9. Lack of Control
Chapter nine
Lack of Control
“ Y our plan failed.” Asta Maleen, Queen of Torrelin, stated as she stood before her husband’s, the king, ornate desk, and he did his best to ignore her.
“You should have dealt with her when you had the chance,” she continued, undeterred by her husband’s lack of interest, but her persistence paid off. King Emerson threw the documents he had been reading to his desk, the edges blackened and smoking.
“To what exactly are you referring, dear?”
“Solveig, of course, she failed to kill that boy.” Asta’s hands shook as she tossed a note on his desk. Her cheeks flushed with rising anger as she continued, “Better still, she helped him to escape, killing three guards, three elemental guards, in the process.” Emerson rubbed at his eyes, leaning back in his chair, disregarding the note completely.
“And where is she now? I’m assuming you know, since you appear to be well versed in our daughters’ dealings.” He eyed her expectantly.
“Where do you think?” Asta spat, “with those untrustworthy, unfit rulers in Farrenhold. They’ve permitted her to claim asylum there. According to Commander Sellen, they’re refusing to hand her over. Even with the offer of a full pardon for their brother on the table.”
That was when the king finally took note of his wife’s words, his eyes flashing to hers in less than a heartbeat. “You. Did. What,” he seethed.
“I did what I judged to be necessary.”
Emerson stood from his chair, bracing his hands on his desk, staring his wife down. “You have no authority to grant pardons. Remember your place in this court, wife. ”
Asta ignored his thinly veiled threat as she continued haughtily, “Solveig must be recalled. It was foolish to have her stay away for this long. How will it look if this gets out?”
“Solveig will return to us. I have no doubt of that.” Wisps of smoke drifted around the king’s arms as the papers beneath his hands burned. Asta shook her head at yet another display of his failing control.
“You were wrong last time. What makes you sure now?” She placed her own hands atop the desk, water pooling around their hands as she smothered his flames. She leaned into his space. “Perhaps it’s time that Killian took over. You’re losing your grip, my love.” Emerson’s hand shot out, grasping her neck. He yanked her towards him as she clawed at his hands, desperate to draw in air. Only fear lay in the queen’s eyes now, as she realised how easily she’d fallen into his trap.
“That boy knows nothing of making difficult choices, never mind leading a country.” He loosened his grip just enough to allow Asta the opportunity to speak, her voice coarse from her swollen throat.
“Neither do you.” She gasped, “The difficult choice was to have Solveig dealt with months ago and you allowed her to live. You chose wrong.” She refused to back down, even in the face of her erratic husband.
A sneer grew across his face as his grip tightened around her throat again. “Solveig will return to Torrelin. She will come back to the fold, and she will re-enter the roll we planned for her. You needn’t worry about such things. It is not your place.” Flame licked across her neck from where his hand gripped her, though he kept the temperature bearable. For now. “I am sure there are better things you could be doing than trying to play king through me.”
Emerson released his hold on her neck suddenly and she fell to the ground before his desk, landing atop the glass table in the centre of an old rug. It shattered around her; the shards slicing her exposed skin. A hand flew to her throat as she desperately sucked in precious air. Hatred leaked from every pore.
“You forget who I am,” she croaked, moving to stand. “Who I was before I married you.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Emerson mused, retaking his seat. “Who you were simply ceased to be of consequence once you married a king. To be clear, your place was to be a pretty feature at my side. To provide me with a suitable heir, and right now, I’m not convinced that you have succeeded in either of those jobs.”
“How dare—”
“How dare I!” the king roared, sending the papers before him scattering across the room fully alight with blue flame now. “I AM KING! You were the daughter of a penniless lord, with questionable parentage of the female line. I was merely too distracted by your other assets to worry about it, as I should have. An oversight that will not be repeated, I assure you. Learn your place in this court, my queen.” He drew a scorching ring of fire around his wife’s form. One that threatened to singe her clothes, burn her skin and suffocate her lungs if he dared draw it tighter around her. “Or I will find you a place outside of it. How would you like to be an acolyte of the temple? I hear the most devout amongst them take their vow of silence so seriously that they ensure its permanence, through slitting their tongues and sewing their mouths. Whatever it takes to shut you up for good.”
The ring of flame extinguished, Asta was dismissed. Rage burned in her blood; she was not the type of woman to take orders from men. She was born to be a ruler amongst women. Bloodthirsty and power-hungry, she had eyed a marriage with the king for all the opportunities it could afford her. But she had failed to understand how difficult it would be to ensure he would do her bidding.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said saccharinely as she bowed before him, appearing every inch the subservient queen. “Might I suggest a cup of tea to ease the stress I have needlessly brought upon you?”
“Do whatever you wish,” he muttered without even sparing her a glance. “Your flights of fancy during the daylight hours are of no concern to me.”
The Queen of Torrelin held her head high. Biting back a retort that would surely see her thrown in the dungeons beneath the castle for a night or two. Bowing low once more instead, before exiting the office. She headed straight to her own wing, in the heart of the castle. Climbing the stairs to her private kitchen a level below her tearoom, she brewed up a steaming pot of the king’s favourite tea. A special recipe passed down from her mother. She found he always was more agreeable after a soul warming cup of the specialised blend.