For Queen and Country

The flat of the dagger concealed in Martin’s boot pressed against his calf. It was cold, like his fingers and his stomach. Warm bodies crowded against him, and he cringed away from them. Shivering, he watched the couple dance in the middle of the room.

It was a father and daughter, King and Princess, and their steps were well-choreographed and well-practiced, but they lacked a certain grace. A lady standing beside Martin whispered to the Lord she had arrived with, “Princess Lily is not dancing as well as usual.”

“King Gordon looks too stiff as well,” the Lord muttered back. “It’s a pity. Coming of age parties usually are so beautiful.”

The Lady sighed in sad agreement.

Martin moved away from them. He felt too constricted surrounded by nobility. He himself was a Guard, only able to attend the party because Princess Lily had requested him specifically. He didn’t know these people.

Finding a spot free of strangers, Martin breathed. He checked the great clock at the back of the room. 11:45. Why couldn’t the song end and the true party begin? The dinner before had been late and long, and then there had been introductions of possible suitors for the Princess, now that Lily was sixteen (or would be, at the stroke of midnight) and officially an adult, ready for marriage. Martin had watched the introductions closely, but the most interest Lily had shown in any of them was royal politeness, which had placated him. Still, as midnight and his task approached, his tension built.

He glanced at the clock again. Only a minute had passed. He crossed to a window, where one of the dozen Guards on duty that night was stationed. Martin glanced outside and paled in anger at the poverty beyond the castle’s walls. A thin covering of snow blanketed the streets and crumbled buildings, left decayed by the King’s high taxes. The cold flakes even covered citizens lying in alleys, not fortunate enough to be employed by the King, and therefore unable to pay for any shelter. Martin turned away from the window, glaring at the dancing King.

Keeping his gaze on the King, he muttered to the Guard beside, “Is everything in place?”

“Every Guard here is with you,” the Guard muttered back. “We will be ready.”

Martin nodded, though he didn’t relax.

“Have you told her?” the Guard whispered.

Martin shook his head, his eyes on Lily.

“Martin,” the Guard said, his expression serious under his metal cap, “she must know, or else –”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Martin hissed. “I’ll tell her. Don’t worry.”

The Guard readjusted himself in his heavy uniform. “Better do it soon. You’re running out of time.”

Disgruntled now as well as frightened, Martin left the Guard’s side, rejoining the crowd at the edge of the dance floor. The Princess and the King neared the end of their dance, their eyes on each other.

King Gordon watched his daughter with a light in his eyes, but it was not a kindly light. This light was hard, like a bolt of lightning, and Martin shuddered to look at it. He had seen that light before, and he had learned to fear it. The more he feared it, the more firmly a thought took hold in his mind. And the longer he heeded this thought, the more it turned into a conviction, which turned into a conspiracy, which turned into an action that he would complete tonight.

Except he had not told Lily.

He watched her, radiant in her golden gown, shimmering among others less divine than her, and felt like he might weep.

At last the music stopped. The father and daughter ended their dance, smiled haltingly at each other, bowed. The crowd applauded. Lily took a step back, allowing the King to take the attention of the room.

“My last dance with my daughter as a girl,” he said in a loud voice. “I invite now any wishing to dance with her as a woman to step forward.”

Martin strode onto the dance floor. A Prince on the other side of the room stepped toward Lily as well, but Martin was quick. He skirted the King, ignoring the glare from the old man’s cold eyes, and stopped before Lily even as the Prince reached her side. “May I have this dance?” Martin asked, bowing.

Lily glanced at the Prince. The Prince blinked at her, mouth open. Smiling, she took Martin’s offered hand. With a curtsy, she said, “Thank you, sir, you may.”

A breeze of murmurs swept through the guests. This first dance was meant for suitors, and Martin could never hope to marry the Princess. He was not a Prince, or even a Lord, and he was only better than the rabble from the streets because he wasn’t starving. What, the crowd wondered, was he thinking?

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Princess Lily said quietly as Martin drew her closer to himself.

“How could I not?” he whispered. The musicians began playing, and Martin began dancing, taking Lily with him. “It’s not every day a Princess becomes a woman.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why turning a certain age suddenly makes me old enough to be married. I do not feel ready for marriage just because I am now sixteen.”

“You are a Princess,” Martin reminded her, “and heiress to your father’s throne. It’s your job to produce an heir, and the sooner the better. That way if you inexplicably become corrupt, you will have a child who hopefully is more competent than you.”

Lily laughed, thinking Martin jested. “Are you calling me incompetent, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Especially where a crowd could hear us.”

“But the crowd and the music are both too loud, and no one is standing near enough to have heard. Right now, Martin, it is just you and me.”

Martin’s heart sped at her smile, and though he tried, he couldn’t stop his. For a moment, it blazed on his face and reflected off her eyes. They made each other brighter as they danced.

Martin’s smile dimmed. His breath came fast as his steps slowed, and he whispered, “Do you remember the day we met?”

“Of course,” Lily said, her expression turning serious as well. “You were the only one to comfort me when the Healers took Mother away.”

“I thought it strange the King did not go to you, or stay with the Queen when she fell so suddenly ill.”

“He was in shock,” Lily said.

“Is that what he told you?”

Lily frowned at him. “Do you have another explanation?”

Martin paused. He felt the eyes of the crowd on them and the dagger in his boot cold against his leg. He leaned forward. “Remember the eyes of the room are on you. Do not react, but just keep dancing.”

Lily stared up at him, her dark eyes wide, and Martin swallowed. Keeping his mouth close to her golden hair, he said, “That day we met I arrived early to my post because I was nervous of being late. And I saw your father, alone in the room except for myself, slip something into the Queen’s cup. Princess Lily, it wasn’t until after she drank from that cup that she fell.”

Lily faltered in her dance. Martin did not, keeping their steps in time with the music. The Princess did not pull away from Martin, did not stop moving, but her breathing quickened. “I do not like what you are inferring, sir,” she said, and there was ice in her voice. “My father may be harsh and odd, but he is not a murderer.”

“He is,” Martin said, and his voice cracked. He was hurting her, and he hated to, but he needed to. “And he cares very little about our people. He taxes them to their dying breaths, and for what? Only for himself. But you would use your power to help your subjects, not harm them. Your father harms them. He must be stopped. There is a plot I will finish at midnight.”

He swallowed, pulled Lily close as the music quickened and their feet twirled around each other. “Lily,” he whispered, “he will be killed.”

Lily stepped on his foot. Martin did not react, except to gently push her farther from himself.

The Princess stared downward, and her eyes shone. She blinked, and a tear landed on her golden skirt. “Why?” she said, voice trembling and barely audible. “You are a Guard. To protect is your job. Why are you breaking it?”

“I am not,” Martin said. He wished he could see her face, but thought maybe if he could, he would cry, as well. “I am fulfilling it. I swore not just to protect the royal family, but also to protect the kingdom. And the kingdom always comes first.”

The music slowed. The song was ending. Martin wasn’t finished speaking. He stopped dancing and grasped Lily’s shoulders, staring at her golden hair and willing her to look at him. It could be the last time she did.

“Lily,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse, “I must do this. For our kingdom. Tell me you understand.”

Lily raised her head. Her nose was red and her eyes wet, and she stared at the Guard with flashing eyes. “Martin,” she whispered, “do you love me?”

Martin’s heart nearly broke. “Yes,” he breathed. “More than the kingdom itself.”

“Then do not do this. Please. If something must be done for my country, then do something – expose him, humiliate him, I don’t care – but do not make me watch another parent die.”

Martin’s throat closed. The song ended. Dimly he heard the partyers applauding, but all he registered were Lily’s large, tearful eyes, and her words echoing in his ears, and his dagger pressing against his leg.

How could he do this to her? He couldn’t. He would do as she said.

Taking her hand, he bowed, brushing his lips against her fingers. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he said, and turned away.

The large clock chimed once. Eleven more chimes to go.

Rejoining the crowd, he watched the King.

The clock’s twelfth’s chime dissipated. When it fell silent, so did everyone else. King Gordon stood in the middle of the room, a practiced smile on his face and a glass in his hand. Lily stood against the wall behind him, a handkerchief by her eyes.

“Friends,” said the King. “Let us toast the eve of my daughter’s sixteenth birthday. May she step into adulthood with discipline and prudence.”

The crowd cheered and raised their glasses. Lily politely made a small curtsy in thanks.

As the rest of the crowd sipped their wine, Martin stepped forward, raising his voice as he stepped past the line of attendees. “And may I propose another toast,” he said.

The crowd quieted.

Martin’s heart tripped, but his voice was smooth. “To our King, and all he has done.”

Cheers.

“Including,” Martin said over the noise. The crowd hushed and turned to look at him. “Tax fraud, theft of the poorest of us, and the murder of his own wife.”

Silence in the room.

King Gordon stared blankly at him, that light back in his eyes. “Guards,” he said. “Arrest this man.”

The Guards didn’t move. They were expecting the King to be dead by now, and didn’t know what Martin was doing. Still, they would not betray him.

Martin forced himself to laugh, looking at the King. “They know what you are,” he said, “so why would they listen to you?”

He gestured to the crowd, who stared at the drama before them with large and still eyes. “And now, they know what you are, as well. They’re realizing I’m right. They’re realizing that while we feast and dance in here, there are people out there starving and dying.” He pointed out the large windows, and the nobles’ gazes followed his gesture. “You can see them from this very room, but you turn away.” Martin pointed to the King. “He turns away because he has starved them, and he will not look on his own wrongdoings.”

Martin’s hands trembled, but he gazed at the King, and the King gazed at him, and both faces were calm. “They’re realizing,” Martin said, “that the Queen’s death was mysterious, unexplained, and that you wish ill on anyone who would go against you. All you wish for is your own success.”

The King blinked, that horrid light in his eyes, and Martin turned away from him and gazed at the Lords and Ladies who stared at him with fright in their eyes. “I urge you,” he said to them, “join me in removing this crooked man from the throne. Let tomorrow bring a happier kingdom.”

No one moved. Not even the Guards. They didn’t know what to do anymore. This was not the plan. Where, they wondered, was Martin’s dagger?

When the room remained motionless, Martin’s heart dropped.

He had failed. The kingdom would not be righted, and Martin would be tried for treason.

He looked at Lily. She stared at him with large eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and turned to leave. What else could he do?

King Gordon cleared his throat. “Sir,” he called.

Martin paused. He turned.

The King slowly stepped forward. “You cannot expect to leave without any consequences after a speech like that.”

Martin swallowed. Squaring his shoulders, he said, “I will take those consequences without remorse, for my actions are for my country.”

The King nodded. His hands hid clasped behind his back. “I understand, so I find I can forgive you. To show the guests there is no ill-intent between us, let us shake hands.”

He held out a hand. Martin eyed it warily.

This was a trick. It could be nothing else. He almost grabbed his dagger, but the pleading look in Lily’s watery eyes flashed across his mind, and he grasped the King’s hand.

The King pulled him close. They were a breath apart. “Don’t make a sound,” the King hissed, and then something sharp and cold slipped into Martin’s stomach.

Martin gasped. He didn’t have to look down to know the King had stabbed him. He tried stepping away, but the King pulled him closer, into the knife.

“You are going to leave this room,” the King said into Martin’s ear, “and find a quiet place to die in, because you will die.” The knife twisted. Martin wanted to cry out, but his breath was gone. The King smiled, and if Martin couldn’t hear his words, he wouldn’t believe such words could come from such a kind face. “You’ll take the knife you have hidden on you, because I don’t doubt you have one, and if you aren’t too cowardly, you may even stab yourself again. But if you don’t, simply smearing your blood on your knife will suffice. You see, you couldn’t stand the thought of living after saying such treason, so you killed yourself. And if you don’t…”

The knife came out of Martin’s stomach. Martin sagged against the King, and the King held him close for a moment, whispering in his ear, “I’ll kill all the men who agree with you, and I will kill the Princess, who would choose you over a Prince any day. She would fight me if she knew I killed you, and I can’t have that. Yes, I’d kill even my own daughter if it means I stay King.”

He stepped back, grinning warmly. The knife he had used against Martin was hidden once more in his sleeve. Martin stumbled, his hand pressed to his wound, his eyes narrowed in hate.

Martin loved the Princess. And he loved his country. And these loves had warred in his heart for dominance, but now they were combined, for the King had threatened both.

It didn’t matter what she wanted. It mattered only what she needed. And she needed a true leader. She needed Martin to kill the man who threatened her, because then she would be free.

He reached down. He grasped his dagger.

King Gordon looked past Martin’s shoulder, his mouth wide to speak to the staring crowd.

Martin stepped forward. Blood dripped onto the marble floor. For a moment, his dagger glinted in his raised hand. Then down it came, stabbing the King in the chest.

Once for Lily.

The King stumbled, astonished. The dagger came down again.

Twice for his country.

The King held up a hand, falling to the floor. Martin and his dagger fell on top of him.

Three times for himself and his men.

The King gave a weak and strangled cry. Blood spread across the polished floor. Martin stumbled back, surprised to find himself standing. The dagger fell from his hand. He panted, hand pressed to his bleeding abdomen. There were shouts and cries all around him, but the Guards were handling it. The plan was back on track. They knew what to do again. Keeping back anyone ready to fling himself at Martin, they herded the partygoers out of the ballroom. Only one person made it past them.

Lily screamed, racing across the room and falling beside her father, weeping. Her golden dress turned scarlet as she knelt in the King’s blood. She said his name, but he didn’t hear. He had stopped existing in this world.

“How could you?” Lily screamed. She turned to Martin, tears accentuating her scowl. “You promised!”

Martin stood back, pale and sweating. “I had to,” he murmured.

Lily’s scowl turned to concern. Red dripped from Martin’s shirt. She looked down. The King’s knife had fallen out of his sleeve, red to its hilt.

“Martin?” she said, looking back up at the Guard. Her voice wavered.

Martin gave her a weak smile. His vision darkened, and he grew cold. “Long live the Queen,” he said, and fell beside the dead King and his living daughter.