In Times To Come

“Your mother?’ I burst out.

Ben sat motionless at the table. His eyes were focused straight ahead, but I knew he wasn’t seeing anything in front of him, at least, not anything in this moment.

“Have they gone insane?” asked Zarek. He didn’t sound as angry as I had expected; his voice sounded more worn out, exasperated.

How could the Council have done such a thing? Lady Cheryl was the late King’s-my father’s-first wife. She was the one who wasn’t faithful and was eventually sent away. Even when she came back to rule as queen again the people rejected her. Why did they possibly think she could be any sort of good role model? But worst of all, she was the same woman who might have had a direct hand in the murder of my parents. Something like that; how could I live with a woman like her?

“I can’t allow this,” said Benjamin quietly.

“But what can we do about it?” It was more of a statement than a question. Zarek knew that there was nothing we could do.

There was another knock on the door.

“Your Highness?” This time it was a maid.

“What is it?” asked Ben from his seat.

The maid could obviously tell she wasn’t welcome inside. “Dinner is ready, Your Highness,” she said through the door.

“Thank you,” was all Ben said back. None of us moved for the door or looked at it, for that matter.

“I’m not hungry,” I said before flopping back down on the bed.

“What happened the last time you didn’t eat?” reminded Zarek.

My mind raced back to the recent incident where I was stuck in bed with a case of Lentis poisoning.

“That was different,” I argued. “I doubt you’re hungry either.” He had nothing to say after that.

Benjamin finally got up out of his chair. “I’m headed to bed,” was all that he said before leaving the room. Zarek and I watched him go. This situation must have been just as awful for him as it was for me, probably even more so.

Zarek retreated to his quarters shortly after my brother. Left by myself in the spacious room, I felt a little lonely. I doubted that sleep would come to me easily this night.

It took two days for the late Queen to reach the castle gates from her mansion in the vast plains of the West. The days we spent waiting for her were almost as torturous as the day she arrived.

The whole palace was lined up outside the front doors. The army was at attention, lined up and down the long road that lead from the gate to the stairs. The maids and butlers were also lining the walls of the castle. Zarek, the Prince, and I were standing on the stairs.

We watched the carriage draw ever closer. The white horses that pulled the late Queen were almost as majestic as I expected her to be. It inched along the road at a speed that made me want to jump off the stairs and run to it, just so I could get this over with. But even had I resolved to walk down and meet her, I doubt my body would have obeyed.

Even as she drew near, I could not see within her carriage. I could just imagine the Lady staring out the small window, scrutinizing every detail about us.

The horses stamped their feet and came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. A small man jumped off the back of the carriage and shuffled to its door. After laying down a small stool, he opened the door and carefully reached inside. He seemed almost hesitant to do his job; as if, once his hand disappeared into the confines of the buggy, he would withdraw it and have one finger less than he started with. But there was no shriek of pain on his part and, instead of a giant viper or hungry tiger nibbling on his appendages, a pale hand protruded from the carriage.

Thick golden rings adorned every finger and the fingers themselves were as white as the snowy powder that lingered on the ground. The hand gave way to a slender arm and as the lady drew forth an audible gasp of awe escaped from the lines of men and women.

She was the very depiction of beauty and elegance; or, so she appeared. She stepped out of the carriage with such a grace that should have been outlawed for the use in such a trivial of action. Her delicate body was hugged with a velvet dress of lush green that would have made any living tree hide its pitifully colored leaves in shame. White lace fringed the edges of her gown and blended with the porcelain of her skin. With red lips slightly parted, she looked up at the three of us standing on the stairs; we were like fish caught on a hook and being taken to the fire.

A quick glance was all we got before she turned her attention back to the carriage. I didn’t expect the Lady to step aside for one other figure. It was obvious that the elf that followed was her son. He had many of the same features as Ben, but this man looked all the more like his mother. Golden waves of hair fell to his shoulders, but were cut short and the back pulled into a small ponytail. He was as pale as his mother; the light of the winter sun reflecting off his marble skin. But where the Lady’s feminine features would have been had he been a woman, was the distinct outline of a man’s finely toned chest and slim hips. He was all at once beautiful and robust; two such opposite characteristics in perfect harmony. Also, unlike Ben were the emerald eyes that mimicked his mother’s.

Not a soul moved from their positions. A hush like death hung over us all, for even with beauty of the purest degree, there was no hiding the vicious aura that followed the pair as they ascended the stairs.

Side by side, they stepped onto the small landing where the three of us stood motionless. The Lady Cheryl reached out her hand toward her prince son and he took it, but just barely; touching only the tips of her fingers.

“Welcome,” he said in such a way that you knew it meant the opposite of what was normally implied with the word.

“It has been a long time,” she said with a small, almost sinister, smile. Her light voice paired with her majestic manner had the power to render Ben speechless.

The Lady withdrew her hand and, skipping Zarek entirely, reached out to me. I did as Ben had done; taking her hand politely in my own. Her fingers were like ice. It might have been the cold of the winter air, but it felt more like the coldness that came from within the hearts of wicked men. The contrast between us was so great I shivered in her presence.

A chilling wind picked up and encircled our small party. It was almost as if the bitter cold was giving them the welcome we had denied them.

“Shall we enter?” It was the first that Zarek had spoken. He seemed less affected by the two, but I couldn’t help but notice the distant tone his voice had adopted.

This time, Lady Cheryl extended her hand to Zarek and the two followed Benjamin up the last portion of stair to the door.

I could feel the cold even before we made contact. I caught my breath when his slender arm entangled with mine.

“Allow me,” said her son. He looked down at me with a seemingly more sincere smile than his mother, but almost as chilling. Something told me he was just a better actor.