The Red Throne | TUQ Book Two

39 | terrawyn

         It was pouring. Not a violent, murderous storm that pelted you in the face, but a soft, gentle drizzle that reminded you of the lackadaisical summer days.

The faint scent of my mother's lavender perfume lingered in my father's study, and there, sitting on the chair opposite me was the man himself.

       "Your mother has gone too far," he grumbled to himself as he dipped his fingers into the jar of salve. It was thick, yellow and greasy, but it helped to soothe the welts on my calves.

        "Don't tell her that I said this, but I don't think her military-style parenting helps much," I divulged. "Look at the Moreau children. I don't think that they will grow up and become sensible people."

         "Oh Anne, you are saying that because you had a fight with Corinne during their last visit. Otherwise, you absolutely adore them," my father retorted.

         "Corinne is tolerable," I admitted. "But Benedict is a foul human being. I doubt that he ever thinks of anything other than a woman's breasts!"

I was a child of thirteen summers, and such indecency on my cousin's part horrified me. My mother was convinced that he was just a curious teenager, but I was convinced otherwise.

People say that you can see a person's character from a young age, and Benedict's does not look too good. With that being said, I wonder about my own character.

         "Father, what do you think will become of me in the future?" I suddenly blurted out.

He glanced at me tenderly, then smiled. "Why, that is up for you to decide."

Those words confused my young brain, and I was quiet for a brief moment. For me to decide?

    "Oh, that is a very peculiar thought," I say with a giggle. "So I can become anything I want? A countess? A duchess?"

My father nods. "You can become anything, my dear Anne, as long as you are willing to do whatever it takes for you to get there."

       "Even a queen?" I gasped. "Oh dear, it must take a great deal of effort to get there."

       "It takes a great deal of effort indeed. But if you truly want it, too much is not enough. Becoming queen is the highest a woman can go, and only the strongest and most ruthless ones can succeed."

        "Oh? But I thought that a queen's job is to sit beside the king and look pretty," I mumbled.

        "It is not that simple, my dear. The entire palace will be under your supervision, and you must oversee the preparation of all those fancy banquets, like the ones we attend all the time. But most importantly, you must be able to influence the king and steer his favours towards your own family."

That sounded very difficult indeed. I thought of the glorious, splendid King Edward. How could anyone subdue him?

       My father then added, "In the race for power, no one can be innocent. Winning requires for your hands to be stained with blood, whether you'd like it or not. Your court becomes a battleground, and your throne is a trophy of your hard-earned, bloodstained victory."

The thought of blood drenching my hands made shivers run down my spine, but the longer I pondered about it, the less daunting it became.

         Like my father said, too much is not enough when it comes to power. It will never be enough.

The thought of endless power and glory beguiled me, even if it meant sacrificing everything I ever knew of. I was willing to do anything, to give anything, just for a taste of power.