A SHIFT

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

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

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

Prince Commander Zorgan's Palace, Valcresh, The South,

Nadezhda stepped out of her room, stifling a mighty yawn with her hand- only to freeze the moment she noticed him.

‘‘Morning wife,’’ Zorgan greeted, his tone light as he subtly slid the crumpled item back into Dorian’s hand.

Colour surged to her ears before she could stop it. Aida, leading the ladies-in-waiting up the stairs, caught the flush with great interest.

‘‘Morning husband,’’ she replied, composed but visibly flustered.

Zorgan smiled- wide, radiant, toothy, and unguarded. It made her chest flutter.

She felt as though she might take flight… or vanish through the floor.

This wasn’t a teasing grin, nor one laced with games. He was genuinely pleased to see her.

‘And I… I’m pleased to see you too,’ she realized surprised by the warmth blossoming inside her.

But this realization nearly stole her breath.

It unsettled her so completely that she decided that a physician’s counsel was utterly necessary this ‘fine’ morning.

Zorgan took a step closer, drawn by a compelling need.

‘‘It’s a fine morning for breakfast in the garden.

What do you… think?’’ he asked, the last word faltering as he noticed her instinctively take a step back.

His brow furrowed. Something had changed in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t say what.

Nadezhda planted her feet and cleared her throat, trying to steady herself.

She placed her hands on her hips, a silent reminder to herself that she remained the formidable, unyielding woman she had always been.

‘‘Breakfast… in the garden…’’ she said, glancing sidelong at Dorian whose hopeful expression was nearly endearing.

From the edge of her vision, she caught the barely contained cheers of her chambermaids.

‘‘Yes.’’ Her voice came like the strike of a bell.

Zorgan’s smile unfurled again- broad and warm.

‘‘But do ensure to look the part,’’ she added, her eyes sweeping over his tousled hair and the haphazard robe draped across his frame – clearly an afterthought in his haste.

‘And thus, the cycle begins anew,’ Zorgan mused puzzled at the shift.

‘What transgression have I committed before the day has properly begun?’

She turned on her heel and swept back into her room, the echo of her retreat softened only by the scurry of maids behind her.

She inhaled deeply, eyes closed, as the taste of regret coated her tongue. She exhaled sharply.

Regret stirred softly and foreign, it took a turn and stirred again.

She opened her eyes quickly, sharply exhaling as if to banish it.

‘No. No, absolutely not. Why would I feel remorse?

This is our norm, this is what we do. It’s similar to how we breathe at this point…’

She scowled at her thoughtfulness.

‘It’s only because of last night. That…softness. It’s residual. It means nothing. My conscience is merely… disoriented. He’s made of armour, a bloody Commander of the South.’

Still, part of her whispered otherwise, and she shut it down with the strength of her will.

She opened the door with deliberate force as if by force alone she could silence the part of her that whispered a new softness because of him... for him.

But she would rather turn into a pig and become the first pig to sprout wings and take to the sky than suddenly choose to indulge in this newness. Whatever vulnerable thing had stirred in her- she would smother it.

Her maids were unusually quiet as they worked on her. No gossip. No playful banter.

Their touches were swift, their motions brisk and mechanical.

When Astrid took to massaging her shoulder, Nadezhda could have sworn the girl was trying to knead her flesh off.

‘‘What is this oppressive silence? Do speak, if you have anything to say.’’ Nadezhda snapped, pulling her arm away.

Astrid crossed her arms, a stance of youthful defiance and Nadezhda mirrored it, raising a brow.

‘‘I know my opinion means little,’’ Astrid said, ‘‘but no heads will roll if you show the Prince Commander a hint of kindness.’’

Nadezhda blinked once.

Then she turned to Aida and Camille whose stares echoed the same sentiment. Their expressions read: ‘You went too far.’

She felt chided and she understood. But…

With a smirk, she lifted her chin.

‘‘Once, I slept in the main palace, and the next day, my hair was tended by some ladies-in-waiting.

It looked finer than all the time you three have fussed over it.’’

They gasped, stunned as if slapped.

She rose from the tub with regal poise and a victorious smirk playing on her lips.

Although, she felt far from victorious. She felt worse than when she had slipped into the washroom earlier.

To the quiet shock of her ladies, Nadezhda stepped into the icy blue gown they had chosen- willingly, wordlessly. Ordinarily, she would have slipped into it, caught sight of the modest neckline’s daring hint of cleavage, and cast it aside with a snort.

But today, she said nothing.

Too stunned to question her, they quietly sat her before the mirror, fingers swift and skilled as they parted her hair and wove it into a simple yet regal coil- loose tendrils left to frame her face, softening her ever-sharp gaze.

When they finished, she surveyed herself in the mirror. She was satisfied- more than satisfied, even more so than the pampering she had received at the famed hands in the main palace.

But she offered no praise, biting back the words as they threatened to rise.

‘We have been together for a while, and it should be normal that they support me.

And yet they throw their support behind Zorgan.

They must have fallen under the enchantment of that smile.

That smile of his- blazing, beguiling- he’s charming them all.’

She straightened. ‘No. That smile is not charming. And it isn’t sweet. It’s a weapon, a weapon of deceit.’

As promised, she joined Zorgan in the garden. The air was crisp, scented faintly with dew and lavender.

Zorgan’s eyes found her instantly and as she approached, his gaze locked on her with unnerving intensity.

She nearly missed her step. Nervously and slightly feeling a particular tinge of disliked pressure, she clapped her hands once, loudly, hoping to break the spell his eyes cast upon her figure.

He quickly bit into a slice of apple, the crunch hard and sharp. His gaze had darkened- part fury, part hunger. A hunger the best of meals wouldn’t satisfy.

She settled on a chair, trying to seem polished and unruffled.

‘‘You looked ready to cast me into a pit with those eyes,’’ she muttered, reaching for an apple of her own.

Her fingers brushed his just as he reached again.

Zorgan immediately let go of his apple and made a show of dusting his hands. His jaw tightened.

Nadezhda took a too-large bite in defiance and nearly choked.

‘‘You can’t blame me-” he began, intending to say something real, true. Something that might seem dangerous. Something like, ‘When you look that good’.

But what came out was, “-when you look exactly like you did mere moments ago.’’

Moments ago when her hair and appearance had even been worse than his.

She gasped. ‘‘You’re a terrible man.’’

‘’And you,’’ he replied, standing sharply, ‘’are no better.’’

He dabbed at his lips, turned, and walked away.

As he passed the maids approaching with breakfast, he raised his voice with deliberate clarity:

‘‘Take it to my room. The air out here has turned… stale.’’

Nadezhda’s fury could have scorched the earth.

‘‘And mine too!’’ she called after him. “Please send it to my chambers. Something in the atmosphere is gifted at ruining moods!’’

He didn’t stop or turn to spare her a glance.

A few moments later when he reached the threshold, ready to make for the main palace to discuss Tavrodel’s troubling reports, he caught sight of the physician – someone Nadezhda had summoned while she was preparing for the day.

The man was bowing low as Zorgan approached, ‘’Who do you seek, physician?’’

The physician straightened; his voice respectful.

‘‘I’ve been summoned by Princess Nadezhda. She has requested my immediate presence.’’

Zorgan’s heart skipped- his brows furrowed as concern bubbled up fiercely.

‘‘Then go to her at once.’’

He found himself moving alongside the physician, his mind racing.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ he thought, his steps quickening with apprehension. He nearly seized and lifted the man by his robes just to hasten him.