Tears From a Queen

The high queen of Blackmoor was an implacable woman. As cold and immovable as the stone fortress she resided in.

Having ascended the throne at the tender age of sixteen, she was now a firmly established ruler of thirty. The things she had seen and done were terrible, but my people saw her acts of bloodshed a small price to pay for the comfort and security said acts brought them. And so the entire land was held in her sway. 

I knew this well, for I had been taught about her my whole life. Taught and trained to know her every like and dislike, as a proper lady-in-waiting should be. I was not born from noble stock, but for some reason she had chosen me to serve her regardless. By the time I was fourteen, I was able to know from a glance what meal she would prefer that night for dinner, or which dress she would choose to wear the next day. For all of this, though, there was one thing I had never learned: what moved my queen. 

It made sense, I told myself. After all, she had to cultivate an air of frigid superiority or else her competitors would think her weak. Still, I had been in her service for six years and I had never seen her eyes so much as mist over. Not even when her only child had passed away three years ago. She had locked herself in her rooms for two days and emerged as icy and unreachable as ever. “

Fira!” Her sharp tone drew me back into the moment, and I was confronted by her piercing stare. I had been daydreaming. 

“Apologies, my queen.” I hastily bowed.  

She huffed, turning back to her mirror, “Place this one around my neck.” 

A beautiful string of ebony pearls interlaced with peridot was clenched in her olive hand. Quickly, I took it from her, clasping it around her swan-like neck. Her long, dark hair brushed my fingers as I pulled away. “It looks magnificent on you.” 

Yet in spite of my compliment, her expression was sour. I had never seen her as troubled as she seemed today, save perhaps when her daughter had-- then it hit me: today was the anniversary of her daughter’s passing. The day when, one year ago, the young Nadia had succumbed to the Scarlet Plague that had devastated our land. 

Despite my sudden understanding, I had no idea what to do with the information. However, a desire burned within me. One I had carried with me for a long, long time. The wish to comfort the queen. The wish, perhaps, to be allowed inside the thick walls she had erected around herself. 

“My queen?” I was taking an enormous risk, for talking to her out of turn was forbidden. 

She knew it as well. The air nearly crackled with her ire. To my relief, however, she responded with a clipped, “Yes?” 

“I…” I hadn’t really planned on this, and so I floundered for words, “Are you… alright?” It hadn’t come out right, and in the silence that followed I was certain that I was to be ordered straight to the gallows.  

“Why do you ask?” Another unexpected reply. I had even less of an idea where to go with it.

“It’s just… I know what day this is. I- I lost my mother when I was seven but I always-- always remember. Every year, exactly which day it was. So I thought-- I mean, I was worried…” I let the sentence fall dead between us, for she had risen from her seat to face me. Her expression was rigid, her high cheekbones uncharacteristically flushed beneath her eyes. Her eyes, the same green as the shards of sea glass I collected on the shoreline as a child. Now, those eyes were so bright. 

Wet. 

The shock nearly stunned me speechless. Even more stunning was the way those eyes danced with tears. They filled to the brim, spilling over onto her long black lashes until a single perfect teardrop broke away, gently trickling down her cheek. On instinct, I reached up to brush it away. 

Her normally harsh voice was uncharacteristically soft, “You worry for me?” 

“Of course I do.” I didn’t have to think about that. She closed her eyes, two more perfect tears skimming her cheeks, caressing her jawline before dropping silently onto her bodice. Slowly, her rigid mask began to crack, her full scarlet lips curling against the pressure of what needed to come out. Her throat bobbed once, and that was all I needed to commit a truly blasphemous act: I hugged her. 

To my surprise, instead of shoving me back and composing herself, her arms drew me in. I felt the weight of her head on my shoulder and the hot, humid air of the first sob that escaped her. I knew better than to speak now.  

Her bosom rose and fell in ragged sobs against mine, and I felt her hot tears soak through my dress. As I held her closer, her sobs deepened and elongated into tremulous wails that she barely managed to muffle in my shoulder. At last, she pulled away, and a rush of heat swept through me at the sight of her shining face, so covered with tears that no single tracks could be distinguished.

She gasped like a drowning woman coming up for water, and her next words stunned me: “You foolish girl! Look what you made me do!” 

“I- I’m sorry!” I stammered, fearing for my life, but what she said next surprised me even more. 

“Don’t waste your time dawdling!” She snapped, “Fetch a handkerchief and dry my tears!” 

Trembling, I rushed to comply with her demand, still flustered from our closeness. I found a delicate handkerchief of black lace in her nightstand, unfolding it as I approached her. It was amazing how imperious she could look with wet, swollen eyes and a face soaked with freshly shed tears. 

Reaching up, I began to gently wipe the moisture away, sneaking my fingers past the hankie to feel it for myself. After all, I had never seen my queen weep before and was unlikely to ever see it again. Best to savor it as much as possible while I could. All the while, she turned her face so that I could dab every last tear away, even taking my hand at one point and directing it to her eyes.

“Don’t you dare leave a drop. I won’t have the rest of my staff knowing I wept!” 

When at last she was satisfied that I had removed all traces of her vulnerability, she irritably tapped her cheek with a perfectly manicured nail, “Now kiss me here!” 

Awed, I pecked her cheek, just under her left eye, staring into its still-moist depths for just a second before backing away. 

“Very good.” She sniffed. Then, as if it were an afterthought, she added, “Thank you.” 

“Of course, my queen.” 

She seemed to think about this a moment, “When we are alone, you may call me Isolda.” 

My heart leapt, but I managed to keep my voice steady, “Of course… Isolda.” 

“You are very much like her.” Isolda’s tone was wistful. “My Nadia.” 

It was an immense compliment, especially coming from her. I basked in it like a cat in a pool of sunlight. “Thank you!” 

She waved me off. “Next time, I will instruct you to keep your pathos to yourself unless I call upon you. Understood?” I nodded. “Good, you are dismissed. And Fira?” 

“Yes?” 

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, your life is forfeit. Understood?” 

I almost smiled at the blush that had crawled up her cheeks, but that would have been foolhardy. Instead, I simply agreed, “Understood.”
 

Last edited by DiamondTears (May 13, 2020 11:54 pm)