Queen of Peace
Wendy T. Lyoness
Copyright © 2020 by Wendy T. Lyoness
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Furore
A bosomy succubus with horns curled back over her head, and demonic wings stretched out along her sides, sat on a throne in darkness. She snapped her fingers, a beam of light illuminated the throne. In the light, she picked at her nails with a jagged glass knife, grinned, and crossed her hooved legs, shifting the fabric of her silk dress.
“You know what I hate?” She asked with a sultry tone. “My world, its history, and its refusal to change. I could have done better, given the same… options.”
She glanced down at the floor in front of the throne where a body laid in shadows.
“While this self-proclaimed goddess of love… naps. I’ll seize my opportunity to free the mortals of their chains. I predict a rise in women rejecting men for lovelier women.” Her grin widened, grew mischievous. “You see, I like to watch.”
She laughed, snapped her fingers twice, and the light above the throne flickered out alongside the universe’s belief that everything would turn out fine.
The Very First Lover
A mystical forest spanned the kingdom of Algora’s entire eastern border. The forest, known as the Freow Woods, had once belonged to the elves, and to this day, superstitious humans avoided the area because of its surrounding myths.
Yet since the forest lay on the border between two nations, merchants and diplomats were often forced to travel the dirt road which ran under restless canopies of massive, ancient trees. Many who entered the Freow Woods never returned.
Leyla earned her keep as a common soldier in the king’s army, and she’d been assigned as one of fifty to escort diplomat Herielas through the Freow Woods. Herielas had proved crucial in ensuring a prosperous relationship between Algora and Xenthien, the nation beyond the forest.
So far, the journey had been uneventful, but Leyla wouldn’t complain. She’d rather march for hours on end, until she was sweaty and sore and her boots broke, than return home to Algora ever again. If she reached Xenthien, she would disappear and begin a new life.
She hadn’t told anyone about her plan when she’d left, and hadn’t brought much coin with her, but she viewed the life of a deserter and mercenary as preferable to marriage. Her family planned to craft a gilded cage for her to lock her heart in. She’d have none of it.
They marched through the hours of the afternoon, four brown stallions pulled Herielas’ carriage in the middle of the procession. Eventually, evening arrived, night began to fall, and they had to set up camp. Nathaniel, their captain, judged it too dangerous to continue their journey after nightfall.
Once Leyla had helped set up camp in a defensible grove by the side of the endless road, she distanced herself from the rest of the soldiers and found a seat on a mossy rock. She needed a break from them as much as she needed to escape Algora. The soldiers weren’t bad people, but they would be irritated, tired, after the long march. She could take the first watch while everyone rested.
“Would you choose freedom or love?” A soldier in steel armour suddenly sat behind her, as if they’d appeared out of the woods.
At first Leyla thought it was Nathaniel, but while she couldn’t see the soldier’s face because of their helmet, she could tell they were taller than the captain. In fact, the new arrival seemed taller than anyone she’d met.
Leyla ignored the question and pretended she hadn’t heard. To make a point, she pulled her helmet off her head and shook her black, messy hair free. If someone wanted to chat about their troubles, or their homesickness, they could uncover their face too.
“A life free of duty and expectation, or a life with a loving woman by your side. It’s a tough call, isn’t it? Which would you choose?” The soldier asked, and sounded a little too feminine to be asking such a question out in the open.
“I’m no man. Still, obviously, everyone would want the latter. One’s duty is too important to forsake. Love is a blessing.” Leyla gave the answer she would have expected from another soldier of Algora, though in truth, she’d always pick freedom over love.
She reached for the sword at her side to sharpen it, if necessary, and hoped the masked soldier would take the hint and wander off.
“It’s a deal.”
“What?” Leyla turned toward the soldier, but no one sat behind her. No soldier stood closer to her than when she’d first sat down. All she could see around her originated out of the deep calm of the forest. Not a single leaf stirred. Nothing moved. The underbrush lay still.
She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword.
Lucky Second
The elves never abandoned the Freow Woods. They waged war after war against the humans until they could fight no longer. They’d suffered too many casualties, and did not reproduce as fast. In the end, they retreated to their sacred glades.
“Mother!” Syvis rushed through Tsarra, their small village, as fireflies danced around her on the ground.
Fayeth watched her from the wooden walkways, outside of their home, suspended above the huts below. The majority of the village had been built from tree to tree and supplied with light from magical lanterns. A pleasant sight, especially at night, even if she’d gotten too used to it.
Fayeth could remember a time when they’d ruled the entire forest. Some huts attached in a vertical fashion to trees seemed a small comfort compared to the wondrous cities which had fallen prey to humanity.
Syvis scaled the side of the tree, in no time, and pulled herself up with the help of a rope she’d attached to the side of the walkway earlier. Her breathing had grown ragged, despite how she could brag about being one of the fittest elves in Tsarra, so she must have run for a while. Sticks and dirt clung to her ginger hair. Her gaunt, freckled face reminded Fayeth of herself at that age. A notion which became doubly true when Syvis frowned.
“What’s the matter, child?” Fayeth smiled and brushed dirt off her daughter’s leather tunic. “Have you rolled around with a special someone? Do I know their name?”
“What a stupid question!” Syvis began to unwrap something she’d wrapped in cloth. “The humans—“
“You’re right.” Fayeth nodded. “I’ve met every elf in these woods, I’d know their name. Who is it?”
Syvis pouted, revealed the injured crow she’d hid inside the cloth, and turned to enter their house. “The humans are traveling through our home again, uninvited. If you weren’t busy making light of that, I’d ask you to heal this poor bird they attacked for no reason. But I can handle it, don’t you worry.”
Fayeth extended her hand towards Syvis’s back to stop her, to tell her something soothing, but she hesitated long enough for her to daughter to disappear into their home.
“You can,” Fayeth said, unsure if her daughter could hear her or not. “You know the spells as well as I. I’m proud of you for that.”
She was less proud of her daughter’s rebellious streak. She worried there would come a day when Syvis inspired other young elves to go to war against humanity. Once, Fayeth had lead from the frontlines of such battles, but these days she’d become too aware of how they lacked the numbers required to win. The humans bred like rodents.
And if elves did go to war again, they would have to do it when the signs were in their favour. They hadn’t been in ages. An injured crow constituted another bad omen.
Fayeth strolled along the walkways and descended to the ground by one of the spiral staircases. Fireflies pursued her as she strode from hut to hut. Her neighbors greeted her, yet most of them knew her well enough to understand wh
ere she headed, and what mood she was in. They didn’t resent her for not stopping to chat.
She walked until she reached the meadow where several of her friends and Syvis’s father rested. Wild roses and lilies grew in abundance in the grass, but no one had placed a single headstone. Graves would have told the humans where to search. If they’d found this area, they would have desecrated their dead.
Fayeth fell to her knees among the flowers, offered a silent prayer, and dug her fingers into the cold earth. Tears welled up in her eyes as memories resurfaced. The stars watched in judgmental silence from the sky.
“I’m sorry. Again, I’m sorry,” she said. “If you wish me to stop this new caravan defiling our lands, I will. Give me a sign.”
A chilly wind tore at her dress and almost knocked her over. Fayeth didn’t fight it. She allowed the wind to have its way with her. When it stopped, she rose to her feet. The dead were not content with inaction.
She spun around to return to the village, but someone waited for her on the path, hidden by shadows. They stood tall, so she assumed they were an elf, yet the closer she got, the more apparent it became that that was not the case. Elves did not have horns. Spirits did.
“Oof, this elf needs sex,” the spirit said and waved a hand in front of her nose.
“Spirit. I have no qualms with you,” Fayeth said. “Don’t disrespect me.”
“Call me Furore,” Furore said and made a dismissive gesture with her hand as she leaned against the trunk of a tree. “And I’m merely stating fact. You need sex. I can smell it on you. You smell like food forgotten for seasons in a pantry. You’ve gone stale. Very stale, indeed.”
“I won’t offer my body to you.”
“Nothing so crude.” Furore laughed. “No, no. You see, I’m filling in for a friend as she rests, similar to how your friends now rest.”
“I’d like to return to my village to rest, yes.” Fayeth wished she’d brought a dagger or a bow. No one had interrupted her mourning in the past, so she’d been unprepared for confrontation.
“Not what I meant. I have a proposition, an alternative, which might be a first step to peace for you,” Furore said. “Humans are simple, straightforward, but elves tend to be difficult to deceive.”
“What is it you want?”
“For you to keep an open heart, an open mind,” Furore said and paused, yet she did not leave. “And entertain the idea of a union between a human and an elf.”
Fayeth must have misheard. “Are you, as the old human saying goes, fucked in the head?”
“I don’t think they say that these days.” Furore chuckled. “You haven’t talked with them in a long while, have you?”
“No.”
“I could ask your daughter instead, if you prefer. Actually, I was about to, but then my poor nose caught your stink.” Furore grinned. Fayeth couldn’t see her face in the shadows, but she did spot the glint of fangs. “Seems Syvis would accept such a deal, for a brief time, in the hopes she could hurt a human, personally.”
“If you swear to leave my daughter alone, forever, I will do whatever you ask.”
“You have my word, darling,” Furore said, raised her right hand in a half-hearted wave, and blinked out of existence.
Fayeth shuddered.
A Slight Snafu
Owls and minks emerged from their dens to hunt as night settled upon the Freow Woods. Furore waited until her chosen lovers had fallen asleep in their respective beds, and then, she swept them away for a romantic rendezvous. By morning, Leyla and Fayeth would think they’d dreamt everything which had happened.
Leyla stirred, water dripped on her forehead. She woke under a silver moon eating the sky. The stars were barely visible at the edges of the moon, yet they twinkled happily.
She sat and discovered a trimmed hedge encircling her on all sides instead of the forest. She couldn’t see any kind of exit, but she did spot a pond with an elegant bench. The water of the pond created a faint music when it flowed into the wind.
Leyla had heard rumours about how real magic existed in the Freow Woods, but she’d never seen the slightest proof before. Perhaps the rumours were true, or perhaps sleeping under the intimidating trees inspired new dreams. Regardless, no moon should be as close to the earth as the one which hung above her.
A woman with a timeless appearance sat up across from Leyla, rubbed her forehead, and groaned. Leyla had seen plenty of attractive nobles in Algora, yet none as striking as the one in front of her now. The confident look in her icy eyes demanded respect, as snowy, wavy hair draped narrow shoulders, and she stared at Leyla in disgust. Even if the woman was not a noble, she must be used to being treated like a queen. How would anyone dare disobey someone with such authority imbued in their features?
Leyla let her eyes stray downwards to see what kind of clothes the woman wore, yet immediately, the queen shouted at her in a foreign language. She couldn’t understand what she’d said, but the context made it clear. No staring. Leyla should treat her with respect or else, face her wrath.
“Apologies.” Leyla stood and noticed how she wasn’t wearing her armour, gambeson, or undershirt.
She wore a silvery shirt and pants weaved out of a transparent fabric. The garments were gorgeous, no doubt, but they bared her athletic physique to the world. Luckily, the world only seemed to consist of two women at present, so her state of undress didn’t bother her as much as it might have with men nearby. Instead, she strode over to the woman on the ground to offer a hand.
Up close, she spotted the long, pointy ears of an elf under snowy locks. If she hadn’t seen those, Leyla might have wondered why the woman stiffened before she accepted her help. She’d never seen an elf in the flesh before. She’d thought they belonged to fairytales.
The elf got up with her help, Leyla caught sight of her clothes. She wore a dress weaved from the same transparent fabric as Leyla’s shirt, and underneath waited a slim stomach and long legs. Now she could definitely be accused of staring.
The elf must have noticed where Leyla’s gaze lingered too because she lashed out as soon as she stood on her own two feet. Leyla expected a slap across her cheek, befit a noble, but she felt hands grip her throat. The elf spat harsh-sounding words in her face.
Leyla still had no idea what she said, and this time the elf said too much at once for her to understand everything from context alone. She did smell her breath, a mixture of strawberries and herbs, and had to do her best to not react too positively to it.
The elf narrowed her eyes, turned her head, and shouted another string of foreign words addressed to someone else. Leyla had assumed they were alone up to that point.
“Thought you knew her language!” A familiar voice responded from somewhere beyond the hedge. “Remember? You insulted me with a human saying?”
The elf refocused her attention on Leyla and spoke with a broken, sensual accent. “You know this Furore?”
Leyla just shook her head, as if she suspected her voice might fail her in the presence of this domineering noble.
“Are you a man or woman?”
“Woman,” Leyla said. Should she feel slighted that the elf couldn’t tell? She may work as a soldier, and have more muscles than dainty maids, but she hadn’t lost the defining characteristics of her gender.
“Fuck,” the elf said, eased her grip on Leyla’s throat, and sighed.
Leyla didn’t know if she should take it as a swear or a suggestion. To be on the safe side, she grabbed the elf’s hands and removed them from her neck.
“No,” she said. “No fucking. I’m a human, you’re an elf. They’d interrogate me for days if they found out I’d talked with you. Besides, we’re women. They’d kill me if they learnt I’d touched you.”
“Oh? They would, would they?” The elf quirked an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and leaned forward, even though they stood right in front of each other. Leyla could smell strawberries on her skin, which lead her to believe it may be perfume, not the elf’s breath. “I’ll ki
ll you if you stare at my breasts, again. Trust me.”
“I didn’t, but I don’t doubt it,” Leyla said.
Neither of them seemed to know why they’d come to this place, had anything further to say to the other, or wanted to lower their guard to a potential enemy. It all resulted in a prolonged moment where they sort of stared at each other.
Leyla focused on the elf’s blue eyes, lest her gaze stray. She’d never held eye contact with a stranger without speaking before. Not this long. She imagined she could see sadness, grief, hate, and disgust in the elf’s eyes, but she’d no idea how true her impression was since she did not know the woman in question. She shouldn’t make assumptions.
A part of her wanted to ask the elf how old she was, to confirm if the fairytales were true or not. A wiser part recognized how it might be perceived as a rude question. The moment made for a strange dream, yet she did not want to wake.
The elf rolled her eyes and broke eye contact first. To Leyla’s surprise, she did look down.
“You’re not worried I’ll kill you if you stare at me?”
“You’re deviant, dirty-minded. I’m old, too old, to have desires.” The elf smirked. “Even for a strong body.”
“You don’t look old, compared to a human,” Leyla said. “We’re—“
The elf swept her legs out from under her with a fast kick, knocked Leyla to the ground, turned on her heel, and walked away. “I’m not like humans.”
Leyla could have watched the elf leave without being noticed, if she’d wanted to, but she had no interest in watching her leave. She kind of wanted her to come back.
Unfair
“You didn’t tell me she’s a woman,” Fayeth said, as she tore herself from the constructed dream world. She could tell the difference between her own subconscious and the succubus’ stage for love.
“I didn’t tell you anything about them,” Furore said and lay down next to her, on top of the covers.
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