Chapter 4: The Queen’s Table

The Queen’s Table

The lock turned shortly after the floating crystals shifted from deep crimson to a colder, pale red—marking the artificial dawn of the citadel.

Commander Thalira entered without ceremony. In her arms she carried folded clothing: a long-sleeved dress of dark charcoal silk, simple in cut, high at the neck, with no embroidery or ornament. It was elegant only in its severity. The kind of garment meant to be seen by one person alone.

“Dress,” Thalira said.

Elara sat on the edge of the bed, black sheets still clutched around her naked body. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut from crying, the blue of her irises dulled and red-rimmed. She did not move at first.

Thalira’s grey gaze hardened. “The Queen requires your presence at her table. You will not appear before her like a discarded whore. Dress. Or I will dress you myself.”

Slowly, mechanically, Elara rose. The sheets fell away. She took the clothing with trembling hands and pulled it on. The fabric was cool and smooth against her skin, covering her from throat to wrists to ankles. It should have felt like protection. It felt like another kind of claim.

Thalira fastened the last clasp at the back of her neck, then stepped aside.

“Walk.”

The corridors were long and dimly lit. Elara’s bare feet made almost no sound on the black stone. As they descended a wide spiral stair, faint noises began to rise from the levels below—soft at first, then clearer in the pauses between their footsteps.

A woman’s broken sob.

A pleading voice, too muffled to make out words.

A sharp, pained cry quickly cut off.

Then low, rhythmic sounds that made Elara’s stomach twist.

She faltered. Thalira’s hand closed around her upper arm, forcing her onward.

“Keep walking,” the commander said, voice flat. “Those are not your concern.”

Elara’s skin prickled. She did not fully understand what she was hearing, but something primitive in her recognized the shape of suffering. Her swollen eyes stung with fresh tears she refused to let fall.

The dining hall was a long chamber of dark stone and blood-red glass. A single table of polished blackwood stretched beneath floating lights. Queen Lilith sat at its head, already dressed in a gown of deep wine silk, crimson hair loosely bound. To her right sat Nyx, shoulders slightly tense, black hair falling forward as if she wished to hide behind it.

Elara was guided to the empty place at Lilith’s left.

Lilith’s red eyes moved over her slowly, taking in the modest dress, the ruined state of her face, the way she held herself.

“Sit.”

Elara sat.

For a time the only sounds were the soft clink of utensils and the distant, almost imaginary echoes from below. Elara kept her gaze fixed on the untouched food before her. She could feel Nyx’s presence like a brand. Against her will, her eyes flicked sideways.

Nyx was already watching her.

The moment their gazes met, Nyx looked away too quickly, a faint flush rising along her throat. Her fingers tightened around her cup.

Lilith noticed.

She set down her fork with deliberate care and turned her head toward her sister.

“You seem… unsettled this morning, Nyx. Almost nervous.”

Nyx’s shoulders stiffened. “What? No. Of course not, sister. Why would I be?”

Lilith’s gaze lingered a second longer, unreadable. Then she looked back to Elara.

Nyx seized the shift in attention. “Why is she eating with us?” she asked, voice a little too sharp. “She’s a prisoner. A human. Why is she at your table?”

Lilith picked up her goblet, swirling the dark liquid inside. “Because she is mine. And I wished to look at what belongs to me while I break my fast.”

Elara’s head lifted. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse but clear.

“I don’t belong to you.”

The words fell into the hall like stones into still water.

Thalira, standing near the wall, took a step forward, silver braid swinging. Her grey eyes burned.

“You dare—” Her voice cracked like a whip. “This disrespect cannot be tolerated, my Queen. Allow me to send her below where she belongs. A few nights among the common stock will teach her the value of the mercy you have shown.”

Lilith did not even turn her head.

“Step back, Commander.”

Thalira froze.

“And leave us.”

The silence that followed was brittle. Thalira’s jaw worked once. Then she bowed, stiff and shallow.

“As you command.”

She turned on her heel and strode out. The doors closed behind her with more force than necessary. In the corridor beyond, her gloved hands curled into fists.

Why her?

Why does the Queen waste such patience on that broken little light while I—

I will see that whore broken properly. One way or another.

Inside the hall, Lilith finally looked at Elara. Her expression had cooled into something far more dangerous than anger.

“You sit at my table,” she said quietly, “in front of my sister and my commander, and you tell me you belong to no one. You shame me with your defiance.”

Elara’s hands trembled in her lap, but she forced the words out.

“I’m not trying to shame anyone. I’m telling the truth. I don’t belong to you. I never will. Just… let me go.”

Lilith laughed.

It was a soft, rich sound, almost beautiful, and it chilled Elara to the bone.

“Let you go?” Lilith leaned forward slightly. “Your power is sealed. Your sacred sword is sealed and buried. Where exactly do you think you would run, little hero? Back to the humans who sold you? You are weak now. Soft. Pretty. Do you know what human men do to pretty, powerless things like you? They would pass you around until there was nothing left worth claiming. Hundreds of them. Thousands, if the mood took them. They would use every part of you and leave what remained in a ditch.”

Elara’s face went bloodless. The words struck harder than any blow. For a moment she could not breathe. The image Lilith painted bloomed behind her eyes in nauseating detail.

Lilith watched the damage land, then sat back.

“Guards.”

Two armored figures stepped from the shadows near the doors.

“Return her to her chamber. Lock it. See that she is prepared for me this evening. She has tested my patience enough for one morning.”

The guards took Elara by the arms. She did not resist. Tears were already sliding down her cheeks again, silent and helpless. As they pulled her from the chair, her legs nearly gave out.

The doors closed behind them.

Lilith picked up her goblet once more and drank. After a moment she spoke without looking at her sister.

“She watched you with unusual fear. Why?”

Nyx kept her eyes on the table. “She fears everyone here, sister. Not only me.”

A pause.

Then, hesitantly, almost too softly:

“Sister… did you… last night… with her—?”

Lilith’s goblet met the table with a sharp sound.

“Do not,” she said, voice suddenly cold and precise, “ever ask me that again.”

Nyx’s mouth snapped shut. She nodded quickly.

“Of course. Forgive me.”

Inside her chest, relief and hunger twisted together until she could barely tell them apart.

Not yet, she thought, staring at the place where Elara had sat.

But one day. One day when my sister’s back is turned long enough… I will have her. I will make that crying little hero taste every part of me while she sobs.

Lilith’s crimson eyes drifted toward the doors through which Elara had been taken.

“Evening will come soon enough,” she murmured, almost to herself. “We will see how much defiance remains when the lights grow dark again.”