Their Thirst For Pride

9 -The Queen's Regret

Orion stared curiously at Miss Cadman who stood across the room, fidgeting with the sleeves of her dress. Esme stood near him, examining the expression his face held. He was suspicious of the sword fighter.
For once, Lex contained himself completely. He felt faint. This death could have very easily led back to him. He knew the effects of his potions. Every single one of them. And the vials found on Miss Flint’s vanity, left with a bit of liquid on the bottom of each, those were certainly meant to put suspicion on him. He too stared at Miss Cadman. He loathed her.
The queen sat on her throne, overlooking everyone. Her eyes ached. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the entire week but not as little as she did the night before. Everyone was waiting for her to take the reins again. She didn’t want to take the reins anymore. But of course, Autumn stood by her side and nagged at her to use her authority to its advantage.
She stood up, everyone immediately turned their heads to her.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It has come to all of our attention the Miss Flint has passed along with Miss Amaryllis. I know, we are all locked in here but I urge you to not lose hope. If there’s anything I can do to console you, I hope that you’ll calm yourselves and turn to each other for comfort. I understand this is scary but there’s not much I can do regarding the gates being locked. As I mentioned last night, the next competition is pottery, goodluck.”

Vardaan watched as everyone worked in the small workshop the palace contained for certain occasions such as this. Some struggled while some seemed to have some kind of experience. Even if it was very little, it was a good idea to have any bit of skill in each competition the year brought about. He grew bored and walked about the halls of the palace, examining the carvings of patterns on the walls as he passed by. He wanted to speak with the queen. She was the only free person at the time and likely had some kind of knowledge of what was going on. Eventually, he arrived at one of the entrances to the garden. Outside, sat an impassive queen Lyra on a bench, spinning a rose between her fingers. He stepped outside, startling her, and walked toward her. She placed the rose down next to herself and stared at him.
“Your majesty, what are you doing out her all alone?” He asked.
Her eyes evaded his, “Hm? Nothing. I’m just sitting here with my thoughts is all.”
“Thoughts of?” He asked, sitting down next to her, picking up the rose she’d discarded.
“Why do you ask?”
“I just thought you’d want someone to talk to. I’m lonely, you seem the same.”
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Why not?” He asked, dropping the rose. The flower fluttered into the grass, a petal straying from it.
“I have my reasons.”
“Is something wrong, your majesty?”
She straightened, “No? Nothing is wrong.”
He shrugged, “I won’t force you to confess it now but something’s been going on with you. I can tell. We can talk about something else if you want to.”
Lyra nodded and changed the subject. She felt safe for the first time in a while. Maybe she could tell this man. What was the hurt in telling one person?

Lyra walked slowly beside the wall of the throne room, gazing at the pictures that lined it. Most of them were paintings of the land or famous buildings, something nice to look at. Eventually, she came to the main attraction, her family portrait. She was sixteen in that picture. Ten years ago she never would have seen any of this coming. She longed to be a teenager once again, blind from the world’s wrath, its harsh reality. She studied her mother and father’s faces. She collected the features that mirrored hers. How she missed them. She ran through her thoughts as she occupied herself with the painting and turned to the door in the throne room. The castle’s main entrance. She walked toward it and undid the latches on the door. Then, glaring at the keyhole, gripped onto the doorknob. Maybe, by some small chance, this door was unlocked despite the fact that the key was nowhere to be found. She pulled on the doorknob but it didn’t budge. Hope ceased to exist as she tugged with all of her strength.
She let go, taking her hand in the other, rubbing her palm for relief. Her hand ached from pulling on the door knob. She made no noise, just stared at the wood planks that made up the door with teary eyes.
“Any luck?”
She straightened up, looking behind her. Mr. Galle was standing on the other side of the room.
Lyra blinked back the tears and looked to her family portrait. Vardaan followed her actions, recognizing the faces of the previous king and queen of Emavaria.
“You miss them?” Vardaan asked.
“Of course I do.” Lyra answered, her voice breaking a little.
“King Roan and Queen Mackenzie. Excellent monarchs. I’m terribly sorry, your majesty.”
She didn’t respond nor look in his direction. She only stared at the floor. She didn’t feel capable of saying anything.
But as she prepared to leave the room, she finally let it out. “Can I tell you something?”

A hand curled around the ornate doorknob of the queen’s bedroom. Vardaan followed in behind her, staring at the familiarities of the room. It had certain aspects similar to the one he’d been given when entering these games.
Lyra sat down at the foot of her bed on a seat placed there. She did not rest her back against the bed frame, she sat up straight, holding a perfect posture. Despite the composed stance her body held, her face communicated an uncomfortableness, one worse than what Vardaan had noticed on her earlier in the week. He took the hint and sat next to her, looking concerned in her direction.
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding for a moment. “Okay. If I tell you this, you tell no one.”
He raised his eyebrows, “I can keep a secret.”
She lowered her head. Was she really going to do this? She knew this man for how long? Three days and she was going to tell him her deepest regret. Stupid.