"BLACK BANNERS?" I frown. "Crave uses black banners?"
This is hours later, in the throne room. Assembled before me are the six other witches of the Celestine Court, Lance and two other high-ranking Royal guards, and Yennara, my ever so pretty Lady-in-waiting. She stands to the left of my throne, her gaze forward over the gleaming vast hall. All together, we are about a dozen souls. The people here right now within these golden walls are of the most trusted variety in the kingdom. This meeting had been placed in swift order right after the ghost ship had been sighted. Because from all gained understanding, its appearance is a threat to the crown. The Celestine Court had come running from their various arcane domiciles spread out across the Capital, heralded by Sir Lancelot himself, a pure-hearted knight I'm sure the evil of Lord Crave can't corrupt. These are the trusted bunch.
Mythronos' own Secret Service.
And right about now, this is a closed-door meeting in The Oval.
A meeting to contemplate our very own incarnate of OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH.
"By all intelligence, yes Your Majesty. This is the work of the Pirate." It's one of the witches speaking. A slender man paler than the great alabaster pillars mounting the sides of the throne room. He gives reply to my question. Though I'd spoken more in thought than actual enquiry, I feel they feel it necessary to chip in. A dozen heads are better than one—especially when it comes to a class A threat. "We have no idea how the ship got on the sea that early morning, Your Majesty. Our men grounded in the naval base shored by the sea admit to seeing nothing amiss during last night's inspection. The isles close by are mostly inhabited by nothing other than vegetation and migrant pigeons. The only way a ship of such size could appear and vanish off again without a trace is through a Summoning."
The man leaves his words hanging in deadly silence.
Everyone seems in their own heads for a while. And then Miss Chandle takes a step closer to me, stopping a foot away from the glittery steps leading up the dais. She mirros my thoughts in few words.
"Your Majesty, magic is involved."
I see Lance's head jerk up behind her, his eyebrows raised. Suspicion laces his blue eyes. I don't have to be a mind-reader to know the path of his mind. Everyone's at this point. If Crave had managed to slip all of a freaking Frigate past our borders and officers, he had help. Inside help—sorcery or not. There is a mole. Maybe more than one even. In a kingdom like Mythronos, it wouldn't be too far-reaching to imagine betrayal. More likely, treason. I know there are some amongst who still favor the dark days of Lord Crave's first appearance and wish his return. It wouldn't be hard for his lieutenants to turn the hearts of those few towards helping out.
I think of the cent in the drawers of my bedroom. The American cent. One thing that isn't supposed to exist in this world at all.
Was it an initial threat from Crave's faithful I didn't perceive sooner?
Their crappy way of telling me to pack up my shit since I don't belong anyway?
I know I should've told someone, but who the hell would understand that there's an entirely different reality out there with machines that made horses only an indulgence and currency made of paper. Only someone who'd come from such world would truly understand. Me. And perhaps the elusive gifter of the coin. It may be Lord Crave. Maybe not. Either way, I'd made sure to hide away the coin after returning from the cruise days ago. It's safely tucked in a drawer of my undies, which by that I mean, shifts and tights. Not even Yennara would dare touch those without permission.
If the mystery coin is part of Crave's delusion to get me out of the game, perhaps the appearance of a ghost ship within the kingdom's territories is another stratagem; a way of undermining the faith the people have in me. The citizens near worship me so I suppose dwindling their belief in a hero would be a battle half-won. It's a good plan. But he underestimates me. And if it isn't Crave at all but some watcher in the shadows, then it means I've got another problem on my hands. Either way, it's time to push aside doubts of reincarnation and whatnot and focus on dealing with this.
The only way is through the muck.
"You mentioned a naval base, earlier..." I look towards the witch who'd spoken. It should be wizard in his case but since the Court is five females to two males, Witch sticks, man or not.
"Yes, Your Majesty." The man steps forward. He takes place beside Miss Chandle before the throne. "In the aftermath of Lord Crave's defeat led by Your Majesty..." He gives a short bow, making his skin seem more the color of a sheet of paper. "...you commanded that forts be built around the shores; on-ground defenses always at the ready to convey intelligence and be the first line surging against any sudden attack."
"Mhmm." I fall silent. I was quite the Queen.
We have forces on ground. We have ships on water. Good. But not enough.
I look towards Lance who stands some distance behind both Miss Chandle and the other Witch-man. His height is obvious as he's a head taller than anyone present. He has on full armor of gold, his sandal straps wrapping up perfectly on his ankles and up to his solid calves. He must run a lot. I see his eyes are focused on the throne. But he seems more into the lovely vision by my left than the intricate beauty of the opal and gold seat. He's looking at Yennara. She's looking at him. I'm looking at him and her. We are all looking at each other. Just the three of us, in a bubble no one understands.
We are all thinking the same thing. Remembering more like...few hours ago. On the balcony. In my room. Yennara about to give me an orgasm from just acting out sucking dick. Lance walking in on us. The awkwardness after.
Remembering is not good.
Luckily for the three of us, there is a mammoth in the room which combats the elephant between us.
We would need to talk about it. Eventually.
I can't help thinking, what if Lance hadn't come when he did? What if I'd allowed myself do more than just pat Yennara's ass? What if I'd pulled her clothes too? And on Lance's arrival, what if I'd pulled him down to us on the picnic blanket? What if Yennara and I had found ourselves with the real thing and not just a succulent fruit? What then?
There's a whole lot of what ifs.
Deep down though, I know the reply to each one of those lingering questions.
In each scene, we would have indulged ourselves to the fullest. I know—even though my errant heart would not admit it—that all three of us are a fraction of selfcontrol away from some heavy petting. I know because the attraction between us has been heady, right from the very moment we linked eyes. Lance is my addiction. Yennara...I don't know.
I'm still annoyed at him though. I want to be. It's better than feeling all these things. And so when I speak to him, my tone is strict.
"Sir Lancelot?"
I don't know how but I convey much of my Office in those two words. His arctic gaze slides from Yennara to mine. It's like he can read my thoughts, can tell that I'd rather be angry at him than turned-on by him. His pink lips dip and I know he battles back a grin. I can actually see the rogue glint of arrogance in his eyes. He knows what he's doing to me. He is confident in it. And aggravatingly, it makes me all the more wet.
Heavens!
"Yes, Your Majesty," he replies. He speaks in such amused timbre that the entire Court turns to glance at him. They interprete the darkness in his eyes as devotion to his queen.
"Articulate with the Court," I say, ignoring the probe in his stare. "Send a team of guards from the castle. Guards we can trust from here. Their orders are to assume control over the shoreline forts, as Commandants. They will gather Intel and report back through enchanted, cryptic scrolls which the Court will assist in." I turn a glance to Miss Chandle and the other witches. They nod in effect. Good. "In the meantime, the officers in charge of the fort are to be brought to me. They will be interrogated under the light of the Spiritflame. That way, if one of them has been turned by Crave, the flame will reveal their betrayal. Recruitment and training of fresh cadets are to also begin in earnest. The Dead Empire will never fall to the devastation of another tyrant, be it Lord Vileyns Crave or a Lieutenant of his.
All clear?"
Nods go up through the throne room. To my left, Yennara is smiling, gazing straight ahead and trying to hide it. She's cute. Everyone is looking at me like they're first-timers and I'm the Statue of Liberty. Including Lance. His eyes are smouldering. I want to French him on the spot. Stare into his eyes and let him see just how angry I am. Somehow I don't think the word angry has ever been used in this context before. I'm certain I don't mean the same thing as Merriam-Webster.
"Clear, Your Majesty." Lance baritones back.
"Okay then," I recline back on the smooth stone of the throne. "I have to ask, is there anyway we can know for certain if the ghost ship belongs to Crave and not just some ploy of a wannabe?"
My question is directed at the Court and I'm not sure they get the word 'wannabe' but it's meaning is interpreted from my words.
"Did Your Majesty see the ship as the rest of the naval patrol?" Miss Chandle gazes at me with care. Sometimes I forget the woman practically raised me.
"Yes, I did actually. Earlier this morning," I reply, thinking back to dawn and its rosy tints.
"Then we can, Your Majesty." It's the Witch-man again. "We can ascertain if the ship is Lord Crave's. I'll just be a moment."
The man turns and heads out the throne room. He pauses at the exit, whispering something to the guards mounting its sides. One of them nods in turn and giving a standard bow in my direction, he pushes open the colossal 20ft doors and strides off. The second guard secures it once more. I put it at the back of my mind to find out the pale man's name. I can't keep addressing him as Witch-man in my head. I could ask but not without raising suspicions. As Queen and Enchantress for sometime now I should know his name. Yennara would tell me though. As thoughts of her dance in mind, so does her pretty hazel eyes.
I turn to look at her. Why stretch my brain when I can get the real deal for free?
She's standing closest to me, on the same wide resplendence of shined marble the throne sits. With just a lift of my hand, I can touch her if I want. Between the Court and the Royal Guard, she holds the most esteemed position in the room. I smile at her lovely form. The bond between a Queen and her Lady-in-waiting is like that between an Alpha wolf and his Beta. Her Beta in my case. They are best of friends but the Beta is also loyal to the death. She would make my coffee and brush my hair and sing to me if I so desire, but would also give her life for mine.
There is no greater and purer love between the two.
Once in a history book I'd glanced from the cozy library in my bedroom, a Queen could bear her King no child, so instead she'd chosen her Lady-in-waiting to conceive the kingdom's heir. Her Lady-in-waiting became the surrogate mother. It's only in a universe with a sense of humor that Cheyenne would become Yennara, a kind-hearted soul I could trust with my life, and the kingdom.
The doors to the throne room open once more. The guards files in, handing a tray of total gold to Witch-man. On it sits a single dish. Of pure gold also. Everything shiny as sculpted sunrays. The Witch-man nods to the guard who secures the doors with a heavy latch. His pale face then spreads in a smile that reads totally wrong as he starts back for the front of the hall.
He halts by the dais, bends to a flattering bow, right down to the waist.
"Your Majesty!" With dramatic flair, he opens the plate.
I balk in my seat. Blood drains from my face until it mirrors his.
The object on the plate is an organ. Beating. Bloodied. Pulsing with the remnant life it was just snatched from. Larger than my fist and fresh from somewhere.
Rather, someone.
I dare not look at the fork and knife to the side of the tray.
"I–Is that a heart?"