ENCIRCLED

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

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

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

The Heavens rumbled low and long and its tears fell in sparse, uncertain drops as the fleetest of riders galloped toward the lesser palace of Commander Zorgan.

Though the distance was not inconsiderable, the riders bent the journey upon the hidden veins of the land, through paths known to those trusted with such errands. They shaved their arrival as the timely bells tolled once and got to the palace gates.

Within moments and without delay, one of Nadezhda’s chambermaids was summoned promptly at the mention of the Commander.

Upon hearing the name of Commander Zorgan, Aida wasted no breath. She ascended the staircase like wind weaving between slender stems, rousing her Lady from a slumber which Nadezhda had cast herself deliberately in frustration- for the time had been creeping with the urgency of a royal procession in mourning.

It was the King’s Natal Feast- an event two-thirds of the realm stirred with, which meant that all of Valcresh knew.

Nadezhda could not imagine Zorgan absent from the celebration, yet he had not returned, and without him, she did not wish to present herself.

Moments passed, drawn out and heavy before Nadezhda descended the stairs. Her bearing was reluctant, though no less noble. The messengers awaited her below, their posture respectful.

When she reached them, they dipped into bows. When they rose, one came forward to speak the tidings they had carried.

‘‘You would have me believe,’’ Nadezhda said, voice dry with disbelief, ‘‘that Prince Zorgan- the very one considered to be one of the Realm’s most feared and revered Commander, is in danger, and that I- small as I may be- am the chosen one to rescue him?’’ Her gaze did not waver, nor did her tone rise.

‘‘Yes Princess,’’ the messenger replied curtly.

A soft, incredulous sound escaped her lips as she couldn’t stop the laughter even if she wanted to.

She touched her chest with mock astonishment and tilted her head back, thoroughly amused.

When her eyes returned to the room, with tiny drops of tears hanging at the corners of her eyes, she realized the guards still lingered before her.

She folded her arms across her chest and drew in a breath to compose herself. ‘‘Very well,’’ she said, descending from her brief mirth, “is he bound and hanging by one foot from the ceiling, swinging and being gawked at like some grand display?

Or has he become the bullseye of a knife-thrower’s sport?

Give me something more than riddles and your duty.’’

The colours of the Kingdom adorned the messengers’ cloaks and that was the sole reason she hadn’t had them dismissed and escorted out.

Feasts of Kings were no stranger to twisted jests, and she refused to stumble blindly into a trap meant for her. And she knew how this could be the perfect bait for something crude.

‘‘I beg your forgiveness, My Lady,’’ the messenger said with a bow. “But I am not permitted to speak further on the matter.’’

She gave a graceful nod.

“Then you may return from where you came.

The rains grow heavier, and I happen to relish such weather. My chambers await, safe journey.’’

And with that she turned from them, ascending the stairs with grace and calm.

Encircled by guards, as the laughter of the feast echoed distantly and the sky wept in gathering sorrow, Zorgan stood still.

The rain, faint at first, deepened with every breath and Zorgan knew Nadezhda would not trust the message sent to her.

He could not blame her in the slightest.

The words were thin, hollow things that lacked weight and truth and she was not the sort of person who would blindly follow a call. She was no fool, she was too clever for that, too careful.

Especially not one that claimed her husband, Commander or not, was in danger in a palace where his father, the King, and his other family members presided over.

It might have worked on someone else. Not Nadezhda. Never Nadezhda.

More importantly, there was no love between them- not enough to move a mountain, certainly not enough to move her through the rain.

Zorgan knew that those who plotted this were unaware of a few things but were vast in the knowledge of Nadezhda’s heart towards him.

‘Well planned. Properly executed!’

Prince San’s voice cut through the room like a lazy dagger. ‘‘Please guide my brother close to his… pretend-cell,’’

His smile was that of a rose that pricked with its thorns, and obediently, the guards adjusted their circle, drawing Zorgan closer to the edge of the balcony. Behind him loomed that tiny space, open, cold, and to Zorgan, appeared vast.

To others, it was a stone-ledge, but to him, it was a constant memory.

The last time he had braved his senses and casually stepped on the balcony with some of his brothers, he had nearly drowned in his own breath. His lungs had turned to sand; his heart had faltered, sweat had covered him like a second skin, and invisible, impenetrable walls painted with his brother’s blood had closed him in.

His parents had known and they had not been pleased. Weakness, they had said, was unbecoming of a King.

Just as Zardan had been told to stop being ill, as though the Heavens would listen and undo what fate had written.

His brothers and the King’s wives had laughed.

Bloody shone their royal sets of teeth in joy!

That was the day he had carved and maintained his decision never again to sleep within the palace walls.

Now, he had no idea what would happen to him this day as a drop of sweat trickled from his neck and lost its way into his back.

Again, Prince San’s voice cut through. Again, another step was taken back.

Now only two remained.

Nadezhda paused in her ascent up the stairs.

She spoke over her shoulders, the rain catching in her ears like a warning: ‘‘Tell me, what will become of the Commander?

Will he be hung, speared in the gut, beheaded?’’

She sighed.

‘‘Or shall this remain a secret as well?’’

The riders that had turned to leave, turned back once more as the other responded.

‘‘No, My Lady. Nothing so grave.’’

She nodded, lifting her foot once more.

‘‘He is to be placed in a pretend-cell, no more than that.’’

She halted. ‘‘Pretend-cell? Why not simply place him in a real one?’’

The man replied gently, ‘‘It is merely a harmless jest, My Lady.

He will be locked on the balcony- briefly. That’s all.’’

A sudden sound filled her ears as the word ‘balcony’ struck like lightning. Her heart kicked.

‘‘The- the balcony?’’ she repeated, descending with urgency.

‘‘What do you mean by placed on a balcony?’’

The one who had just spoken stammered as the princess approached like she wanted to reach out to the end of his tongue and pull out his answer.

“Just that, my Lady. He will be led there, and the doors will be locked behind-”

‘‘Who devised such cruelty?

Who planned this?’’ she snapped, interrupting him, her grey eyes judging and glinting like forged steel.

‘‘The Master of Revels for the night, the Sixth Prince of Valcresh,’’ the rider admitted quickly. ‘‘Prince San’’

Nadezhda’s jaw clenched, and her cool olive skin turned warm with burning fury.

‘‘Wait here,’’ she commanded. ‘‘We leave together.’’

She turned and raced up the stairs, her thoughts a jumble of parchment and memory: ‘‘I loathe balconies.

For it was through one I lost Zardan forever.”

Within moments, she had cast her robe and donned the nearest gown- a flowing violet piece, soft-shouldered and unadorned but noble in bearing, clasped at the waist with a braided sash of silver thread.

She was about to leave when her eyes landed on a forgotten item on the wall and she claimed it without hesitation. She reached for her bow and strapped her quiver across her back.

She caught her reflection in the mirror of her vanity: raven-coloured hair loose and cascading behind her, face bare and fury burning in her eyes.

‘‘I hope you wait for me, Zorgan’’

Despite the rain, the roads and paths of Valcresh shimmered with a form of illumination.

In honour of the King, most streets had been lined with oil lanterns casting a warm glow that danced due to the rain.

It made it easier for Nadezhda to be led by the two riders and the men were surprised at how she kept pace with their galloping mounts, and even when they reined back, she nearly surged ahead of them.

The lanterns lit the way, her heart pounded with every gallop, and the rain felt sharp on her skin but not enough to make her slow or halt.