Axila Martno, the double-agent, the traitor, and now, the queen. Glory was such a satisfying thing. Especially when you have the entire world squirming like worms at your feet. They took what had been sacred to her, what had been held so closely to her heart, and shattered it. Shattered him like he was a glass.
Maybe a year ago, she would have felt evil and guilty sitting on this golden throne. Maybe a year ago, she would look down at the minister below her and pity the poor man. Maybe a year ago, before the world went to Hell, she would fulfill her promise of a constitutional monarchy.
But she was not the same person as a year ago. She was no longer that girl who was infatuated with every noble, loyal man that crossed her path. She was Queen. A broken, evil, miserable queen.
“Please.” The minister’s words were hardly a whisper. “Please.”
How she loved men begging her. He already decided his fate the moment he tried to send that letter to Maervia, the only nation capable of defeating hers. His blood was just another addition to these red floors.
Alixa stood from her seat, her red cape pulling up with her. “Why should I spare your life, minister?” She must have looked like the embodiment of the underworld, the great goddess of death herself.
“I didn’t realize I had revealed secret information!” He was practically panting.
She walked up to him, and he shrunk back as her hand reached behind him. His eyes are glazed with fear. The Queen chuckled, and he flinches.
Then he yelped as she slipped a knife through the ropes that bound him.
She leaned forward, sharing a breath with the man. One of his last breaths. How sweet. His short arms fell forward to his sides. Such a vulnerable position.
Gripping his chin so she’d be the last thing he saw, she whispered, “Traitor,” as they had done to her a year ago.
The man screamed as he hunched forward, blood leaking from that lying mouth and wound. Nobody had seen that knife creep closer and closer to his back until it was already buried into his flesh.
When she turned around, a pair of violet eyes were fixed on her. Something inside her broke when she saw the revulsion in his eyes—of her—being tucked away quickly. “Yes, Brigan?”
“Sometimes,” he said, voice calm and solid, “I wonder what we’d be if you weren’t Queen." And if you could trust somebody else with power, is what he didn't say.
“Reality doesn’t work that way,” she snapped, pivoting and stalking to her throne as the servants took away the body for the next traitor or spy or whoever was unlucky enough to have to face her.
Reality doesn’t work that way. The world doesn’t work that way. Everything she had. Everything she worked for. The image of the blood burned into her brain. She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t have had a choice.
Because never again will she let someone important to her disappear. She’d sell her soul to Death before Brigan came in harm’s way.
She can handle the pure disgust and disappointment in his eyes. She was no better than the men she defeated. Any of those silly, girly dreams left inside that stupid, ridiculous heart died. Any fire—hope. She locked her humanity up in the darkest corners of her mind as the next man was brought in.
---
The lamp's soft glow illuminated the varnished desk. Papers, maps, and contracts sprawled across the table in no logical order. Outside the windows, the mountains loomed. Above the jagged peaks, the stars and snow sparkled in the moon's grey light.
The door cracked open, and firelight shone through. He already knew who the shadow belonged to.
"Is there anything you need, Queen?" His voice came out colder than he expected.
"Did I do something wrong?" Alixa purred, sauntering into the room. Her cape fluttered behind her in a red sheet, the edges darker than the rest of it. Some of her earlier supporters said that it used to be gold and white.
"You weren't very... creative." He silently swore at himself for the hesitation.
She gave a heartless laugh as she wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Should I have been?"
His eyes focused on the report in front of him, but his nerves were jumping at her closeness.
"I think you work too hard," she whispered into his ear. So, so close.
"It's my job, Queen," he replied, thankful he didn't sound as shaky as he felt.
She straightened, but her callused hands remained on his shoulders, gripping them surprisingly tightly. "Drop the titles, Brigan. I hate it when you call me 'Queen', especially... like that."
"Alixa."
Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Warrior. Knight. Brigan." With a sound so quiet and gentle, she murmured, "We are all traitors here. Traitors to our past kingdoms and empires and people."
Brigan stiffened when the room darkened and the lamp dimmed.
"But do not be a traitor to me." Alixa stepped to his left. His violet eyes swerved to her.
His queen. His master. He was following this woman, this woman who has permanently stained her clothes with the blood of enemies and allies. The woman who turned family against family and friends against friends—to make a better world. That's what she had said. Brigan had believed her. And the scary thing...
He still believed her.
Alixa cupped his left cheek, her palm scratching against his stubble. "Say something."
"We will make a better world together—"
Her muscles locked, and her dark eyes widened.
"—We will destroy the people who have destroyed ours. We will do this together, and when we're done, we will set them free."
---
Axila remembered saying that. She remembered saying that after she escaped those hellish dungeons and steel devices. Remembered being surprised at how easily her siblings agreed. Wished. She wished that she could change the country. But it was a silly dream. People are the same. They're all the same regardless of who's on the throne.
"It's too late. I..." She lowered her eyes at her scratched armor and bloodied cape.
Brigan gripped her hands, and she gazed at him from the corners of her eyes. The lamp stood behind him, and he seemed like a guardian born from light.
"This is reality, Brigan. The real world. People can't change. I can't change. It was a dumb dream. I regret it. I regret everything. Everything!" She needed to reign in these emotions... these horrible emotions.
"Everything?" He appeared hurt, and something surged into her. Confusion? Anger? Hate? Regret?
"Yes," she replied with a small breath.
His hands fell into his lap. "I told you before that I would follow you to the ends of this world, Axila, but maybe the you that I loved already died."
She knew horror flicked across her features.
"Show me one sign you're still there... One sign that that icy death queen I saw earlier today isn't what's left."
How did she become an icy death queen? Something cold gripped her soul. They dishonored her in those dungeons. They almost killed her before the throne. They deserved it. But… this man is loyal, kind, and not one of those two-faced bastards. He’s not. Brigan openly dismissed Maervia to help her.
So Axila drew her bejeweled obsidian sword and fell to a knee. She raised the sword to Brigan. “If you hate me, if you have anything against me, if you wish me dead, if something in your heart and soul is shadowed by me, kill me because I am no better than the men we vowed to defeat. I beg you to never let me fall again because even I cannot stand and believe who I have become. I am a traitor, hypocrite, liar, manipulator, and villain.”
Brigan’s violet eyes were fixed on her dark ones. “Alixa,” he said slowly, “it doesn’t work that way. You are also my Queen. You are the person I swore allegiance to.” He got off the chair to crouch in front of her. “Do not bow before me.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “And what if you were my King?”
That was all he needed. Brigan shot forward to embrace her as the sword clattered to the ground.
She couldn’t have lived like that for long. Guilt. That’s what it was. Guilt.
As they hugged each other tightly on the cold, stone floors, Axila whispered, “I am guilty of killing my siblings. I am guilty of killing my supporters. I am guilty of killing everybody who ruled before me. I am guilty of killing the double-agent Axila Martno. I am guilty of loving you, Brigan.” But maybe... it is better that way. Or maybe... Her lips quirked into a smirk.