Page 6 of The Stolen Throne
Glass soldiers made from the broken mirrors corral them and force them to look up at me. “Why?” I whisper. Balor hears me, though, walking back up the steps with his dagger pointed toward me. He taps the underside of my chin with the tip of the blade.
“You will find that in this world there are no such things as heroes and villains. There are people who let their morality dictate if they do something or not. They often let things go, blaming their morals. Then there are those who do what needs to be done no matter their morals.”
“Which one are you?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know why he is such a monster. Balor's smile fades away, and he stares into my eyes for a long time before he replies.
"A hero would have married your mother, promised you peace and strength. A hero would have loved you like a daughter, raised you to be just as good. A hero would not have hired a huntsman to assassinate your father.”
Balor tosses the dagger away. For just a moment, I think I see… something in his eyes. But then the mirrored finish fades, and I look into human eyes filled with… nothing. Completely void of emotion. He grips my throat, whispering in my ear as spittle sprays onto my cheek.
“A villain would fuck you right here, force these people watch as I make you scream. A villain would slit your throat, drink your blood, and laugh. A villain would sit on the throne and make you their queen on a leash.”
With a wave of his hand, the glass soldiers massacre my people below. The blood of men, women, and children sprays everywhere, desecrating the church steps. I scream and beg for him to stop, but he doesn't. They stab, slash, and stomp until nothing remains but bloody piles of meat smeared across the ground.
When they eventually stop, and the ringing in my ear fades, Balor speaks, his voice empty of all emotion.
“I am neither.”
Darkness falls upon the Kingdom of Arcelia, leaving behind nothing but a barren wasteland because of a heartless king's whims. Rot gives way to much harsher forms of life, weeds and thorny vines creeping across the once lush landscape. Empty cities turn to overgrown ruins, save for the castle that was once my home… Now nothing more than a tomb of my broken innocence.
4
Ugh. How long has it been since I’ve seen the outside world? Not that I really want to see the outside, but this near-constant dark cell has me second guessing myself. Do I really want a reminder of what my kingdom looks like now? Hum… no. I think I’ll pass. My days consist of staring at myself in the mirror above my cot. I hate mirrors. Dark memories try to seep in, and I thump my head against the bed to push them away. I don’t want to remember.
I hear a clunk down the hall, and I know it must be time for the day guards to take over. How do I know it’s daytime, you may ask? Well, I happen to see a brief sliver of light that shines down the hallway during shift change. It’s also the only way I’ve been able to keep track of time. Otherwise, it’s dark and dreary all day… every day.
I hear a guard groan as he stands. Always predictable. “Have a great day, Henry!” I say in a false, cheery voice. I don’t know if that’s his name, but it’s the name I’ve given him. He looks like a Henry, or maybe a Paul… hum. Maybe I’ll change it up tomorrow.
The guards mutter greetings to each other as the door shuts. “Morning, Charles.” He doesn’t respond… like always. Again, that’s not his name, but they’ve never once introduced themselves in the four years I’ve been stuck here. Though, I didn’t really expect them to, considering they are only here to make sure I’m kept alive. Hum… I suppose that answers my question. I haven’t seen the outside world in four years.
I rub at my wrists, the metal chafing my skin. I hope the king doesn’t come by today. Though I doubt he will skip it. Since sticking me here, he’s never once skipped a day of trying to break me. To be honest, I’m getting tired. So tired I wish he would just kill me already.
I stiffen when I hear a clang against the door. It’s as if my thoughts summoned the man I wished to avoid. I hear his mumbled words to the guard before the door shuts. They always leave. The guards never stay when he’s around, which I think is a copout. As if not being here gives them some sort of pass because they aren’t here to physically see or hear what is being done to me. Self-righteous pricks.
There’s a tap on the metal bars of my cell, but I refuse to look in his direction. I may want to give up, but I’ll never give him that satisfaction.
“Little Snowflake, Little Snowflake,” he singsongs. “Have you melted yet?”
I hold up my middle finger, and he roars in laughter. “I’m so glad I get to play with you again. You have lasted so long, but I wonder if today is the day.”
“Never.”
I hear the whine of the metal door to my cage opening, and he enters before closing the door behind him. He even locks it to make sure I can’t escape. Again. I’ve only managed it once, but that was all he needed to ensure he locks the door behind him each time.
My body stiffens as I sink into the bed as much as possible as if to disappear. But it never stops him, and I never disappear. I flinch as his shoes scrape across the floor with each step. “Should we summon them today?”
My eyes flick up to the ceiling to see the mirrored surface begin to waiver. My image morphs in the reflection as it begins to melt into tendrils. I whimper when the tendrils fall to the bed beside me, and I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear him move closer.
I refuse to open my eyes, even when I feel the cool touch of the mirror’s smooth surface. The tentacles seem to vibrate with power as they brush across my skin. Think of better days Eira. Your body may be stuck here, but that doesn’t mean your mind has to be.
He tuts, and I feel the cold tip of his knife slide across my chest, further reminding me that I’m completely naked. “Open your eyes, Little Snowflake.”
I HATE it when he calls me by the name my father used as an endearment. It makes the beauty of the nickname feel dirty and poisoned. It no longer holds the sweet and loving memories of my father.
My eyes shoot open when I feel the knife pressed deeper into the skin of my thigh, and the tendrils slide across my breasts. They massage my mounds, and I bite my lip, refusing to make a sound. I hate that these things bring my body pleasure as he watches. I hate my body's reaction, no matter how much I try to force it to do otherwise. My eyes meet his dark, mirrored pits as he smiles down at me. “There you are, Little Snowflake. Are you ready to have fun today?”
I gather all the spit I possibly can, which is proving difficult, considering how dry my mouth is. Taking a deep breath in, I shoot the glob of spit into his face.
Black smoke begins to swirl around him, and his smile darkens. “So glad you haven’t lost your fight. It wouldn't be fun otherwise.” He quickly reaches over to tighten the shackles attached to my ankles and wrists.