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It’s from the queen, who requests a meeting with me in the throne room.
Something about the way the fae guards take note of the covered windows in the hall tells me I don’t have much of a choice.
I’m notsure what I was expecting from the queen’s throne room. Probably a looming space akin to my dungeon cell, just cleaner and without streaks of dust lining every surface in the room. The rank of mildew absent. A looming throne instead of a menacing dais.
But when I arrive in the throne room, I’m struck with the sudden urge to suck in a breath.
Even I can admit the throne room is magnificent.
Its vaulted ceilings bubble with carved stone arches, each beset with scenes of battles of beasts with threatening fangs and silvery-painted fur.
The entire room has a greenish aura about it, and I realize windows have been cut into the ceiling, allowing the light of the aurora to waft into the vast chamber.
It seems I could have waited out the sunset.
Cutting across the floor is a serpentine river of ice that eddies out near the throne, giving the illusion of a spiderweb cast across the floor. The surface of the ice reflects the greenish light, causing it to cast its eerily beautiful rays of light across the entire room.
The throne itself looks to be made of silver, with snowflakes smattering its shining facade.
Upon it sits the queen atop a pillow red as blood, the only contrast to the light flooding the room.
She glows with the very radiance of the night sky, and once again I’m struck by her unnatural beauty.
The striking bit isn’t as much admiration as it is curiosity, and for the first time I wonder if the queen’s face is truly hers. If it’s the face she’s always borne.
The fae have this annoying tendency to be perfectly symmetrical, but there’s something about the queen’s face that…well, isn’t.
I never noticed it before, not with my human eyesight, but her left eye is the slightest bit wider than the right, her nose just barely crooked to the side.
It has me wondering if all of the fae are this way, and I simply lacked the faculties to realize it before I Turned.
I suppose this isn’t the sort of thing I should be concerning myself with as I face the female I’m certain is about to end me.
But if this is the end, I suppose considering the facial structure of the fae is just as useful a topic as any.
“My dear. You received my message then,” the queen says as I approach. I have to navigate multiple sections of the winding river to draw near to the queen, but as I cross the ice, my feet don’t threaten to slip.
Whether that’s due to the nature of the queen’s magically crafted ice or my newly discovered command over my body, I’m not sure.
“Youdidhave it delivered by the hands of your best guards,” I say.
The queen’s eyes flicker with annoyance, but other than that, she doesn’t show much reaction. Her back has been rigidly plastered to the back of her throne since I’ve arrived, her hands placed neatly upon the edges of the handrests.
I bet that’s how she sits all the time.
My shoulders slouch instinctively just thinking about it.
“I see your Turning hasn’t robbed you of your excellent manners,” says the queen, her pale cheekbones highlighted in the light floating down like stardust from the ceiling.
“I see your immortality hasn’t kept you from developing knots in your shoulders,” I launch right back, though there’s no spite in the words. Only cruel boredom.
I’ve survived only days of my immortality, and I’m already bored by it.
What an excellent start.
“My son has grown fond of you,” says the queen, changing the subject, I suppose.
I fight back the urge to wince, the little critter of guilt crawling around in my chest. “I’m not so sure that’s the case any longer,” I try to say with little feeling. It’s much easier than it should be.
