swollen bruises made the upper half of his face puffy. There was a thick scabbed cut across the bridge of his now crooked nose and a split in his full bottom lip. The man smiled at his queen. He weaved through the men and around the long table coming to a stop just before the throne. Those who hadn't been looking before certainly were then.
"My Queen." He gave a deep sweeping bow and the material of his jacket stretched taut over his shoulders.
Farah dipped her head but didn't speak as she watched Reed Copeland smirk and slink off into the room. He swept up a glass from the table and made his way to a group of men where he was greeted happily and said something that caused a chorus of laughter to erupt.
The queen made a point to avert her gaze. Reed was… impressive, but he was taunting her. He was a loose end that could talk about what he'd witnessed her doing outside that tavern. There was already enough flak from the citizens about the queens being too harsh, too mean, too unforgiving. What they didn't understand was that they needed to be all those things to run the country, to keep the people safe.
A member of her court, a small balding man, named Zacharias stepped up to the throne. He was often a quiet man who had reasonable advice for her though Farah often chose to ignore him. A blush crept over his cheeks as he looked her over.
"Queen Farah, all available occupancy for suitors has been filled," he said quietly between them.
Farah noticed how he looked much more put together than normal today. He'd upgraded his normal white shirt and brown trousers for a silky green shirt that matched the queen, tucked into black form fitting pants held up by a diamond studded belt. She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from smiling up at him.
"And is one of those positions filled by you?" Her clear amusement came out in the tone of her voice.
Zacharias had been a member of her court for quite some time. He was known well amongst the people in her territory and had money that had been passed down through his family for ages. He was too generous with that money, Farah had always thought. That's why people loved him.
Farah had never thought of him as a potential suitor, though now, as his blush deepened, she didn't really know why. He'd been single, as far as she knew, the entire time he'd been in her court. He'd always watched her during the small meetings they held but she assumed that was only because of her blatant beauty.
"If I may be so bold." Zacharias gave her a shy smile.
"I suppose you already have." That grin she knew she wore well split her lips and she swore she saw Zacharias shiver. She laid a hand on his bicep as she stood. "I must greet my guests."
He nodded and walked slowly backward, never taking his eyes off of her. Zacharias may have just put himself in the running for king just by being willing to come up to her. Though he was used to talking to the queen at this point.
Farah let the hem of her dress drag behind her as she made her way to the table. There was only one way she was going to make it through this party and that would be by chugging her fair share of wine. From the looks of the empty bottles that were quickly being carried out by the servants, her guests had a similar idea.
The moment the queen moved from her throne several men looked up from their conversations. She made sure to keep her back to the group Reed had seamlessly integrated into. After a moment, and half a glass of wine, a young man approached. Farah was only twenty-two but he looked hardly nineteen with his clean-shaven face and large blue eyes. His hair was a light color that looked as though it couldn't decide if it wanted to be brown or blond.
His hands shook as he approached, and there was a flush that looked almost like a rash along his neck, but he managed to speak as he leaned into the chair next to the queen. "Might I bother you for a dance?"
Her first proposition of the night. While she'd rather be holed up in her room, she knew she couldn't turn him down. So she finished her wine, set the glass down, and took his outstretched palm. She let him dance with her, forgetting his name only a few dances later as partner after partner would cut in and whisk her off to the next song that was played.
The red candles looked like candy cane stripes as she was spun and pulled back into a body she didn't recognize. Food was picked off of plates as men came and went from the table. Her skin burned from being touched so much. There was always a hand on her at all times. Fingers cupped hers. A palm on her waist. The brush of fingers by her cheeks. A grip tightening at her waist. A caress over her bare shoulder. Someone twirling her hair around their finger.
No matter the song, no matter the dance, no matter the man she was always being touched. Until she felt like she'd been lit up in a blaze of fire and smoke and her eyes burned.
A song came to a close and someone else was already making their way toward her. Queen Farah was exhausted by conversation and even more so by touch. She held up her hand as someone approached and excused herself for a drink.
Every breath worked its way down her tight throat, never quite filling her lungs the way she needed it to. Her glass, which has been filled and waiting for her, was damp with sweat and felt like ice as she cupped it in her palm. She didn't stop to drink it at the table for fear that she'd be pulled into a conversation she didn't want to have.
She held the glass tightly, kept her chin high, and made a beeline for the balcony doors. Sweat was gathering at the nape of her neck and in the bodice of her dress. She wanted a bath. She wanted to wash away all the fingerprints on her.
Heels clicking against the polished floor, she looked straight ahead. Reed turned to watch her. From her peripheral vision, Farah could recognize several of the men he spoke to as suitors who'd already asked her to dance. Introductions had become a blur so she couldn't recall names, only who she'd been the least annoyed with.
The balcony doors opened soundlessly, giving way to a fresh cool breeze that chilled the sweat on her neck. Music, flowing conversations, and boisterous laughter followed her outside like a ghost. The tart taste of wine hit her tongue and soothed the heat inside of her before she set her glass down on the ledge of the railing.
From her perch, Farah could look out to the city of Saylor. Street lamps were lit as the sunset had given way to the night. There were dots of light as far out as she could see coming through the windows of shops that remained open and even farther out homes. They mimicked the stars up in the sky that shone with no particular pattern or design.
Farah tried to breathe away the pain of the men's affections. She should want this. Wasn't it normal to want this? She cursed herself for hating this as much as she did for no matter how she tried she could never best Idalia in this aspect of life. Idalia was a people person. Crowds and attention didn't bother her in the way they bothered Farah. The only thing that would get the queen through would be knowing she had first pick over her eldest sister.
A latch clicked into place. Farah turned, almost hitting her wine glass as she spun to find the doors closed behind her and Reed leaning against them.
"Fancy meeting you here." Reed's voice was dark and heavy. His eyes reflected the silver of the moon behind Farah hypnotically.
"This is my castle." Farah gestured toward the building. It wasn't the white pristine thing Sienna had made or the over cluttered maze of halls Ambrose had created, but it was hers nonetheless.
"I'm just surprised to see you here and not in some dark alleyway." Those brilliant eyes narrowed.
Damn. She knew he recognized her. There was no way around this.
"What were you doing in some dark alley?" The queen cocked her head and set herself on the railing despite the length of the fall behind her.
"Honestly?"
Farah arched a brow waiting for him to continue.
"I stumbled from the bar not long before, made it to the alley where I puked up my guts and then passed out until I was woken by a man getting his eyeballs crushed inside of his skull."
She managed to keep her face blank even as a sliver of warmth crept into her chest at the memory. She'd enjoyed that a little too much and if she could do it all over again…well she would do it all over again.
He rubbed a hand over his knuckles as he walked up to the queen. The closer he got the better look at his bruises she was able to get. His face was nothing short of gruesome and somehow he was still handsome under all the swelling and dried blood. He stopped not even a foot away from her, his body angled to the space between her parted legs. Velvet stretched over her thighs.
"At first I thought you were a man," Reed said softly. "Then I wondered if the man had tried to hurt you first. Then I was impressed at how well you..." His throat bobbed as he struggled to find the right word. "Fought. But you kept going. Were you going to kill him?"
Maybe she'd wanted to. Maybe she'd wanted to prove that she could with her bare hands and no touch of the magic she'd gotten from the gods.Yet, she couldn't say that. Not to him or anybody else except maybe Ambrose. So the queen wrapped her hands around the edge of the rail and leaned forward, giving him a good view of her cleavage. Her beauty could be wielded like a blade and it was the most effective weapon in her collection.
Reed's eyes never left her face; he held her stare, hovering close enough she could touch him but far enough away she didn't feel as though he was about to shove her from the ledge. She gave a short laugh."I wasn't going to kill him."
His eyes pulled from her gaze only long enough to watch the slow smile stretch across her face. Reed lifted a single brow and without a word the queen knew he didn't believe her.
"Why?" His single question floated in the air between them.
Why wasn't she going to kill him? Why had she been out there? Why did she feel the need to claw her way to the top of the food chain? Why? Why? Why?
The stupid question went off like an alarm inside the queen's mind, spinning her thoughts into circles. Around and around the question went and answers came to all its variations but she couldn't speak them out loud. Reed waited in her silence.
She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. "It's how I let off steam."
Reed let out a sharp breath. An almost laugh that made the queen unsure what exactly he meant by it. She had nowhere to look but up to his face, his wide frame blocked her view of the door fully and his height had her craning her neck.
"What?" she snapped when all he did was grin.
"What would a queen need to let off steam about?" His voice lowered to a soft whisper. Reed remained where he was, but somehow, he felt closer as he stood there holding his knuckles.
Only then, when the queen glared up at him, did he let his attention wander. He studied her in a way she wasn't often studied by men. It was like he was memorizing the shape of her face, the softness of her features, or counting the hairs on her head. It was a long look that acted as though it might somehow provide him with her unspoken answers.
Only when he'd gotten his answers from her expression did his eyes finally drift down to her body. That was a quick glance, the flick of a gaze that needed to see her body language before she was falling back into the pool of his silver eyes.
Her pulse quickened. Her palms felt sweaty against the stone ledge. What did he see when he looked at her? The queen? The girl she used to be? Something in-between? Something greater or smaller? Stronger or weaker? Farah wanted to ask but instead slipped off the ledge.
Standing, there was little room between them. If they both took a large enough breath their chests would brush. She wasn't sure if she wanted that or hated the very idea.
"My job is more stressful than it must appear," she said.
"You rule with fear. Does the act take its toll on you?" Reed's face lowered, his hands digging into his pockets. Farah could smell alcohol on his breath mingling with the scent of meat. She wondered if that's what he would taste like too. His plump lips, parted on his last breath, were inviting.
He was mocking her again. A disrespect she wouldn't allow.
Farah stood as tall as she could make herself, letting every ounce of strength she had fuel her movements as she stepped into his personal space until he was leaning away from her. Even then she couldn't, wouldn't , stop.
One moment she was standing before him and in the next, she'd grabbed his thick arms turning them toward the side wall and pinning him against the brick. His muscles were thick, tense, and tight under her grip. The queen could only guess at what strength he had. Too much for his own good.
And she wanted it. All of it.
"And are you fearful of me?" Her voice dripped with venom.
His smile had disappeared, his face schooled into neutrality. "No."
Whatever tether she had on her temper was broken by this singular word. She was no longer under her own control as anger overtook her and she gave herself over to the corruption of her soul.
Reed tried to shrug out of her hold but she only tightened her grip and slammed him back against the wall once more. She swore the castle shuttered and stone cracked behind him. Her hand slid up his arm, over his shoulder, and wrapped around the thickness of his throat before she hissed,"You should be."