Chapter 423: The Queen’s Failed Attempt

Chapter 422: The Queen’s Failed Attempt

Minutes passed after Lyria’s departure.

The Queen remained seated upon her chair, her hands gripping the armrests with such force that her knuckles had gone entirely white. Her countenance, composed throughout the Princess’s visit, now twisted with fury.

"Cease," she said.

Her voice was low, yet it carried through the chamber. Most of the guards heard her and paused at once, their whips falling still at their sides. One, however, positioned at the far end, did not.

His whip fell again.

The woman he struck cried out, a raw and broken sound that echoed off the stone walls. The Queen’s head turned sharply towards him.

"I said cease," she repeated, her voice raised higher still. "It is finished. Let them go."

The guard heard her at last. He froze, his eyes wide with sudden fear, and lowered his whip immediately, bowing his head and murmuring some apology which the Queen did not deign to acknowledge. She merely turned from him, her jaw set tight.

A man who had stood beside the Queen spoke up. He was dressed apart from the other guards, his bearing marking him as one of rank among them. He bowed to her now from where he stood.

"Your Majesty," he said.

The Queen did not look upon him.

"Bryson," she said, her voice clipped.

"Are you quite certain these people ought to be set free?" He asked her.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed.

"Do you presume to question me?"

Bryson did not flinch.

"I do not presume so, Your Majesty. But His Majesty the King gave orders that these people be examined by torture, given the suspicion of treason against them. I ask only whether, the instructions being as they are, we ought to take the liberty of releasing them before we have obtained the answers we seek."

The Queen laughed, though it held no mirth whatsoever, and the sound echoed through the chamber, causing certain of the guards to shift uneasily.

"Look upon them," she said, gesturing towards the commoners. "Do you truly suppose that persons such as these could be engaged in treason? Persons who cannot so much as feed themselves? Who have no patron, no sponsor, no soul to speak upon their behalf?"

Bryson regarded the commoners a moment. They appeared malnourished, broken, and utterly spent.

"I cannot be certain, Your Majesty," he said at last. "But one ought not judge a book merely by its cover."

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned somewhat towards him, lowering her voice that only he might hear it.

"The only reason you continue to walk the palace halls with your head held high, Bryson, is that the King has granted you a position at his side. Do not question my authority. These filthy creatures have no part whatsoever in whatever treason presently stirs within this kingdom," she said. "Had they any part in it, they should have surrendered everything already."

Bryson’s brow furrowed slightly.

"Then why—"

"The purpose of this spectacle," the Queen interrupted, her voice sharp, "did not achieve what I had intended. That is all you need know of the matter."

Bryson’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing further.

The Queen turned to the remaining guards.

"See this chamber restored," she said. "I wish it returned to its former, pristine condition."

Then, addressing the commoners, she said:

"I offer my apologies for the misinformation given the Crown, and for the manner in which you have been treated. You were brought here to confirm what the Second Princess told us, though even upon her arrival, she did nothing whatsoever to aid you. You may blame no one but her for it."

The commoners exchanged glances, but said nothing. The Queen did not wait upon any reply. She rose from her chair and walked towards the door, her steps swift, her countenance still twisted with fury.

The moment she had passed beyond the threshold, her composure shattered entirely.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she walked briskly up the stairs, her heels striking sharply against the stone. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts.

She had believed she had discovered another means of wounding the wretched creature.

She had believed she should see fear upon that face — desperation, a scrambling for words, some frantic effort to save those she held dear. She had imagined the pleasure of watching her beg, of watching her break entirely, of watching her comprehend, at last, her own utter powerlessness.

But there had been nothing.

Nothing whatsoever.

The spawn had shown not the least sign of fear or distress. Her countenance had remained blank as though carved from stone itself.

Had she wept — had she pleaded, had she fallen to her knees — the Queen should have delighted in it exceedingly. She should have prolonged the punishment merely to watch her suffer further still. She should have compelled her to witness the whip fall again and again, to hear every scream, to feel each lash as though upon her own flesh.

But there had been nothing.

Scarcely two days had passed since the spawn had stood before her within these very chambers, vulnerable and afraid. How, then, had she altered so? How had she grown so composed in so brief a span?

Perhaps she had merely been playing at vulnerability that night. Perhaps the whole of it had been performance.

Yes. It could be nothing else. It must be so. The Queen liked this notion not at all.

She could not punish the spawn’s mother further. She had already withheld what little medicine she permitted the woman. There remained no means of withholding more without risking the woman’s death outright and should the mother die, she should lose her hold upon the spawn entirely.

Then there remained the matter of the King.

She must face him presently. He had enquired of her, upon numerous occasions, whether she was certain of this scheme. He had questioned her judgement, questioned her very methods. And now, should he learn how wretchedly her plans had failed, how utterly they had come to nothing... she feared to imagine what he might do to her.

He had struck her before. He would strike her again. He might do worse besides.

No. She would not dwell upon that.

At the least, she had turned the commoners against the wretch. Yes, they should have someone now to blame for their misfortune. It was the spawn, after all, who had placed them in this circumstance. It was she who had spoken out at the arena, who had drawn attention upon them, who had made of them targets.

It was she who had, in effect, declared them party to treason.

Yes. That much, at least, was acceptable. Some small compensation for all she had lost this day.

---

The guards set to their work with haste.

The commoners were unchained and dragged from the chamber, their wounds yet bleeding, their bodies weak and trembling. Some could not walk at all, and had to be carried. Others stumbled along, leaning one upon another for support.

But contrary to what the Queen believed, they held no blame against the Princess.

It was plain enough to them who had caused their suffering.

And what the Queen did not know besides was this: that a plot did truly exist. Treason was, in fact, being planned.

And the most unsuspecting among these very commoners, whom the Queen had pronounced worthless, held a part in it.