Queensmen

Chapter 58

~Musings~

Oris didn't know how long she had been awake—or if she even truly was awake. Time held no meaning when she was surrounded by a void where even her breaths were unheard—if even she was still breathing.

Sometimes she was aware of silence so thick that she felt suffocated and realized that she couldn't move. She would struggle, and struggle, until the darkness pulled her under once again.

Sometimes it was the pain in her side that stirred her senses—it assured her that she was still alive. The realization calmed her. Pain was good, even if it was just a pinch, it meant that the drug was wearing off.

She was not dead yet and maybe still asleep.

A flash of Bren's beautiful smile had her fumbling to breathe only to realize that she was still, and had been still all along.

She remembered that she could not move. She could not chase after him. He was gone.

Sometimes she felt like screaming. She was able to feel tears slip down her face to wet her ears but she never knew why she cried.

Was it because of the pain? The frustration? Both?

She remembered the keys she had hidden in her bossom and wondered if anyone had found them. They would need to undress her to treat her wounds—or clean her corpse if it came to it.

If she died, what would become of Aella? Would Hermes rescue her himself, or would he pretend like she did not exist to save face for the current Empress Dowager?

Oris blamed Bren for putting her in this state despite knowing that letting her body rest would reduce how much blood she lost. He saved her life, but she hated this—she hated being so helpless.

He had bet her survival on Hermes' willingness to save her and that made her hate everything even more.

The sour emotion plagued Oris until she fell asleep—or whatever equivalent she was able to experience. There was a certain bitterness to being left behind in enemy territory by the man who had just been prepared to die for you.

When next she regained consciousness nothing had changed, but she felt as though cobwebs had been swept away from her mind.

With the newfound clarity, she found herself pondering—wondering whether beauty really was a criteria for a place in Hermes' harem.

She hadn't put much thought into it before because it was a quality most emperors demanded, and it was clearly stated on the summons she read that only beautiful women could enter the palace and vie for a place at his side.

But… she had been injured, scarred, no longer beautiful according to palace etiquette, no longer pure…

Why then had she still been targeted despite her obvious disfigurement?

She had not questioned this because she had been worried more about survival than anything. From the moment she had traded words with Hermes in the Great Hall till the moment she discovered that more than one person was trying to kill her, she had not had time to just sit down and process it all.

In dungeons, she had been concerned about nothing more than how to escape. Now though, she had no reason to keep putting the matter aside.

If beauty really was necessary to be one of Hermes' women, the Empress Dowager could have used the fact that she was scarred as a reason to depose her. It would have been simple, just, and would have attracted less suspicion.

But the royal didn't do that. She hadn't even seemed to consider it and had taken great risks instead, going as far as hiring an assassin and defying her son's authority just to have her head.