GAMES OR WAR (I)

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

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

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

That day, a joiner was not found.

After her bath that lasted for a good while, Nadezhda had sent some male servants to get a good one.

A few moments after their departure, Dorian went after them with a ‘discreet message.’

They had returned a required time later with the sad news that no joiner could be found.

Perhaps it was the flicker of pain that overtook her earlier fury, the weight of an apology pressed upon Zorgan.

Or perhaps the quieter truth he refused to acknowledge – to be close enough to feel her touch again- but he was the architect behind the absence of the joiners Nadezhda needed for.

That evening Nadezhda sat across Zorgan for dinner. Her head bowed over her meal and she ate beyond her usual restraint.

Zorgan barely touched his food, his mind turning over the right words for an apology. All day they had stayed apart – or rather, she had kept away from him- and now the distance between them was cold.

Without waiting for him, she went to his bed and arranged the pillows as she had the night before.

When Zorgan finally joined her, he was alarmed at how precariously close she was to the edge.

Drawing a steadying breath, he ran one hand through his hair and placed the other over his torso.

‘‘Earlier,’’ he began softly, his voice above a whisper, ‘‘I spoke in haste to soothe your confusion, it must have come out wrongly. I-”

‘‘You-” Nadezhda interrupted, ‘‘have nothing to apologize for, Zorgan’’ she replied, her voice gentle.

His name, stripped of the formality of his thoroughly earned titles from her lips, caused a welcoming tightness in his chest.

He turned onto his side to study the curve of her back, wishing he could see her face.

‘‘I carry the weight of old memories,’’ she confessed.

“I am no longer a child, will never be one again, and should have moved on from certain things, but I-”

Her breath caught, and she focused on the fire that danced before them, its light flickering like the beautiful shadows of her memories with her mother. When she lost her on that field, she lost everything.

Zorgan felt his heartache, wishing to reach out, to touch her in comfort, but instead, he spoke without thinking.

‘‘You can be a child with me.’’

The words fell from his lips before he realized their weight, and he immediately tried to retract them.

‘‘I didn’t mean-”

Nadezhda turned to him then, a playful smile curving her lips and the air between them shifted. ‘‘What is this Prince Commander?

You want me to be a child? Are you one?’’

He shrugged, grinning., ‘‘Now you speak.

I can be a child… for you’’

She stilled, then blinked twice and Zorgan feared he had gone too far. Laughing nervously, he added, “I was only teasing. Besides, I’ll outplay you in any child’s game.”

Nadezhda scoffed. ‘‘You’re awfully bold,’’ she said. ‘‘I was the sort who created my own games, made my own rules, and kept going long after tiredness came.

I’ll easily surpass you here, commander or not.’’

A glimpse of her lonely past broke through her bright confidence and Zorgan consumed it like he should have done with his meal earlier.

‘Dear Rebel, you had no one to share those games with…’

‘‘How about before breakfast, we put it to the test?’’ he suggested.

“Let me teach you the dangers of overconfidence.’’

Nadezhda propped herself up on one elbow, studying him.

His heart hammered.

‘She’s going to say no. She’s going to say no’

‘‘I accept,’’ she said, a spark in her eyes.

“And when I win, you must do everything I say until you depart again for war.’’

Both understood her hidden meaning – that she wanted to know when she would be left alone again, free from his presence.

Freedom for her was the absence of anyone who posed a threat to the choices she desired for every moment of her life.

‘‘And if I win,’’ Zorgan countered, ‘‘you must obey my wishes for a day.’’

‘‘Agreed,’’ she replied as she extended her elbow, and he hooked his with hers in the ancient pact of sealing an agreement.

They both turned back to the fire, each of them silently preparing for the games ahead, excitement bubbling in their chests.

Hours later, they tossed their blankets off in perfect synchrony. ‘‘Morning, Rebel,’’ Zorgan greeted, casually heading to the bathroom.

‘‘I don’t speak to my enemies, especially not right before I teach them some valuable hard truths about life’’ Nadezhda replied, halting to address him.

‘Valuable hard truths?’ Zorgan thought.

‘‘You’re not my enemy,’’ Zorgan said, turning to face her.

“Your problem. Well, you’re mine.’’

Zorgan’s grin stretched and Nadezhda eyed him. ‘I’m yours?,’’ he repeated and she caught the shift in his words.

‘‘You’re maddening,’’ she said as she rolled her eyes even as a pink hue crept across her ears.

“Don’t bother trying to be charming. It’s falling flat, Dragon, and I’m still taking you down.’’

‘‘As long as you’re with me, I’m happy to go down, wherever you want,’’ Zorgan repeated smoothly, the glint in his eyes making it clear he was enjoying every moment of her discomfort.

‘‘You-! You’re the worst kind of man there is,’’ she snapped, spinning around and pulling the door open with exaggerated force.

‘‘That insult’s getting stale,’’ Zorgan called after her. ‘‘You should try working more on your verbal arsenal.’’

She didn’t respond.

‘I’m not just going to barely win you.

I’m going to come out victorious and make this day your most memorable day.’

Maidservants and male servants sprinted about as they brought Nadezhda and Zorgan’s numerous requested objects under the opened heavens.

Some of the guards could not help but remember the day the couple were coming to Valcresh after their wedding.

The couple’s fierce competition on horseback had left their Lady needing time to overcome the ordeal and it was a miracle she had not fallen sick.

When all was ready, Zorgan and the servants watched Nadezhda draw close with her chambermaids.

She was dressed in a green and black velvety gown, her hair packed and stylishly wrapped in a way that wouldn’t come falling no matter how rigorous their games get and one side of her face was smeared with red ochre, making her look fiercer.

The grey eye on that side of her face appeared to possess the power to pierce and tear through anything.

Zorgan was astounded.

He was and remains a Commander in many wars, but this one seemed to be the most intentional one he had to win.

When she was standing before him, with all seriousness strapped in place, Zorgan smiled.

‘‘My dear Rebel, it seems you mean to win me thoroughly’’ Zorgan said.

‘‘Heavens joy for finally meeting this understanding.

Shall we begin?’’