The Queen

My village is long gone, reduced to ashes that the wind has long since scattered. My sanity fled the year my child would have turned seventy, leaving behind a hollow shell that echoes with memories. How does one deal with being ageless when everything tethering you to life vanishes in the blink of a battered and bruised eye? You don’t. You survive because the curse demands it. But I refuse to merely exist. There is only one thing that keeps me moving forward now—the purpose that drives my every breath, every motion. But that purpose remains locked deep within me, hidden behind a mask of compliance.

My smile is chiseled in place as I watch him glide across the room like a phantom. His movements are fluid, every step a dance of grace and authority. The candlelight flickers across his pale skin, making him seem almost ethereal, a being untouched by the darkness that claws at my insides. His life’s vision, so meticulously crafted, is now complete. His people adore him; they whisper and gasp as he pays each person within arm's reach a personalized compliment.

“Lord Diagine, it’s wonderful to see you back.”

“Madam Kar, your visit to the new tailor has paid off beautifully.”

The King’s voice is a smooth purr, each word carefully chosen to delight his subjects. He grants each of them the compliment he senses they crave, his tone dripping with honeyed charm. They feel loved, seen, and understood. It is only I who sees him weaving his magic, turning them into simpering fools.

He takes his time making his way to the throne, relishing the adoration that follows him like a shadow. But I focus on the others—the ones who stand on the outskirts of the room, shrouded in the cool darkness where the light of his charm does not reach. These are the people who don’t swoon at his every word, who don’t beg for his scraps of empty praise. They are the worthy ones, the ones who are no longer under his spell. Their eyes are sharp, their expressions guarded, as if they suspect that not everything is as it seems. They are the ones who come to me, seeking understanding, solace in the shadows.

My frozen smile is unwavering as I watch him take his place on the throne. His people adore him, but their adoration is shallow, a mere reflection of the power he exudes. My thoughts remain my own, locked away from his prying eyes.

"My Queen," his voice intrudes on my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I blink, the King has stopped beside me, his fangs glinting in the low light, his expression a sickening mix of concern and condescension. The cold, metallic scent of his presence fills the air, mingling with the heavy perfumes and the faint, sweet aroma of blood that always lingers in these halls. “Are you well? Do you wish to be excused from the proceedings?”

"I am well, my King," I reply, my voice smooth as velvet, though laced with a practiced sweetness. I bat my eyelashes at him, a gesture he takes as demure compliance, and he gives me a slight nod, satisfied, before turning away to sit on his throne. My stomach churns at the words—my King—but I force myself to keep the smile in place. I have played this role for centuries, and I will continue to play it, until the time is right.

A maid rushes forward, her hands trembling as she kneels before her King, holding out a roll of parchment. She does not look upon him, for that is forbidden. She is human. Pure human, and terrified, as she should be. Her skin is pale, her eyes wide, and I can hear her heartbeat—rapid, frantic, a drumbeat of fear that echoes in my ears. All the pure vampires track every tremble, their hunger ignited by the anxiety rushing through her veins.

The King lightly takes the parchment from the girl, his fingers brushing against the paper with an almost dismissive grace. He does not spare her a glance, believing that by ignoring the human maids, he will encourage his people to do the same. But he is so very wrong.

I see the flood of blood-red eyes tracking her as she skitters out of the room. Her retreat is swift, like a rabbit fleeing a pack of wolves. I, too, watch her, but my eyes are cold, devoid of hunger or desire. 

The King reads the parchment aloud, his voice filling the room with a dull cadence. His people listen as if he were a priest reciting psalms in Latin, their attention rapt, though devoid of true understanding. He assigns tasks, keeping his people busy with his grand but futile goal of preserving nature.

~~

A sharp feeling halts me mid-sentence, but I continue reading from the parchment, though my eyes flick to the Queen. Her gaze follows the maid as she rushes from the room, her expression inscrutable. The room feels colder now, the air thick with tension. A chill runs through me as I sit on the throne, allowing my people to discuss my latest plan among themselves.

I take this moment to push into the Queen's mind, a skill she knows I possess but one I’ve always kept surface-level, gleaning only superficial thoughts. Her mind is a storm, roiling with thoughts and emotions that are kept just out of reach, shrouded in a mist that I cannot penetrate. It’s as if she’s hiding something—something I cannot see, and that troubles me more than I care to admit.

I drum my fingers on the armrests. The cold stone beneath my fingertips is a stark reminder of the control I must maintain. This is indeed troubling. Her demeanor has changed subtly over time, and I have been too preoccupied to notice. I have worked my entire life to bring us to where we are today. I cannot allow anything to disrupt the delicate balance I have achieved.

My Queen has grown distant, her thoughts harder to read, a subtle shift that stirs unease within me. Purebloods are naturally stronger than the turned, but even the mightiest being can be undone by what festers in the shadows. I fear what is brewing beneath her silence.

Standing tall, I address my people, “My apologies, everyone. Please discuss and prepare your questions regarding the newest venture, and we will reconvene tomorrow.”

After acknowledging their surprise with a nod and offering a reassuring smile, I turn and offer my Queen a hand.

“Let us take a break, my Love.”

As her eyes meet mine, her face remains unreadable. She takes my hand, but there is no warmth in her touch. The air between us is thick with unspoken words.

We walk hand in hand from the room. Those who linger to discuss plans bore their eyes into my back, sensing that something is amiss, craving to know more to stave off any unwelcome surprises. But I cannot give them any warning.

As the heavy doors close, sealing off the assembly room and the swirling emotions within, I feel the crisp, clear air. We are alone in the long gallery corridor. The sour scent of her bitterness sharpens as she pulls her hand from mine.

“I shall return to my rooms now, my King.” She performs an elegant bow, and without waiting for my response, she escapes down the hall, her golden dress trailing behind her like the fading light of dusk.

I watch as she reaches the end and turns out of sight. When I can no longer hear the click of her heels on stone, I snap my fingers.

My familiar, a sleek black cat, unfurls from the shadows. Poised with tail flicking in agitation, emerald eyes piercing through walls towards what even I cannot see, he awaits my command.

“Choose three of the best and meet me on the human level,” I command, my voice flat, my mind already placing my heart in a protective box. What comes next will carve a scar through my entire being.

The cat slips back into the shadows, awaiting only the confirmation of my intent. A familiar sees all and obeys, bound to me as its sole tether to a physical form. I once attempted to name him, as humans do with their pets, but he rejected it. He is an excellent companion, but he remains nameless.

I don’t follow my Queen. I know where she will go eventually. Instead, I turn in the opposite direction. My pace is measured, my pulse quickening with anticipation. I follow the hall to the curved staircase that leads upward. The top floor is for the humans. They work in the background of the castle, doing all the tasks their kind are so accustomed to. They love windows, so we give them the floor with the most, and they even have access to the roof. Vampires dislike windows in their living quarters, so we live below.

The stairs lead me toward the faint glow of natural light, something most turned vampires cannot endure but which we purebloods can tolerate. My mother, a priestess who claimed I was the son and heir of a god of chaos, believed that this connection to divine power allowed me to thrive where others could not. Though I rarely seek out the light, her words echo in my mind whenever I feel its warmth.

I walk the halls, taking in the beauty of the art that decorates every available space. Most of my collection comes from human history, but there are a few new vampire works scattered throughout as well. I encourage my people to partake in the leisure arts; it has proven to help immensely in balancing one’s self.

The dusk sunlight from the windows catches motes of dust, making the world sparkle. I cannot hide my smile, even as the sun's rays itch at my skin.

I traverse to the sleeping area for the humans. Each family has its chambers lining the hall.

As I turn a corner, glancing at the family names above each door, a hiss filled with rage and hatred greets me.

The Queen is standing in the hall, snarling at me, her pure rage outlined in her tense posture and curled fingers.

Behind her are two males, not as angry as their queen, but more desperate—a desperation that can be even more frightening than anger itself.

I let out a huff, attempting to defuse the situation and give her a chance to back down, to see the error of what she is trying to do.

“How dare you read my mind!” she growls, spit flying as she grasps for words to fling at me. “You promised never to read my mind! You are a liar and…”

“My love, what you are choosing to do is a concern for not only me but every soul here,” I interject.

Her face turns pink as her rage boils over, her power surging forward. “How dare you!”

“We must talk. Let us take a walk to the kitchens; we will get you a refreshing drink.” My words are useless; they fall on deaf ears.

“I will save us all!” she screams, a wind starting to howl through the hall, the smell of bedlam riding on it.

My mind briefly grieves for the art that will be damaged, but thankfully all the humans are hiding from the sight of vampires rampaging in their halls.

“You will save no one by killing the humans.” I take a step forward, but her grin makes me hesitate.

She opens her arms wide, encompassing the entire space. The wind gains speed, whipping the hair of her followers wildly, though she remains still. Only the sleeves of her gown are affected by the now howling wind.

“Stop this tantrum now, or you will compel me to retaliate,” I say, widening my stance and pushing down the urge to unleash my full power. “I am the eldest vampire, the most powerful among us. Would you challenge your king?”

She laughs, a crazed, acrid sound that reverberates in my bones. Something has gone terribly wrong with my Queen. She must have reached her expiration; her bloodlust has taken hold.

Her kind never last long. They always bicker and kill each other off. But as Queen, she has lived a long life. It saddens me that I didn’t recognize the signs earlier.

“You torture my kind. You leave them in ruins, in decayed homes. You feed them useless sludge. You wish to purge us from the world while holding the humans in gold-plated prisons.”

“You will remember that I gave the turned humans a good village outside the castle. I gave them protection, houses, and food. The world of misery they live in is entirely of their own creation.”

I allow my power to manifest. Darkness envelops the hall, even as her wind stings, slicing across my exposed skin.

“You will cease, or die!” The shadows press down on her and her men, forming a barrier that traps the wind within.

Her scream tears through the air as she rushes toward me, her nails reaching for my face, her eyes burning with madness.

I mold the shadows around her, trapping her in the deepest darkness, unable to move, unable to see.

My familiar takes this moment to stroll through the chaos and plop down at my feet. I glare at him, but he ignores my look, lifting a paw to delicately wash.

Before I can ask if he was able to complete my orders, I hear the hissing and fighting as my men subdue hers.

I have won. But what should we do with the Queen now? Her men will need to die, but the Queen requires a ceremony to signify her end to the people.

Slightly elevated in the air she struggles within the shadows, elbowing the air, frantically kicking and circling like a caged animal—classic signs of bloodlust.

I sigh and lessen the darkness surrounding her, tightening it to prevent her movement.

“You think you have won,” she sneers, her fangs piercing her lip in her frenzy. Her thick, dark blood coats her teeth as she smiles at me.

“Of course, I have won. Did you think I would let you drive an entire race to extinction? I am your King. You will be put away until I decide how to proceed.” I turn as I flick my hand, commanding the shadows to bind her and drag her along.

“You. Are. Not. My. King.” Her breath hitches from the binding shadows, but the seething intent behind her words is unmistakable.

I pause, turning back to her. I have let her live far too long. This is my fault. I should have been more aware of her change. How did I not notice it?

I open my mouth to speak, but her crazed laughter makes me stop. My familiar is suddenly on edge, back arched and hissing.

Her eyes bulge, but her laughter doesn’t stop—it only grows more jagged and sharp.

In a sudden, violent burst, she shatters the shadow binds, her power overwhelming my control. The darkness dissipates as her wind surges forward, knocking me back.

She lunges toward her followers, her hands clawing at the shadows holding them down. With a guttural roar, she tears through the restraints, releasing them one by one.

“You think you can stop me?” she snarls, her voice raw with fury. “I will free my people, and we will find a place where your rule cannot touch us!”

A fierce wind surges through the halls, nearly knocking me off my feet. My heart pounds as I fight to stay upright, the powerful gusts tearing paintings and tapestries from the walls as if they were mere paper.

She glares at me one last time, her eyes burning with hatred and defiance. “This is not over,” she spits, before turning to lead her followers down the hall.

I stand frozen in disbelief as she flees with her men, her power unleashed in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The art that once adorned these walls now hurtles toward me in a storm of chaos.

The weight of the situation presses down on me, the realization sinking in that I may have underestimated her strength and resolve.

I could chase them, end this here and now, but something in me hesitates.

The shadows ripple around me, sensing my indecision. My familiar, now silent, watches the Queen and her followers retreat, his eyes narrowed.

The hall falls eerily quiet, the wind and chaos leaving a strange stillness in their wake.

“Hmmm,” I murmur, feeling the need to say something. “This will have to be dealt with.”

My men, still in shock, exchange uneasy glances. My familiar, however, lets out a sound that can only be described as a disdainful snort.