by Alan Scott
“You know that always makes me jealous.”
“I know,” stated William with a smile.
Queen Rothgal gave her bodyguard a hard silent stare.
Ignoring her, William looked across to the Dev’ver that was still standing next to the bed. “Razor Tooth, you may go.”
Razor Tooth gave a low growl before stepping back into the shadows around the Queen’s bed and disappearing.
A low moan from the man on the floor caught William’s attention. “Ah, our would-be assassin.” Reaching down with his hand, he grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him to his feet. Just then, the doors to the Queen’s bedroom burst open, and in charged Captain John Philips and four uniformed guards.
“Captain Philips, so good of you to join us,” said Rebecca.
“Are you harmed, your Majesty?” asked a concerned Captain Philips. “We heard the howls and came as quickly as we could.”
“I am quite well, Captain; however…”
“Yes, your Majesty?”
“There are far too many men in this room for me to be in my bed. I would be grateful if your men could remove themselves, along with these dead bodies.”
“At once, your Majesty. You men – get these bodies out of here!”
“Yes, sir!” the guards replied, as they moved towards the bodies.
“Also,” added Queen Rothgal, “get a few lanterns in here and in the reception room. I want to be able to see properly.”
“At once, ma’am,” replied John Philips.
“William.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“How is your prisoner?”
William looked at the man he was holding by the collar. He was nursing his broken hand and blood was seeping from the claw marks in his shoulder. “Alive.”
“Good.”
Rebecca watched as the guards removed the dead bodies and maids brought lit lanterns into the room. Once all the guards and maids had left, she said, “Captain, be so good as to close the door.”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
Slipping out of bed, Rebecca made her way to her dressing table. She lifted her dressing gown from the back of the chair and proceeded to put it on. “Now that I am suitably dressed, let’s talk to my assailant, here.” Turning, she looked at the man that William was holding. “What is your name?”
Defiant silence.
Rebecca tut-tutted and cast her eyes to the ceiling. “God save me from the defiant ones. They are a real pain.” As she walked up to him, Captain Philips moved to her side, ready to intervene instantly should the man make any aggressive moves. Rebecca sighed. “If you do not talk, I will have you tied down, and have both your arms and legs removed while you are still awake; however, I will make sure that you will not die, as you will have the very best medical attention.
“What happens next will be deeply unpleasant, as I will have my team of experts inflict constant pain on you, day and night; however, again, have no fear – you will not die, as you will have the very best of medical attention, remember?” Rebecca looked into the ashen face of her prisoner. “Over the long weeks, your body will be turned into a barely recognisable lump of meat. Even a breath of wind will be pure agony, as they work on your body.
“You will, of course, by then, have answered all the questions you have been asked, and therein lies the problem. You see, we will not know if you have lied to us just to end the misery, so we will have to continue until we are certain that the answers you have given are the truth, and that might take another week or two.” Rebecca tilted her head. “Do you wish that, my brave prisoner?”
Silence.
“Captain Philips.”
“Ma’am?”
“Bind his hands.”
“At once.” Pulling a strip of leather from a punch on his belt, Captain Philips did as he was bid, while William took a step back.
Once Captain Philips had finished, Rebecca commanded, “Knees!”
“Yes, my Queen.” John Philips pushed the man down on his knees.
“Pain is very interesting. Once it’s gone, you forget the sensation and that makes people brave.” Rebecca placed her hand on the wound that Shadow Killer had caused on the man’s shoulder and dug her nails in. “Does that hurt?”
The prisoner gasped and gritted his teeth as he tried to resist the growing pain.
“Think on it – the pain, having no arms or legs. Think on it.” Rebecca squeezed harder, her nails sinking into the wound. “Think about the pain being a thousand times worse and constant for days at a time.”
“Dylon Moore! My name is Dylon Moore!” the prisoner cried out.
Rebecca removed her hand and nails from Dylon’s shoulder. “Good evening, Dylon.” Looking round, Rebecca spotted a towel next to her night table. She moved to the table and wiped her hands. “Who sent you?”
“Your third cousin, Farah Sharpe.”
“Farah!” That was unexpected. “Who is backing her?”
“I do not know.”
“Who is backing her?”
“I do not know! Truly I don’t, your Majesty!”
“Mmm. What was the plan?”
“We were to wait until your werewolf was gone, then sneak into the palace and kill you.”
“As simple as that?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Three days.”
Rebecca cast a quick glance at William, who raised his eyebrows.
“How did you get into the palace?”
“The feast …”
“The one to celebrate the defence of the city by my mother?” interrupted Rebecca.
“Yes.”
“Continue.”
“We disguised ourselves as performers and then hid in one of the spare guest rooms. We had information that the wer… that your bodyguard would be away for the night.”
“Well, it was my good fortune my bodyguard, William, was not gone.”
“How did you know that we were coming?” asked Dylon.
“I have my spies.”
“They cannot be very good, if they did not know it was your cousin, Farah Sharpe, who sent me.”
“But they were good enough to know that you and your dead colleagues were going to strike tonight.”
Dylon nodded in agreement.
“Captain Philips.”
“Ma’am?”
“Kindly escort the prisoner to the cells, and then return.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied John Philips as he grabbed Dylon’s collar, pulled him upright, and directed him to the door.
William watched the men as they made their way to the door. “What did you say?” demanded William, suddenly.
Captain Philips turned to William. “What?”
“Not you – Dylon Moore, what did you say?”
“Nothing.”
William marched to Dylon and grasped him by the neck. “What did you say?”
“No... thing,” gasped Dylon.
William studied the prisoner’s face for a few seconds before releasing him.
“Everything ok?” asked Captain Philips.
“Yes,” declared William as he walked away. “Get him out of here.”
John Philips gave William a puzzled look before opening the door and pushing his prisoner through.
Rebecca waited until the door was shut before turning to her bodyguard. “Well?”
“It was nothing.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm.” Rebecca looked round the room. “My bedroom looks like a slaughterhouse. Let’s go through to the reception room while it is cleaned. I could do with a drink.”
William nodded and walked back to the bedroom door. Opening it, he stepped through. “You!” he called to the two guards at the opposite end of the room.
“Sir!”
“Outside.”
“Sir.”
Once the guards had left, William walked into the room, followed by Queen Rothgal who
made her way to the drinks cabinet. Pouring herself a large glass of wine, she downed it in one long gulp. “Do you want one?”
“No.”
Rebecca poured herself another large glass and made her way towards the balcony.
William slowly looked around the room, taking in every detail. Satisfied that everything was in its correct place, he joined Rebecca. She was leaning on the balcony wall, looking out across the deep lake.
“The water looks jet black.”
“Yes, it does.”
Rebecca bowed her head and let out a huge breath.
“Are you ok?”
“No,” Rebecca half-laughed. “Some bastards have just tried to kill me.”
“They failed.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Rebecca raised her glass to the sky before taking a drink.
“You coped well.”
“I am the Queen of this kingdom; what other choice do I have except to cope well?”
“True.”
“True.” Rebecca gently shook her head.
The pair of them waited in silence until they heard the door to the reception room open and footsteps making their way towards them.
“Ah, Captain Philips,” said Rebecca.
“Ma’am?”
“If you wish wine, there is some in the drinks cabinet.”
“I am fine, thank you, ma’am.”
“Right. Gentlemen, what do you think of what has just happened?”
“I think we are damned lucky to have discovered the assassination attempt and that you were not hurt,” stated John Philips.
“Thank you, Captain. I was well protected by William and his associate.”
“I know, but…”
“We have been over this a hundred times, Captain. We knew there was going to be an attempt on my life at night in the palace, but did not know when. We had to do what we did to draw out the attackers. I am safe and they are either dead or caught. We succeeded.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, as I was saying – what do you think of what has just happened?”
“It makes no sense for Farah Sharpe to attempt to assassinate you,” stated William. “She has very little support that we know of, and is too far down the line of ascension to have a valid claim.”
“So Dylon Moore was lying?” said John.
“No, I don’t believe he was,” said William.
“What makes you think that?” asked Rebecca.
“Someone wants us to know it was Sharpe.”
“Why?” added John.
“That I do not know.”
“Maybe someone is using her?” said John. “If she was successful, a civil war would start and throw the Twin Kingdoms into chaos, allowing… someone – who, I don’t know – a chance at the crown, and if she failed, then she is an acceptable loss.”
“I agree,” said Rebecca; “however, if they are that clever, then there must be other links in the chain, or else, Farah would just give up her backer’s name to save her life.”
“Maybe,” muttered William.
“Pardon?” said Rebecca.
“It’s nothing, your Majesty,” dismissed William with a wave of his hand.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca gave her bodyguard a hard stare, which he ignored.
“Sooo, what do we do now?” asked Captain Philips, trying to ease the tension.
Giving one last hard stare, Rebecca broke eye contact with William and turned her attention to John. “We do nothing. William will send some of his ‘spies’ to watch Farah Sharpe and discover what is happening in her household.
“As for Mister Moore, he will die tonight – a quick clean death – then he and the other assassins will be buried in nameless graves.” Rebecca finished her wine. “As for now? Well, I don’t know about you, but I am going to bed. Captain Philips, would you be so good as to arrange an escort to take me to a guest bedroom and have someone call my maid?”
“She is outside the door,” said John.
“Excellent. So it’s just the escort then.”
“At once, ma’am,” said Captain Philips as he went to discharge his orders.
“Well, William, are you going to tell me what is on your mind?”
“Not yet, your Majesty.”
“William…”
“Once I am certain, I will let you know.”
“Your Majesty!” a woman’s voice called out. “I was so worried.”
“Ah, saved by the maid,” said Rebecca before raising her voice. “It is ok, Val, I am fine!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Val. Now stop fussing. I have things I need you to do…”
William phased out the women’s voices as he thought back on what had happened this night, especially what he thought he had heard Dylon say as he was marched out – ‘He cometh’. It may have been nothing, yet he would have liked a bit of time with Moore to make sure. However, that would now be impossible without arousing suspicion, and he did not want to do that. His spy network may not be what it once was, but it should still be able to get to the bottom of this mystery, along with discovering what Farah Sharpe was up to.
***
Three hours later – in the Archbishop’s office
Deacon Brown stood silently next to Archbishop Peak’s desk, as Peak slowly paced in his nightgown, whilst reading from a piece of paper.
“Serious news, Brown?”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“Why would Farah Sharpe attempt an assassination on the Queen?”
“That is a mystery. She is too far removed from the line of ascension, and the chaos it would cause would be of no benefit to her whatsoever,” pondered Brown.
“Maybe Reif Rothgal put her up to it?” suggested Peak.
“Maybe, but what would she have to gain? And why would Reif risk civil war now? He is not that stupid.”
Peak stopped pacing and tapped his chin with the piece of paper, thoughtfully. “Exactly. Why would Reif risk civil war now? Why would the Craktoneons allow their man to do something so stupid?”
“They wouldn’t.”
“I agree.”
Peak placed the paper on his desk and tapped his finger three times on it. “I take it that our candidate has not been… creative?”
“No, Amanda Rothgal–Ackroyd is loyal to the Church and will only act if we instruct.”
“I thought so.” Peak pulled out his chair and sat down. “I want to know immediately if our people in the palace find out anything new.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“In the meantime, I suppose we had better send a letter to the palace saying how pleased we are that our dear Queen is still alive.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
***
The next day – the Reif Rothgal Estate
Lying naked in bed, Reif grabbed the hair of Lady Prue Carnagie as she took his cock deep into her mouth. “There is nothing like a good morning blow job,” moaned Reif as Lady Carnagie continued to demonstrate her bedroom skills. “Sheesh, you could teach whores, Prue.”
Removing Reif’s cock from her mouth, Prue smiled, wickedly. “I do like sucking cock. My husband says I’m very good at it.”
“And he’s right,” laughed Reif as he gently forced Prue’s head back down.
Prue gave a small laugh and resisted. “I am a bad woman.”
Reif applied more pressure. “You are a very bad woman.”
“A bad and wicked woman?”
Reif grabbed more hair. “A very bad and wicked woman.”
“I need to be punished.”
“Oh yes, you do,” smiled Reif. Looking into Prue’s eyes, he forced her head down even lower.
Prue stopped resisting and slipped her mouth all the way down Reif’s cock.
“For fuck sake,” gasped Reif. “You really are a very bad and wicked woman.”
There was a knock at the door. “Yes, Prue, that’s it. Oh yes, that’s it.”
Th
ere was a more urgent and louder knock at the door. “Oh, you have to be fucking joking!” declared Reif.
Another knock and a muffed voice. “Reif, open up! This is important.”
“Fuck!” shouted Reif as he tried to disengage himself from Prue. “Prue, stop. Oh shit, Prue, no, stop.” Reif reluctantly placed his hands on Prue’s shoulders and pushed. “Prue, stop.”
Prue released his cock and stared angrily at him.
“Sorry.”
“Mmm,” said Prue as she grabbed the covers and rolled over, putting her back to him.
“Sorry,” muttered Reif as he got out of bed and pulled on his trousers. Walking to the foot of the bed, he called out, “Enter, and this had better be bloody good!”
The door opened and in walked a man in his mid-twenties.
“Alex, this had bloody better be serious…”
“It is, Reif,” said Alex Weir, walking up to and stabbing his friend with a finger on the cross, which had been branded over Reif’s heart. “That serious.”
“Oh.”
“Morning, Alex,” called out Prue.
“Morning, Prue,” replied Alex.
“Where is my husband?”
“Most likely, still blind drunk in his room, Prue.”
“Yes, he did drink a lot.”
“More than he thought, Prue.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Alex,” said Lady Carnagie with one of her famous wicked smiles.
“I saw the little blue glass bottle, Prue.”
“Look,” interrupted Reif, “if you two have quite finished...”
“It’s okay, darling,” said Prue, getting out of bed and allowing Alex to see her naked.
“You are a stunningly gorgeous woman, Prue,” stated Alex as he admired the view.
“I know, Alex,” said Prue, placing her hands on her hips and twisting slightly side to side, “and I have great tits.”
“Prue!” exclaimed Reif. “Really!”
“Well, it’s true,” stated Prue as she bent down, picked up her dress, and pulled it over her head.
