FERAL

I am not a queen because I rule. I rule because I am THE QUEEN.

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

***********************

‘‘I was pinned to the dining table, trapped beneath a circle of questions and hungry stares. Their faces loomed, demanding answers I couldn’t hold back. My body wasn’t mine- it moved because they willed it.

There was grime under my skin, a hollowness in my chest, and a storm in my head I couldn’t quiet-”

It appeared that Nadezhda had momentarily lost awareness of Zorgan’s presence, as her words spilled forth- her mouth wasn’t just speaking, it was bleeding.

‘‘There was a hand. That hand…it- it violated the moment in a different way. First it rested on my shoulder.

Then it moved, slowly but deliberately, until it reached my- my che-” She heaved a hot breath, not completing the statement.

‘‘I don’t even remember how I got to that bed the next morning. I must have passed out.

I had to act like none of it stuck, like it was all gone from my head. That was torture.

Then we went back to that table. Food, same faces, wine, and I couldn’t look at the wine. I chewed and swallowed the bitterness I was harbouring. They beamed at me, playing the part of the kin-”

Unable to listen anymore, Zorgan suddenly stood up from where he was seated across the room, where he was beginning to turn to one with the darkness that was starting to fall.

Nadezhda blinked rapidly in his direction, as if just remembering she wasn’t alone.

Recognizing him, she let out a breath. ‘‘That’s…all there is to tell about Dragon’’, she said softly, followed by a chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘‘That’s all’’ She repeated when his silence prevailed.

‘‘Rest now. I’ll see to your meal’’, Zorgan said and she slipped beneath the blanket.

He stood a moment, then left, too heavy to move closer. His steps took him to the kitchen, where he found her chambermaids with the kitchen staff. Everyone almost bolted at the sight of him, the wild madness in his eyes was brewing, steaming…

‘‘Take her meal to her, see that she eats and that she takes the Physician’s curatives’’

And then he was gone, mounted on his fastest horse. No coat. No gloves.

The wind slashed at his skin, but it couldn’t cut deeper than the cut from Nadezhda’s words. He couldn’t think at all.

He could only feel. Feel the tight coil in his back, the sting in his eyes, the taste of ash on his tongue and the pounding madness in his veins.

To many, it would have seemed of little consequence. But not to him. He understood- at least in part- what Nadezhda must have felt.

She had almost always had only herself, lived her life reliant on none but herself.

That reality struck him most as she walked alone on their wedding day, without escort or companion.

She wasn’t used to doing things that would involve the help of another and so on that table, she hadn’t called for help and had expectations of herself.

Yet, she still couldn’t save herself.

He knew what they had given her- a cruel concoction meant for cutthroats and spies. They were convinced she had hidden motives. That her marriage was no accident, but a calculated move in Isoloth’s quiet war for power in the South.

The frost clung to him as he made his way- through winding shortcuts, grand boulevards, crowded high streets, forgotten lone streets and one lone valley.

The golden gate of Valcresh’s Palace came into view at the end of the capital’s grandest high street.

Dusk was cloaking the walls of Valcresh and the soldiers stationed at the gates, walls and towers failed to recognize him and drew their arms. But as soon as they realized who he was, they retreated and let him through- something in him now commanded more than recognition.

Their Prince bore no smile, none of the lightness he was known for.

Tonight, there was no warmth, no signature grin.

The dining chamber was alive with whispers as Royals gathered for supper, waiting on their Queen’s arrival. Then the doors opened…and Zorgan walked in.

He moved like a shadow cast across the hall, his eyes drifting over the royals with unsettling calm.

They stared, startled to see him- stunned not just by his early return, but by the weight he carried in his silence. Without ceremony, he lowered himself into the seat Nadezhda had been on.

Poured wine. Drank.

Evadne rose, smiling. “Well this is unexpected. Dining with us tonight, Commander?’’

Prince Mael shot him a glance, bitter and wary. Zorgan seemed not to notice either of them as he poured more wine and emptied another goblet, droplets falling on his white shirt.

They all shifted uncomfortably on their seats.

Then the Queen entered. She stopped mid-step.

‘‘Son-” She called, joyfully taken aback by his presence. Then he looked at her and joy died in his reflection. She visibly flinched.

Zorgan stood, the scrape of his chair on the marble, like a blade drawn.

Coldly, he spoke,

‘‘My wife…she sat in this space just days ago.

If you weren’t here when she was, then you have no place in this room. Leave.’’

Breaths held. Hearts pounding. No one moved. The silence stretched.

‘‘Then it’s decided’’ he said, voice like ice.

No one expected what came next. In one swift motion, he seized the chair he was sitting on and crashed it into the nearest Prince.

Chaos erupted.

Screams pierced the air as royals scattered from the table. He hurled another Prince, lifting him effortlessly and slamming him into the dining table with a deafening crash. Then he picked the seat that one had been sitting on and slammed it on the face of another prince.

‘‘Zorgan’’ Queen Maeve shouted to stop him, but he couldn’t hear her or anything else. His senses drowned in a crimson haze, his blood surged with the primal urge to spill theirs.

‘‘Guards! Guards!’’ The frantic cries of the Princesses and King’s wives rang out, but no aid arrived.

Before his entrance, Zorgan had ordered the guards to summon the royal physicians. They were baffled but they had followed his command.

Three princes lunged at him, determined to overpower him. Zorgan grabbed one by his neckpiece, slamming his forehead into the Prince’s nose. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the room as Prince San collapsed, blood streaming from his face.

The second prince sheathed a small knife and swung it towards Zorgan. He ducked beneath it, lifting the prince and throwing him toward where the princesses and King’s wives except Queen Maeve, were huddled and shrieking. They scattered, some falling as the prince collided with them.

His hair cascaded over his face like a dark veil as he stretched his back, rolled his shoulders, muscles rippling beneath his skin in anticipation.

With a predatory gaze, he squared off against the remaining princes and the bloodied ones who had managed to rise. One by one, blow after blow landed- faces caved in, arms snapped, and bodies crumpled.

Some strikes were met with resistance but his rage was a tempest that drowned their efforts. His path led him toward Prince Mael, who stood protectively before Queen Maeve.

At that moment, guards and soldiers flooded the chamber. ‘‘Take him to his knees’’ Queen Maeve commanded, a decree of finality.

They held his arms to his back as he struggled to break free. There was about six of them and yet he tried to pull from them. The madness of his emotions glazed in his eyes as he looked at his mother.

Raging, he shouted, ‘‘the lot of you had no right to lay a hand on her, to even think of encircling her.

You hurt my wife. Mother, my wife!’’

He shook off the men and shoved others aside, his anger far from quenched. But more surged in to restrain him and began to pull him down.

His teeth found the flesh of one, drawing blood, and he refused to let go, even as he struggled to break free.

Tattered shirt, bloodied teeth…feral countenance.

Two soldiers struck him thrice with the hilts of their swords, the blows landing hard at the back of his head before he finally went still.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

The Queen especially, was visibly shaken.