⚠️ CW - violence, gore, death

Drip. Drip.

Slain pigs dangled over buckets in the slaughterhouse, matted hair dark and stinking. They had been gutted, their entrails glistening on the blood-spattered floor. The Queen stifled a gasp at the sight of them, then buried her face in her hands.

Drip. Drip.

I watched one of the pigs, mesmerized. A bead of crimson gathered on its snout before falling into the bucket.

Geoff must have been here just before the rebellion. I imagined him slicing open the pigs, hearing the crowd gather in the courtyard. In a flash, the room blurred. Twisted. I envisioned the feast in full glory. People hanging over the buckets in place of pigs, bleeding from gashes in their throats. Blood streaking their faces, drying in clumps in their hair. Eyes open, staring out.

Staring at me.

"Auden." A hand grazed my arm and I flinched. Philip looked at me expectantly. "Auden, give me the sword."

I looked down slowly, as if drunk. I had almost forgotten I'd been holding it. I gripped the hilt. Why does he want it? A voice tugged at the back of my mind. He doesn't trust you.

He knows you're a killer.

"I have been trained to handle a sword," the King said. "Have you?"

Right. My mind slowly refocused. Geoff. The rebel servants. They were the enemy. Wordlessly, I handed him the weapon. He adjusted its position naturally in his hand. His curls flowed freely, red as the blood staining the slaughterhouse floor. His head lifted, his once-warm amber eyes now cold and sure.

This was it. This was his moment to be King. "Arm yourselves," he ordered. "Then we shall march to the courtyard and reclaim the castle."

Cleavers. Carving knives. Each blade in the slaughterhouse had been cleaned and sharpened recently, by the looks of it. They were laid out in a neat row on the table. Like silverware.

"No."

The King and guards stared at me as I took up a long, smooth knife, admiring its shine as I spun it in the light. Philip faltered. I could feel his gaze on me, blinking. "What do you mean, no?"

I set the long knife down and selected a smaller one. I flipped it in my hand, practicing all the ways I could stab and slash someone. I could do this. Fletcher had been good practice after all.

"We should stay here." My voice sounded distant and foreign. Not my own.

Blood. Filth. Rot. I felt all the power of that night rush into my bones as I held the knife. I heard the butcher's dying cries. I tasted his blood. This was the culmination.

"My God," Henriette shrieked. "He is one of them! He's led us here to be slaughtered like pigs!" She broke off into a stream of distressed French.

The guards pointed their swords at me. My fingers tightened around the knife.

Philip held my gaze. He breathed slowly, holding his hand out like I was a spooked beast. "Tell me what you're thinking," he said gently. "I need to know your plan."

"I'm going to kill Geoff." The words left my lips before I could even process them. "If he's sharp, he won't stay in the courtyard. He'll follow me to you." My eyes lowered slightly, to the King's pale throat, hidden beneath his high collar. "You're who he's after."

His chin raised, half a nod. This did not shock him. "Geoff. He is the one I spoke to?"

"Yes."

"Alright." Philip faced the guards. "Two of you find a place for Her Majesty to hide," he ordered. "She needn't be present for this." As they headed to the other side of the slaughterhouse, where the meat was prepared for the kitchens, the King addressed his remaining men. "It is time to put an end to this. Today, we fight for the Crown. We fight for England."

I wandered off while he gave his speech. The door to Geoff's office was open. Inside, I found the chest where he kept the nobleman's coat empty, the newspapers cleared from the desk. A single piece of parchment lay upon the wood. The inkwell was open and the quill discarded, ink smudged on the page.

It seemed he had composed this final piece with great haste. Or in a violent frenzy. The image was smudged in many places, the lines wavering as if inked by a trembling hand.

It was of the slaughterhouse. Men with knives were inked crudely in the background. A monstrous, ugly beast was scrawled in the center of the parchment, blood clotted on its snout and running from a slit in its throat.

Cut the pig's throat.

Two wide ears jutted out beside the crown on its head.

Feast on his flesh.

My blood went cold as a girl's screams rang out.

I tore out of Geoff's office. A lone guard stood in the doorway, his face white. He gave a small wheeze. "Sire-" he managed before crumpling forward.

His body slammed to the floor. A knife was buried between his shoulder blades.

A moment later four men appeared at the door. Geoff led the pack. Roggar dragged Henriette by a clump of bejeweled blonde hair and threw her to the center of the floor.

She sobbed wildly, hands lifting to her tear-stained cheeks. This was her wedding day. She was hardly older than a girl and she had traveled for days to marry the King. She should have been sipping wine with her new husband, not lying in the dirt waiting to be killed.

The two remaining guards flanked the King. We were evenly matched.

Are you? The voice tickled me. I heard Henriette screaming, he is one of them.

Hungry. Feast on his flesh. He is one of them. He is- Devil. Beauregard's voice. No- he had never said those words. That was in my dream. Or was it? I couldn't remember. Hungry...

The fighting went on without me. A guard plunged his sword through a servant's stomach, but another slashed his leg from behind and cut his throat. My feet remained rooted to the floor, my arms heavy and useless. I had spent so much time preparing for this. I had imagined it so vividly, it was as if I'd lived it already. Now the moment was upon me and I was frozen.

I looked down. Twisted my ring. I thought about my father, the man I had never truly known. Had he looked down at this same ring the day he marched into battle for the last time? Had it reminded him of his family?

What would he think of the man I had become?

My father had marched into battle prepared to die for his country. For his King. Geoff had never fought for anything in his life. He killed because he enjoyed it.

You enjoy it.

You are as sick as him. Worse. At least he knows where he stands.

One guard remained. He charged at Geoff, but his speed was no match for the knife that came flying at his chest.

Like with the tree in the courtyard, Geoff's knife found its mark. The guard stumbled backward, arms flailing. Roggar appeared behind him and drove his knife into the side of the guard's neck. Horrifically, the man spasmed as if possessed by some force. Roggar wrenched the knife out. Ribbons of blood rained upon the slaughterhouse floor.

Geoff wiped his brow with one wrist. His face was flecked with blood, shining with sweat. His eyes were dark and alive with malignant glee. He glanced at me, smiling, and for some reason, I was compelled to smile back.

Kill him. Kill him now.

"Auden?" Philip approached me, eyes wide. Blood speckled his white shirt like paint on a canvas. He looked delirious.

If I attacked Geoff, someone else would kill Philip. If I tried to take out the other two, Geoff would finish the job. I would have to wait for the right moment.

I looked at Geoff. Looked at the King. Then I flipped the knife in my hand and slammed the handle into his temple.

He went down hard. For a moment I feared I had cracked his skull. Then he shifted on the ground, curled into himself, groaned weakly. The sword lay loose in his open palm.

Geoff stared at me, shock and awe painting his gaze. "I saw your drawing," I said, lifting my eyes shyly to him. "Of the pig in the slaughterhouse. This was how it was always meant to be, wasn't it? You and me. Here. The feast."

Geoff's whole body quivered in excitement. An artist whose magnum opus had finally been acknowledged. It was the greatest gift I could have given him. "You wish to take part in the feast?"

I licked my lips. "I've wished it since the first time I tasted blood."

On the floor, Philip struggled to rise. He grasped the sword, still stunned, then shakily climbed to his feet. Rage glinted in his watery eyes.

"My friends." Geoff beckoned the men behind him. Roggar gripped the Queen's wrists behind her back while the other man held a knife to the King's throat. I recognized him as the mad gambler. His mustache trembled and his beard was long and scraggly, hanging to his collarbone. His right ear was grotesquely scarred, the earlobe gone completely.

"Hello, piggy." He was shorter than Philip, having to stretch up on his toes to reach the King's height. "Don't you smell good?"

I envisioned the pig's head. Green and black and decaying. Long slits on both sides of its face. A smile.

The King's head. Free of its body. He would rot too. They'd mount his head from the castle tower for all to see. His flesh would gray and shrivel and slither off his bones. The mark of their triumph.

"I suggest you drop the sword, Your Majesty. My friend is very nervous at the sight of it, poor sod." Geoff gestured to the gambler, who swayed on his feet, breathing erratically. "I would not wish his hand to slip and cut you."

"Let him cut me," Philip hissed. "I shall run you through with my last breath."

"Ho ho, brave words." Geoff kicked aside one of the fallen guards and sprung just before the King. Amusement played in his gaze as if this were all some harmless jest. With one hand he jutted Philip's sword up so the sharp tip pressed to his own chest.

Philip swayed, seemed to grapple with something within himself, then remained still.

"Empty brave words, I see," Geoff said. "Oh, that's a shame." He turned to me, rousing me from my stupor. "Auden, my friend, would you be so good as to relieve His Majesty of his sword?"

I stepped forward. Philip watched me. His eyes were unreadable. Numb.

Our hands brushed as I grasped the hilt of the sword. The brief touch, this sweep of softness, hit me harder than any blow I had endured. I jolted back, and the sword slipped from his hand - the hand I'd held, kissed, reached for in the night. Both our hands we had cut promises into and pressed together, blood to blood.

The sword hit the floor and echoed throughout the slaughterhouse.

"Put them on their knees," Geoff ordered.

I backed away, sucking in a breath when my heel bumped against something lying on the floor. A body. The scent of iron hung heavy in the air, a suffocating quilt. Roggar and the gambler lowered the King and Queen before Geoff. Henriette struggled limply, her screams now reduced to a low, animal whimper. Her blonde hair had been shaken loose, hanging before her eyes in sweaty clumps.

The gambler panted heavily as he leaned over the King. He licked his lips, crouching closer to sniff along his neck. "Let's eat!"

"Patience, rat," Geoff snarled. He stood over the row of knives, fingers gliding over the blades as he seemingly debated between them. "First we need the perfect carving knife."

The gambler shivered in pleasure. "Yes, yes. Then we eat! Then we eat!"

Philip stared at me. Not Geoff. Not the other men. Only me. "My soldiers are sweeping the castle grounds. They will find us soon and execute you all."

Geoff lifted a meat cleaver. Its blade, like the others, had been freshly cleaned. He made a chopping motion with it, as if practicing hacking off a limb. "Ah, well. Unfortunately not soon enough to save you, Your Majesty."

I twisted my ring. I was running out of time. "So what happens after?" I asked Geoff.

He paused. "After what?"

"What happens after The Death of England? After the rats feast? Do they just go back to being rats?"

Geoff stared at me, annoyance in his eyes. "What does it matter? We'll all be dead."

"Just wondering." The air inside the slaughterhouse was thick and heavy with the scent of blood. "For a lord of the rats, you don't seem too concerned with their fate." I straightened up quickly, fixing him with a bemused look. "Say, what happens when we kill the King? Do you become King?"

"No," Geoff snapped. The gambler mirrored his frustration, saliva forming on his lips as he mumbled to himself and fluttered his fingers. "There will be no King."

"Course there will," I replied, still casual. "They'll just find another one. An older, fatter, greedier one. Come to think of it, nothing much will change. Might even get worse."

"Quiet!" the gambler screamed. His fingers trembled, the hand holding the knife wavering close to Philip's throat. "Make... him... quiet!" he gritted out, half-demanding, half-begging.

Geoff had regained his composure. "Enough, Auden. You're upsetting our friend."

The gambler panted in excitement. His hold on the King tightened, his nose trailing along Philip's ear. "Let's have a bite, yes?" His mouth opened and shut, teeth grazing the skin. Philip jerked his head away. "Let's have a bite while he's still alive."

"No!" Geoff marched forward, cleaver in hand. "Enough waiting. It is time to slaughter the pig." Henriette let out a shriek and closed her eyes, a string of slurred French escaping her lips. A prayer. The gems adorning her bloodstained gown glittered as her chest rose and fell.

Geoff gripped the King by the hair and dragged him away from the gambler, who rocked back on his heels, trembling and giggling to himself.

"How does it feel, having your wedding day turn out to be your execution?" Geoff held the cleaver to Philip's throat, letting the sharpened tip draw a bead of scarlet just below his ear. "Or are you too simple to form the words?"

Philip stared up at the ceiling, looking oddly detached. "You said it best yourself. The time for talk has passed."

"Fine," Geoff said. "No talking. I'll settle for hearing your screams."

Philip's eyes drifted past him. Landed on me. My fingers traced the scar on my left palm. "May God forgive you and may you forgive yourself."

Geoff hesitated. I stood just behind him, the knife's handle searing into my palm. Then his eyes darkened. "I already have," he said and raised the cleaver.

I plunged my knife into his back.

Geoff cried out, the meat cleaver slipping from his grasp. The force drove him to his knees. As he twisted to feel for the wound, our eyes met. Shock turned into betrayal. Betrayal hardened to rage.

Before either of us could act, Roggar let go of the Queen and charged me. He let out a low snarl, teeth bared like a wild animal.

Henriette stared at me. She stood motionless, a look of terror frozen on her pale face.

"Run!" I shouted at her. "Get out of here!"

She turned. Her gown sparkled as she raced from the room, headed for the back door of the slaughterhouse.

A moment later Roggar barrelled into me. His four-fingered fist met my jaw, sending a wave of pain through my skull. The back of my eyes throbbed as I faced him.

"This is where you die, Rat Boy." Roggar licked his teeth. "Then we'll eat you too."

I spat out a mouthful of blood. "Choke on it, maggot."

He swung at me again, but this time I landed a blow to his throat, knocking him back. I was well accustomed to fighting with my fists. I had five brothers to thank for that. Roggar went down, wheezing, and I struck him again and again. Blood sprayed from his nose. Coursed down into his mouth.

With a roar, Roggar straightened himself and slammed his head into my chest, sucking the air from my lungs. I spun off my feet and he clambered atop me, hands fitting around my throat.

I hit him again, squirming, but his grip was too tight. He squeezed harder.

For the first time, after months of knowing Roggar, seeing his face at breakfast, hearing his laugh as he told stories at the card table, I noticed the color of his eyes.

Green.

Green like the meadows of home, green like Gale's eyes. Green like my mother's eyes.

My dream returned to me in a flash. Staring into Gale's green eyes as the life bled out of him. In my dream, I had killed my brother. I was a murderer. I was evil.

Devil.

Roggar's hands tightened around my throat. I choked, nails digging his flesh in vain. My vision began to swim. If I died, the last thing I would ever see was those green eyes.

Auden.

Roggar's face twisted. Contorted. My mother smiled at me.

Auden, my sweet boy. Give in. You've fought so hard, son. Rest.

The warm blood on my cheek felt almost like a caress. The sweep of a hand brushing away my tears.

Then my mother scowled. Die, she screamed. Why won't you fucking die?

I reached up and dug my thumbs into her eyes.

Roggar howled.

I dug deeper, forcing past the hard globes into something warm and wet. He let go of my throat and reached for my hands. A sharp breath filled my lungs. Relief. I tore at his eyes as hard as I could, hooking my thumbs in both sockets. Anything to get him off me.

His screams of pain filled my ears. A sadistic pleasure spread throughout my body. This strong, determined man, his exterior so hard and impenetrable, was deliciously soft inside.

After a heartbeat, he wrenched my hands away, but the damage was done. One of his eyes was turned sideways, white and bloody, and the other hung from its socket, attached by a string of gore. He sat straight up, stunned, a low, blubbering sound escaping him as his hand collided with his dangling eyeball.

My fingers groped for the sword.

Roggar stilled for a moment. Silent. Sightless.

I jabbed the sword into his gaping eye socket, straight into his brain.

Roggar's body slumped forward, hitting the slaughterhouse floor with a thump. His detached eye hung down his cheek, slimy and shining.

"Auden!"

My head wrenched up. Philip slid backward on the floor as the gambler crawled after him, scuttling on all fours, crooked fingers outstretched. With a deranged cry of glee, the old man grasped Philip's leg with both hands and bit down on his calf.

"Philip! Catch!" With my last burst of strength, I lifted the sword and threw it to him.

He caught the hilt mid-air and twisted to slash the gambler's face. A dark gash opened across his cheek and lips. The gambler's jaws snapped open, releasing an agonized scream. Quivering hands reached up to feel his face and Philip kicked him off.

The gambler curled into a ball, whimpering now. Blood coated his palms and puddled on the floor beneath him.

I pushed Roggar's body aside and rose. "Are you alright?" I asked Philip, but he was gazing past me.

Geoff was on his feet.

He was hunched over, the knife sticking out of his back. His long hair fell before his face and swayed with each labored breath. He gripped his knee for support, then straightened.

Philip moved to my side, sword pointed at Geoff. Our arms brushed once. I am making the right choice. All that was soft and light and warm within me spoke now. This is the right choice.

"Christ's bones, Auden," Geoff chuckled, mouth open, but with each word, he winced in pain. "Choose a fucking side."

"He has," Philip said before I could answer. He raised the sword. "Stand down. You've lost this battle."

Geoff laughed again. He forced his chin up, eyes landing on the King. "This battle has yet to begin."

Philip prodded Geoff's chest with the tip of his sword. "You have one blade in your back and another at your heart. Stand down."

Geoff took a slow breath. In. Out. He smirked behind stands of greasy black hair. In a flash, he gripped Philip's sword by the blade and wrenched it out of his grasp. It hit the floor with a clang. Within a heartbeat, he had reached over his shoulder and ripped the knife from his flesh.

Blood streamed from his palm where he had gripped the blade. He flipped the knife between his fingers, grinning through what must be agonizing pain. "And now I have neither."

I positioned myself before Philip.

"Oh, brave, brave King. Allowing your servant to fight for you," Geoff taunted. But each breath was a wheeze, and blood ran steadily from the wound in his back.

"It is my honor to fight for him."

Geoff lunged forward, spraying my cheek with spit. "You're a rat!" he screamed. "A rat like me. You have no honor."

"You think so little of us," I whispered, half contempt, half astonishment. Geoff saw me as nothing more than a rat, and himself as well. Philip had never treated me like that. He had never seen me as less than. That was the difference between them.

"I think little of you." Geoff limped forward, swinging the knife so that it nearly grazed me. "Greedy. Weak. Killer." I stepped back and he advanced, circling me. "Does your King know about that? Your dirty habit?"

My heart pounded. I needed a weapon. Fast.

"Does he?" Geoff shouted. "Does he know you killed one of his guards? What about the butcher?" Philip's eyes flashed between us, but he remained silent. "Oh, he doesn't know," Geoff murmured. A line of saliva glistened between his dry lips. "Doesn't know how... depraved you really are."

"You're one to talk." I backed closer to the table, where the remaining knives were spread out.

"Yes, I'm depraved," Geoff breathed. His blade glinted out between bloody fingers. "But not like you, Auden." He looked at Philip, smiling. "That's why he's brought you here. He wants to feel it again. What he felt with Fletcher."

My fingers fitted around the handle of the long, slender knife.

"Do you know how they found him? Throat cut, trousers about his ankles." Geoff chuckled, and his shoulder spasmed from the effort. "Were you fucking him too, Auden? Before or after you slit his throat?"

"The Devil take your tongue," I spat.

"Do not let him reach you," Philip warned, but his words were the very confirmation that I had been reached.

Geoff stopped. His eyes fixed directly on me. "There are no limits to the depraved. They fuck beasts. They fuck the dead. They fuck each other."

I closed my eyes. I heard the gentle rustle of tall grass in the breeze. I felt the warmth of the sun and smelled the flowers that dotted the meadow with color. I listened to the drum of bare feet on the earth and the whoops of laughter rising into the sky.

Then it faded. I smelled blood. I saw only darkness. I heard the wheezing breath of a man slowly bleeding out.

I opened my eyes and looked at Geoff. He was smiling. My lips parted, trembling, and then I spoke. "I am going to kill you."

"Come on then." Geoff showed his teeth, yellow and slick with saliva. "Come get me."

"Auden." Philip forced himself in front of me, one hand brushing my chest.

"Get out my way," I snarled.

Behind me, Geoff cackled. He bent forward and began shuddering. The entire back of his shirt was dark with blood.

"Get out of my way, Philip."

"Auden, don't do this-"

I shoved him. Hard. He fell against the table, knocking the remaining knives to the ground. Using the noise as a distraction, I lunged at Geoff.

It happened fast.

He jabbed at me. I swiped his torso. A sudden sting as his blade grazed my side. I gripped his wrist, boots slipping as I fought for hold. His blade slashed my forearm. Once. Twice. Blood seeped through my shirt sleeve. The pain was nearly unbearable. Sharp. Hot.

Suddenly, Geoff let go and pushed me into the curtain of dead pigs. One of their stiff bodies collided with mine as I knocked over a blood bucket and hit the ground.

A sea of blood flooded the slaughterhouse floor. Soaked my clothes. Invaded all my senses. I could smell it, feel it, taste it. Geoff approached, kicking the remaining buckets over, one by one, until a foam of red swirled beneath his boots.

I fumbled for my knife. My hands were slippery, soaked in pig blood, making it hard to grasp the handle. My lungs tore with each breath.

Above us, the slain pigs swayed. A dizzying trance. I clenched my jaw, fighting through the pain splintering my skull, burning my slashed forearm. Geoff stared down at me. "Goodbye, old friend."

Old friend.

Auden. Sounds like some kind of wildflower. Are you a flower, Auden?

It means old friend. My mother picked it.

I could see her again. In this room of blood and death, I could feel soft grass beneath my fingertips, I could smell the fresh air of the meadow.

Geoff lifted me by the collar and hit me hard, painting my vision black for a heartbeat. My head fell back, the knife slipping from my fingers. Neck exposed.

"No!" Philip shouted.

Geoff lifted his knife to slash my throat.

Out of options, panting, bleeding, I caught the blade as it came coursing down. Pain. Sharp pain like I'd never felt. The blade bit through my flesh. Geoff pressed harder, struggling. I held on and blood streamed down my wrist and dripped onto my face.

A glint of metal in the light. My ring.

My family.

The blade caught against it for a split second, and then in a burst of red the blade sliced through my first two fingers.

A scream locked in my throat, stealing my breath. My body became light. Black danced before my vision.

I am going to die.

And then Geoff's shoulders jerked. Eyes bulged. He dropped the knife and looked down, hands fitting around the bloodstained blade jutting from his chest.

I gripped my maimed hand, a weak attempt to staunch the blood spurting from where my fingers once were.

Geoff choked. Philip ripped the sword from his back.

Blood pumped from the center of Geoff's chest, spreading out like a blooming rose. He opened his mouth. More blood dribbled out. Stained his thick beard. His lips moved, mouthing silent words. Then he collapsed.

I could not catch my breath for several moments. I squeezed my bleeding hand. The pain was my only indicator that I was alive.

I stared at Philip. His curls, matted with blood and sweat, circled his forehead like a red halo. A thousand thoughts barraged my mind.

Geoff is dead.

He killed Geoff.

It should have been me. He shouldn't have had to kill. Not for me.

He saved me. He saved me.

I opened my mouth to speak. To thank him. To explain everything. To profess my love. To tell him everything would be alright. The words eluded me, gone with all that had been lost today.

"Sorry I hit you," I mumbled instead.

"Dear God, Auden. Your hand."

I looked down. Two of my fingers were missing. So was my ring. Lost somewhere in the pool of blood.

A low moan drew my gaze.

The gambler was still alive, dragging himself across the slaughterhouse floor. I gripped the sword and strode after him.

"Wait." Philip gripped my arm. "He is no threat to us. It would be dishonorable to kill him now."

I looked down at the old man in disgust. Sniffling. Pitiful. Two months ago we might have shared bread in the servants' quarters.

And then I remembered how eager he was to kill Philip, to sink his teeth in, to eat him.

"Rats have no honor," I said and brought the sword down.

When I looked up, the room spun. The stench of blood clogged my airways. I staggered, then fell. I barely felt my body hit the ground.

"Auden." Philip's arms were around me. He cut into his shirt sleeve and tore off a strip to wrap my hand.

Auden. My mother's voice. Light, floating. A breeze in the meadow.

Let me come home.

Philip wrapped my arm limply about his shoulders, his own arm at my waist, holding me upright. My vision faded as he lifted me, and then we were rising, climbing out of the dirt, out of the rathole, into the meadow where the sky kissed the earth and I was home. I was home.