Chapter the First

Avaia had nearly forgotten the feeling of joy. Her heart sat in her breast like a stone, cold and uncaring, as she gazed down at the beggar before the thrones. The churl was pleading for understanding, for mercy, and though he knew it not, for his very life. His meagre taxes had been unpaid for too long, and her husband had never been known to tolerate such miscreance.

 The king raised a hand and cut the man off with a gesture. His voice was low and rasping as he informed the fellow his property would be claimed as forfeit, and his family indentured to pay the debt. Stillane women were still desired in other lands, for their skill with fibres and their fine handwork: the widow would fetch a fair price, and if the children were healthy, perhaps they would survive their time under bonds. The man fell upon his face before the feet of her husband, struck mute by the king's word.

 He was jerked roughly to his feet and to be led away by the guards. He would keep his life, unless he fought. At least the villein knew better than to cast for pity in her direction, she who had buried six sons and now carried again, her body sharp drawn by the thirst the whole realm shared, as the droughts had only deepened their hold. Eleven years without a good harvest had taken its toll, as had the bitter draught of her fate.

 Another petitioner was brought forward, a thin-faced man in elegant clothes: a burgher from Bherigsdun, and a favourite of his Grace. As her husband called for refreshments, Avaia nodded her head in silent acknowledgement of his guest's effusive compliments, noting with disdain her husband's high colour. She did not fear his jealousy: as long as she carried his child, her body was sacrosanct, and by the time she had rid her body of the infant, he would have long forgotten the green goad.

 Over watered wine and a scrawny capon or two, the two men hatched another plan to squeeze what they could from the trade fairs due to start next month. from what Avaia heard, they planned to issue a list of suddenly exciseable items, and spring inspections on the wealthier traders. The plan would work, for this year, but those traders preyed upon would think twice before journeying into Stillane for the next fair. Inwardly, Avaia shook her head at the short-sighted greed the men displayed. They might play at courtesy, but they remained brigands at heart.

 A sudden swirl of movement deep within her caught her attention, and she rose from her seat, taking her leave of the plotters. Heavy skirts caught at the flagstones as she moved across the hall. She did not deign to acknowledge the guardsman who opened the heavy oaken door for her, merely swept past and up the broad spiral to her suite. Once there, and clear of her few ladies, she sat down on the chaise by the window, and let her body relax, willing the mote within to stillness so that she could rest.

Once Upon

a crueller Time, a dark-visaged King stole a Realm. Its verdant Meadows and rich Riverlands ringed by a Fortress of crenellated Mountains proved too tempting to his avaricious Heart, and he swore to own her and claim her forever. With the Help of greedy Hearts and sharp Swords, he subjugated this beautiful Kingdom, murdering the royal Family, down to the last Child, a pretty haired Princess.

But she he saved, marrying her to cement some Legitimacy to his Usurpation. With the crimson Life of her Parents and Brothers still wet on the cobbled stone of the Courtyard, her maiden's Blood reddened his Sheets, and his Evil thus reinforced three Times, through Theft, Murder and Rape, the dark Stain upon him was made Irrevocable.

And thus was a sweet Child of royal Lineage bound in Wedlock to a cruel King. In such Times, truly she had no Choice. She became the cruel Queen.