Page 1 of The Nightmare Queen

Eveera

Fourteen Years Earlier

Her blood was everywhere. My mouth, my sinuses, coated over my hands and hair.

I could hear screaming, but her mouth wasn’t moving.

Not anymore.

The voice however felt familiar…who is screaming? I think to myself.

My eyes flit around, surveying the destruction. Pooling around me, blood slowly turned from red to black.

I didn’t see them rushing in to help, only saw their bodies once they crumpled and clattered to the ground, the blood splattering as they did so.

Their faces blurred together as I moved my gaze upwards to stare into her dimmed eyes a final time. My attention snags on her wrist where a fresh brand has melted into her now lifeless flesh in a shape that looks a lot like the sun.

Nausea churns inside of my stomach. My fingers reaching out to touch her. She’s so cold, her hands used to radiate warmth, there is none of that left now. Monotonously I drag myself off the floor my face becoming level withthe carnage they left behind. My feet back me up slowly careful not to trip over any of the other bodies. So many bodies.

The skin on my heels hit cool, dry, stone as black edges into my vision sweeping me into the darkness.

I can still hear the screaming. So much screaming…

Present Day

The memory startles me awake, my body bolting upright.

My hands feel around the comfortable, soft bedding.No blood.I think to myself. It takes a few seconds for my heart to stop racing, but once it’s stopped I drag myself out and into my bathroom. The reflection staring back at me is almost as startling as the dream. The circles underneath my eyes are so dark I look bruised, the muscles in my back twinging as I attempt to stretch out my arms. I tilt down my shoulder to look at the cause and find angry red scabbing welts are torn all across my shoulder blades.I’d forgotten those were there…

Tenderly I drop my arms down, leaving behind the miserable glass reflection to turn the shower on. I make sure it runs hot, replacing the pain with a different type of discomfort I hope numbs me. I step into the stream once I see steam rising off of the droplets, hissing as I do so.

The dreams have been more frequent lately, the Gods only know why, but it’s agitating.

It’s just a dream now.I remind myself. But it wasn’t once and that knowledge has haunted me ever since, always lingering in the back of mymind, waiting for its moment to resurface and torment me from within until I take extreme measures to forget. The evidence of those measures is plain on my back.

Carefully I wash the dried blood and the remnants of the previous day away, allowing the hot water to purify me. I replace the harsh memory with the endless list of things I avoided yesterday. The council has become more insistent as of late, with my queendom hitting double digits, impressing some bullshit that I need to have a “sense of urgency” when it comes to court matters. No more running around. If it were up to them my routine would be the same drab thing every day - but instead of dressing in my leathers and heading down to spar with my private guard. They’d have me in something more queenly and my hours filled with meetings. And while I don’t mind the dresses, meetings make me twitchy.

The water runs cold, pebbling my skin as a shiver takes over. The change in temperature is enough to convince me to step out and towel myself off. It doesn’t take me long to finish getting ready, attempting to rub healing salve on the welts is the last step in my routine before hopping into my leathers. I give myself a final once over before snatching my weapons off the nightstands and tearing into the passageways.

I know these tunnels well enough that the walk to our sparring room is quick. My men’s voices and the familiar noise of metal clanging against metal reaches my ears before they even come into view.I guess they didn’t feel like waiting for their queen, to start.

“Ah, the prodigal Queen returns.” Axel, my second appointed guard, greets me as I walk in and set my things down.

I scoff at his choice in words.

“Oh, shut up and set up.” His crooked grin breaks across his face as he saunters onto the mat and brings up his sword. I mirror his stance waiting for the signal my head of guard, Ezra, gives before lunging at Axel. He blocks my advance, sidestepping to circle around me. His sword swings out at my side forcing me to jump back and cut my sword down quickly to block his blow.CLANK!Our swords slam together sending the ring of metal reverberating off the walls.

He spins and in the brief moment he has his back to me, I take a cheap shot, sending the edge of my blade at the back of his knees. My weapon just barely tickles his pant legs as he finishes the turn and faces me.

“Oh, come on, Evie. You can do better than that.” He taunts. I duck as he swings his sword over my head. I Wield a small amount of magic at him, pulling him off his feet. His sword clatters loudly to the ground next to him. “HEY!” Axel shouts.

Ezra glares at me from where he stands. “Eveera, no magic during practice spars. Get off the mat.” I roll my eyes, my lip jutting out into a pout. Before rotating out off the mat I reach my hand down for Axel to grab. He does, but instead of standing, he pulls me to the ground on top of him. My body thudding into his skinny yet solid frame.

“Asshole.” I say at the same time he calls me a cheat. My hands move to his chest, pushing myself off of him, and this time I don’t offer my hand. We make our way back to our things against the wall as the remaining three of my men take the center of the mat. The brothers, Maxwell and Orem, against my oldest guard Armond. The brothers move gracefully in sync. They have to be when going against the barbarian that is their opponent.

The three of us not sparring relax against the stone wall, watching the match go down. Well - Axel and I relax, and Ezra…does whatever his equivalent to relaxing would be. Which in my opinion looks uncomfortable.

My men are panting, a flicker of electricity zaps down Max’s sword. “MAX! OFF THE MAT.” Ezra shouts in his direction. He groans in frustration as he abandons his brother, who now stands facing Armond alone. They're nearly the same height, their hair the same shade of red, if you didn’t know it you might mistake Orem for Armond’s younger brother not Maxwell’s based on solely appearances.