That was a weak move of hers!
Rosalyn Lockhart reached her own room without much of a delay except for the slight frown that tugged on His Majesty's lips.
A small act of displeasure like that was barely enough for the transgressions he did.
She reached for one of the vases in her room in frustration—before settling to one of her pillows that adorned her couches. She threw it down the floor as hard as she could while holding back a scream. It didn't make a satisfying crash at all but it was enough to quell even a little anger that resided within her heart.
She was much bolder, angrier and more prone to outbursts in the past.
It was actually still within her, raging in her heart—begging to be released.
But it had been tempered by Time.
Did it make her all the wiser to think before she spoke? Perhaps, but she still relished the chance to display her power even if it was as simple as pouring the hot tea into His Majesty's face.
She had done that in the past.
Her lips twitched at the memory, he had received it all without even much of a complaint. Wiping it all without a fuss, he had even tasted some and complimented her on the brew. She had admired him in some aspects but also thought of him as a weak man in some manner—but it had been all to her benefit for him to act that way.
And it also bade well for him to not shame her, a King and Queen stood as one.
Until that bitch came in.
Then he whimlessly cast her out into exile. But that Alice wasn't here now.
Rosalyn swept back and forth within her room, considering the events and chances that were bestowed upon her. That Alice wouldn't still be here until after some time had passed. What would she do until then?
She knew all the men that would fall for that vixen's charms, each one who would stand up for her and take arms against their Queen for such a lowly girl. "Ah, perchance it would be a welcome activity to pluck out the thorns even before the rose blooms?"
Dispatch them all.
One head rolled on the floor.
Two heads rolled and marked it with blood.
Three heads painted the ground in a beautiful pool of red.
Four heads would knock against each and splatter their contents.
And included among the heads that she wanted to see on the ground was the King's.
But who would do her bidding? She knew that the King would be wary if she had begun to slaughter their people without a 'just' concern and without trial.
A knock sounded on her door.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty?" It was a familiar voice.
There was only one person who would be stupid enough to visit the Queen in her private quarters. Only one who would ignore customs, rules and laws to make their way here uncaring of the King's possible wrath.
Or perhaps they personally enjoyed the risk.
The cold blade still felt present on her throat as she stared at the door, knowing fully well what lay on the other side.
A monster.
A devil.
With a heart blacker than the Jabberwocky's dark scales.
The one who had wielded his own blade against her—
"Sir Julius Ginellevé, your permission is granted." She had invited him back into her own life at her own possible demise.
And there the door quietly opened. A handsome gentleman stepped into her chambers and was quick to approach her, uncaring of the conventions. His amethyst eyes locked with hers, his brows furrowed in utmost worry. His lips were trembling slightly.
Ah, such a wicked demon.
With hair as white as snow, amethyst colored eyes and a fit physique she knew he rivaled the King in terms of beauty. It was one of the things that she appreciated him for. "I came as soon as I heard the news that Her Majesty had fallen ill."
And she had adored him for that and for several other reasons as well.
One of them being the fact that...
This man would be the perfect executioner! The very blade that he had swung to cleave her head was currently rested at his side. Pristine and clean, meticulously wiped and taken care of.
"Your Majesty?" He fanned a hand in front of her face, his head tilted in slight confusion.
"You worry too much, I was only feeling faint." She answered him with a carefree smile. Despite this man being the one who had beheaded her… it still felt much more comfortable dealing with him than with His Majesty.
At least she could grasp most of his intentions and line of thoughts.
Perhaps only she would understand such a twisted devotion that he had given her.
And this devotion was what he would continue to give her.
"Are you certain, Your Majesty? Your skin looks quite pale… and is actually quite cold to the touch." His thumb gently brushed her cheek, the man had taken the chance to step closer while she was ruminating. His eyes never left her face.
"Would you not prefer to stay in bed?" His thumb grazed her lips, his gaze enrapturing hers as he leaned close to her. "Or would you perhaps need someone to warm it?"
She didn't exactly hate this.
That sultry tone of his.
She chewed on her lip for a fraction, finding herself a bit lost in his eyes and enjoying the heat of his body deliciously close to her. Her body ignored the terrible memory that crawled in the crevice of her mind, dismissing how easily he could pull his sword with his other hand and finish her off once more if he wanted to.
"You have a way with words, Sir Julius." She gave him a teasing smile and took a step backwards, "But I'm not in the mood for that. As you can recall, I am feeling faint." But between the two of them, their roles were quite clear.
She was a Queen.
A pout formed on his lips, a rather childish one. "Rosalyn…"
And he was but a Knight.
"Be careful with such words before I ask you to cleave your own head off."
He simply laughed at that, a light in his eyes as he gazed at her, "If you would ask for my heart, I would cut it out for you, Your Majesty."
And she laughed back.
Because she knew that he would.
He would serve it on a platter to please her, and she liked this much power that she held over him. Now for the final question, she gave him a smile. "What if I asked for His Majesty's head instead?"