The negotiations began with bloodshed. 

Once, it had been ritual for parties to call a champion from the seafields of war to the table of peace. A duel for favor, victory resting with they who made the greater gamble, who drew the mightier warrior from battle to earn the blessing of the quill. The exchange of advantages; the core of Equilibrio, the heartbeat of the cosmos.

Perhaps the assassins sought a return to the ways of old.

A song began the onslaught; the whistle of death pierced the cacophony of argument. Today, death came as an airborne dagger pointed toward the hostess, a figure shrouded in crimson and crowned in marble.

The Queen. 

There was no sudden movement, no incredible catch. The monarch simply plucked the dagger from the air and examined it curiously. In the hall, the debate faltered, then descended into screams.

Her Majesty rose as soldiers leaped from the ranks of nobles, shouting, scrambling to die for their ruler as flashes of deadly emerald shot through the air. A whirl of silk and sickly-sweet perfumes suffused the hall as aristocrats stumbled irrationally, ignored by the assassins. Screams; the terrible clack of granite meeting flint, the scent of smoldering flesh. Unfazed, The Queen strode across the room, chaos in her wake, doors of jade waiting to embrace her.

An ill-fated mercenary lunged to block her exit.

A flick of the wrist, a dagger to the chest, a sweep of the cape, and doors slammed shut with the finality of death.

The shouts quelled; weapons fell in defeat, mission thwarted; their quarry departed.

The traitors were dragged off through the servant’s entrance, the disillusioned youth spitting and cursing, the experienced displaying only silent resentment.

The hall filled with murmurs, relief quickly giving way to rumors about her, she who knew the future, who could drain the soul with a glance. 

A profound tranquility settled upon the room when the ruler appeared from silence, nodding to the departing captain, who bowed and exited, rendering the aristocrats unguarded, alone with an immortal.

The Queen assumed her seat, fingering a jagged knife. 

“We will resume negotiations.”

🜋

As night broke, the kingdom’s princess admired the lies of the sea. From a balcony of privilege, she set her sight on the horizon, where crystalline towers jutted from the cerulean sea, dusk bouncing playfully over their surface. The sundance concealed the crystals’ pink stain, the torturous shadow they cast over deathly still waters hiding nameless soldiers in the depths. Sébrina loved that beauty, the sparkling illusion that surpassed all reason, the demand for wonder in a land of war. She savored the ambiance: the fickle wind, aimless birdcries, and dying sunlight. Insecure, weak, and so very alive.  

A hollow, daunting presence broke her meditation, and Sébrina smiled, turning to face the last person she loved.

“My queen,” She bowed.

“My sister,” Adella acknowledged, unmoving. 

“It’s been some time,” Sébrina ventured.

“I hosted delegates from Orellia for dinner tonight,” the queen intoned.

Lovely. 

“Did you? We’re at war with them, aren’t we?” Sébrina said airily, turning back towards the sea.

Adella narrowed her eyes. “You are not exempted from these affairs. You must learn every intrigue and rumor; every dispute and skirmish. Each wave, flourish, and jest must be calculated, lest you incite disaster.”

Sébrina waved a hand. “You know my dislike of politics. Too much scheming, lying, backstabbing. Interesting, perhaps, but only from a distance.” She plucked a hibiscus from the flower box.

“Then tell me, why are you trying to kill me?”

Sébrina’s mouth twitched, the hint of a smirk crossing her face.

“Why not? It’s not as if there’s any other fun I can have with you,” She plucked a petal, the dye staining her hands. “Really, it’s quite dramatic of you to accuse me of an impossibility”

“I don’t want your excuses, sister.”

Sébrina met her sister’s gaze. “You’re untouchable, Adella. Always upon the throne, astride the red horse, off conspiring with the elders and dining with emperors. Leave me to wallow alone, and it becomes inevitable that I should seek out certain daring endeavors.”

“Spare me your nonsense.” Adella snapped. 

“Fine, then.” She spat. “This is how I reach you, how I stay relevant, how I claim my place in your mind, even if it’s only one of irritation! Do you remember what it was like to feel before you tossed emotion aside in favor of the almighty ‘reason’?”

“It is ‘reason’ that governs this kingdom, and can stand no interference. You threaten my ability to rule for your own selfish attachment.” Adella scathed. 

“You say that, yet allow my treachery.” Sébrina ventured.

“You have handed me indispensable tools. Intelligence, services, resources difficult to acquire legitimately, all fallen neatly into my lap by your doing. I do not dismiss such opportunities. Our relation is insignificant.”

“Right, how silly of me to think otherwise.” Sébrina bit her lip. “It did give me hope, though. For a time, I thought you cared about me.”

Adella sighed,  “I care about the kingdom alone, Sébrina. You, as heir apparent, must learn to forsake your desires, your weaknesses, in favor of duty.”

“Our weaknesses makes us human, Adella,” she pleaded. “You need not neglect them,”

Adella took Sébrina’s hand, and for a tantalizing moment, she thought her sister might embrace her. 

Instead, she plunged a dagger into Sébrina’s gut. Sébrina gasped, breath stolen, as fire enveloped her from the inside.

Sébrina stumbled back, gasping in shock, leaving the bloodless dagger pulsating amber in her sister’s hand.

“You will not always be immortal, Sébrina. One day, you will bleed; you will suffer. But you must never be human. You must never break, never cry, never despair.” 

Sébrina opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by her sister’s parting words.

“A ruler is not human. A ruler is fearless, flawless, ageless, loveless. When a ruler becomes human, they become a tyrant.”

🜋

Blood diamond coated General Marcello’s sword.

 The cursed rock was everywhere: caked into his uniform, in his boots; up his ears. Thousands of shards clinked down the stairs as he ascended the crystalline fort, aching to collapse in bed. But even after a victory, there were reports to be filed, analyses to be made, letters to be written, and rest would evade him once more. 

Indeed, immediately upon his entrance, he was approached by a disheveled ruddy watchman, a fresh recruit.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

The boy shuffled forward, trembling. “I-I would like to ask, sir, if there might be another shipment of-of provisions arriving soon. I-we are fatigued, sir.” he stammered. The general stared at him incredulously.

“You want food.”

“Yes, sir. We haven’t eaten in three cycles.”

Marcello’s lip curled. “Out on those seafields, your less fortunate brethren float wounded and drowned. You stand beside me, blessed with the simplest of tasks, yet you still manifest the audacity to whine about something so mundane as hunger? Do you know how long King Filial’s army lasted on cold stone during the Siege of Mar?”

“Yes, sir.” the boy whispered.

“How long?”

“Eighteen lightcycles, sir.”

“There were eighty-two soldiers with him in that cold time, and how many deserted him?”

“None.” 

The general waited. 

“Sir.”

“Indeed. And by the depths, they served a clown! Remember who you serve, a monarch of presence, reason, and devotion. Hold yourself higher for it.”

“Of course, sir,” the boy mumbled. 

“Return to your post,” Marcello spat.

The boy scurried off, and Marcello wiped his brow. He retreated to his quarters, removed his coat, and shook the crystal out off the balcony, watching it tinkle down into an infinite sea. As he watched, he spied an anomaly in its folds.

A crimson horse. 

He rushed from the fort, glad he had retained his war boots as they carried him out from the crystal island into unstable seafield. He stood at attention to meet the incoming royal.

“General.” Adella greeted as he bowed. Her horse nickered, and Marcello marveled at the beast’s skill, how it stood still atop a stormy sea and the waves parted before its hooves.

“What of the negotiations?” He asked.

“Rejected, of course.” Adella shrugged, and Marcello’s heart plummeted.

“We gained nothing? None of our roads opened; none of our soldiers returned?”

Adella affixed him with her blue, depthless stare. “A secession? A trade? Those are tools for the halfhearted; the regretful, of which I am neither. I intend to finish the war, not use a coward’s tool to prolong it.”

“And what of your subjects? My brethren suffer for your sake.” He paused, searching her. “You must not abandon them for the sake of war.”

Adella stiffened. “Do not accuse me of such things.”

Marcello knew he had overstepped, gambled on their lost friendship, and bowed his head.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

She nodded. “Do not cease your attack. Remain strong, and the Orellians will wear.”

At what cost? 

The Queen reached down to rest a stiff hand on his shoulder, a pallid attempt at sympathy. “I trust no one more.” She turned her mount away and disappeared.

The general wandered back, troubled as he again began the long ascent up the fort and was nearly trampled by the same watchman.

“You again!” he snapped, hand moving to his sword. 

“Sir! I’m sorry, so sorry sir, but the Orellian general is here!” the boy stammered.

“The general? What nonsense is this?” 

“Ye-yes, sir, he’s just arrived at the fort’s east front under a cobalt flag.”

“He wants to parley?” Marcello hesitated for the barest of seconds. “No. The Queen demands no concessions be made.”

“Thats-that’s just the thing, sir. He doesn’t want to parley with the Queen. He wants to parley with us.”

🜋

Adella sensed unrest at sea. Not the usual discontentment and fatigue, but an intense thrum of anger, confusion, and defiance pounding her soul. With a frown, she turned her horse back toward the fort, and quickly discovered the source. 

A tall, green-eyed, Orellian man addressing a crowd of her soldiers, standing at the foot of their largest fort unmolested. As she approached, his speech became clear. 

“In her pursuit of this terrible war, your ruler has proven incompetent and negligent, ignorant to her people’s needs! What are you fighting for? You do not need our territory. Your queen attacked for pride, not need, at has come at great cost to our peoples! Stand against her. Lay down your arms.”

His speech was followed by passionate shouts, in both agreement and disgust, but the majority stood silent, resentment brewing, ready to break at the Orellian’s whim.

Adella’s horse hit crystal with a resonant thud, and the crowd gasped, defiance stifled under her sway.

“General Drasenti!” She dismounted and shouted for the crowd to hear. “What is this?”

Drasenti leveled his gaze, undaunted. “I come to do your people a service, Your Majesty,”

“You dare undermine my authority and frame it as benevolence?” Her tone was of cold anger, refusing to give into passion.

“Adella, you may think me a villain, but you are the agressor, the deaf and ignorant!” He waved his hands in frustration.  “I am but another leader trying to protect his people. It pains me to see good soldiers dying for nothing but a channel of sea. Let us have peace,” he pleaded. “Let us walk away wiser, if not victorious.”

Drasenti didn’t understand that the war was an assertion of power, unpleasant yet necessary to protect from future conflict. But his words would garner sympathy, and she could sense the soldiers slipping from her sway.

The Queen needed to assert her power. 

“General Marcello,” she called. “Come here.”

He appeared from the fringe of the crowd, eyes downcast as he prepared for a reprimand. The Queen waited for him to stand before her, then turned and nodded towards Drasenti, who stood but a few strides away.

“Kill him.” 

🜋

Marcello stared in shock, stomach twisting in horror as he met The Queen’s cold stare.

But despite himself, he drew his sword and stepped towards the Orellian general. 

“You call yourself a general, but you sacrifice your soldiers to a despot.” Drasenti whispered. 

“My queen serves her kingdom.” Marcello snapped, tightening his grip.

“They are the kingdom, general.” The man’s verdant eyes shone with desperation.

They are the kingdom. 

His hand trembled.

Marcello had always assured his soldiers they fought for a worthy cause, even after he watched their bodies sink, the diamond turn red. When they resisted, he had punished; when they had spoken, he had silenced. 

In her name.

He turned back towards his queen, his friend who had given up immortality, love, joy; cut out her heart to serve her kingdom.

In truth, she wasn’t the tyrant.

But she had created one.

He stepped towards her; watched an alien flicker pass through her eyes.

Fear.

He ran the sword through her.

The Queen fell. 

Her eyes betrayed no anger, no defiance or pain, simply empty resignation as her blood stained the diamond red, as her horse shrieked, as her being seeped into the cosmos.

The Orellian general bowed his head.

Marcello wept over her body, broken and ashamed.

And the people cheered. 

🜋

Queen Sébrina,

If you are reading this, then you have killed me. 

I thought this might come, that your desperation might drive you to incredible lengths. I do not blame you. I know I was not a good sister, but I have laid the foundation for centuries of prosperity, despite the present suffering. That trade was necessary, though it hurt you; drove you to the precipice of insanity. 

I gave up my Gift, my immortality, to serve my people. The same choice is before you now.

Become a godly despot or a selfless monster.

I have tried to protect you from this role.

It may not seem so, but I have always loved you.

I’m sorry.

Beneath, the seal of the red horse.

“She was an angel.” Sébrina whispered, hand quivering. 

“I know,” Marcello turned away.

“And a monster,” Sébrina shook her head and laughed. “She thought I would kill her, and instead put her faith in you.”

Marcello shut his eyes. “She was, in a way, an idealist. She believed I was strong enough to hold faith in her. She believed the people would stand strong, despite her harsh policy.” His voice cracked. “She was wrong.”

Sébrina spoke slowly, biting back fury as she slipped her hand under her dress, grasping cold emerald. “They support you because are what I wanted. You feel, you weep, you break; you see them.”
“Those qualities have made me a murderer and traitor.”

Yes. 

A vengeful flash, a dagger pressed to the throat. Marcello didn’t resist, and Sébrina choked back a sob as realization descended upon her.

“That’s what Adella didn’t understand. The people don’t want a good ruler. In the end, they will always choose a loving tyrant over a soulless angel.”

The dagger clattered to the floor.

“I do, too.”