Crimson liquid splatters the king's dark shirt. Wine sloshes over the rim of his goblet in his haste to drain every decadent drop. He slams the goblet back down on the servant's tray, which wobbles precariously out of control. The servant tries to save it, but he can't stop the echoing clatter as it falls to the tiled floor. Laughter breaks out around the council room. The boy's face reddens as he scrambles to collect the fallen items.

"Clumsy imbecile," the king sneers, fingers drumming casually against the arm of his throne at the head of the table. "Perhaps a few lashings would teach you to be more careful."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The boy bows hastily before scurrying out of the room. No doubt he'll be back soon with another full goblet. I wonder how old he is. Fourteen, perhaps? Surely no older than fifteen.

"What are the latest reports on the rebellion?" the king snaps at no one in particular.

Lord Alwyn clears his throat. "They managed to steal twenty full wagons of goods which were due to be delivered here this week. That is four wagons more than last week. The stolen goods included food, jewels, and, unfortunately, weapons. I fear they are getting out of control."

"Rumours suggest that their numbers have grown significantly during the past month," Lord Harold adds.

"Then we need to start cutting them down," the king says. "Those traitors were mere pests before. We cannot allow them to become a threat."

"If we find and kill their leader, the rest will fall. Cut the rebellion off at its head."

"No. Another leader could rise. We need to squash any chance of that happening."

"You could always try to negotiate with them," I suggest.

The king leans towards me to hiss, "Keep your damn mouth shut."

"But–"

He cuts me off with a glare.

I'm tempted to throw a few punches and storm out of the room. But that would cause too much of a scene. I settle for slouching in my seat instead, satisfied to see his shaking fists clench and unclench. I know how much he hates to see his forget her manners.

"Your Majesty," Lord Simon begins tentatively. "Perhaps we could use the façade of a negotiation to lure them out of hiding. Once we have them all gathered in one place, it will be much easier to kill them off."

"That is a very good idea." The king licks his lips, tasting a delicious dream. "Mm. Yes. That would work quite nicely." He nods appreciatively towards Lord Simon. "I am putting you in charge of organising that. Set the date for in five days' time. Make it clear that as many of the rebels are to show up as possible."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"You are all dismissed." The king waves a hand. Only him and I remain seated as the council members, all Lords, bow and file out of the room.

"That will be the last time you speak out of turn at a council meeting," the king snarls, standing to tower over me. "If you ever do that again, I will bar you from attending."

"I'm only trying to help," I retort, pushing out of my seat. "What is the point in me being here if I can't contribute anything?"

"Joining me in this room is a privilege, Clarissa. One which you clearly don't understand. Your role is to sit pretty and listen, but instead you humiliate me by acting out. No one will follow a man who can't even control his own wife."

"No one will follow a man who butchers his own people."

He stills.

His hand whips out and slaps me hard across the face. Thrown off by the blow, it doesn't take much force to push and send me tumbling to the floor. Dazed and hurt, I take a few moments to catch my breath. By the time I turn to see what the king intends to do next, it's already too late.

My face and dress are attacked by a cascade of wine, dark liquid instantly staining ivory lace. The goblet smacks me in the arm before bouncing onto the tiles.

"And for insulting how I do my job," the king spits, "You have just earned yourself the honour of being the first person to butcher one of the rebels. I'll have an axe sharpened especially for you." He storms past the quivering servant boy and out of the room.

I slowly pick myself up from the floor, wincing at the rising ache. There will probably be a few bruises when I next look in a mirror. I scoop the goblet off the floor and carefully place it back on the servant's tray.

"The palace is no place for the innocent," I say, the words both a warning and a test.

The boy's eyes widen, then he shakes his head. "But it will be," he replies, completing the phrase. A code spoken between rebels to identify one another.

"Deliver this note to your leader. She will know what to do," I tell him, reaching up my sleeve to produce a folded piece of paper. I drop it onto his tray before turning towards the door.

"I won't let you down, Your Majesty."

The title makes me pause. No one ever calls me that; they always refer to me as My Lady. The king would never tolerate me being acknowledged as his equal. Apparently, his reign is too fragile to even contemplate allowing his pet wife to share the throne.

I give the boy a tight smile before exiting the room.

When I reach the Crown Suite later that evening, I call for a plate of tiny cakes to be brought up. They arrive with a small envelope tucked beneath a napkin. I tear it open to find a short, handwritten message:

Warning received. The next move is up to you. –M

M for Marianna. The leader of the rebellion. I first made contact with them a few months ago, after the king forced me to watch my sister's execution. She was sixteen and innocent. The crime was mine, and she paid the price for it. Her death was my husband's latest attempt to discipline me after I defied him in public.

I cried for a week. But then I dried my tears and swore an oath to my sister's grave that I would see justice done for her death. Joining the rebellion was the worst betrayal I could think of, and a great way to undermine my husband.

I've been smuggling state secrets and vital intelligence from the palace ever since. I have also managed to spread propaganda within the palace walls and am aware that I am not the only noble in opposition to the king. Marianna and I correspond frequently, although we have never met.

I glance out the window. Dusk is fast approaching. I wonder what will happen when night falls and the king returns to our chambers. I don't know how many more nights I will be able to endure his wrath, which is sure to come after today's council meeting. All I can do is hope he will be too tired to bother with me.

Cleaning myself up, I change out of the ruined dress into a pale nightgown and silk kimono. I slump down onto a chaise lounge to munch on my cakes, watching as the sun bleeds different colours through the sky. From blue to orange to pink, and finally to indigo.

The king bursts into the room. I sit up straight at the sight of him dragging a whimpering servant by the hair. He roughly releases the servant, who stumbles to his knees at my feet. I recognise him as the boy from the council meeting.

"I promised this boy some lashings, and you are going to deliver them," the king orders me.

"I will do no such thing," I hiss.

"Was I not clear?" my husband spits, capturing my wrist and hauling me to my feet. "You will whip this boy, or I will whip both of you."

"How about I pick neither?" I seethe, staring him down.

"You wear my bruises so prettily." He caresses my face gently, a soft smile playing on his lips. I don't move. "I would hate to deny you such a gift."

"The only gift I want from you is an apology," I murmur.

"No. I have another idea." The king's smile turns cruel. "Guards!" Two guards burst into the room. "Seize my wife."

I let the guards grab me, each holding an arm behind my back.

"Now," the king continues, turning his attention to the boy sat patiently on the floor, legs tucked into his chest and arms wrapped around them. "Stand, boy."

The boy stands on steady legs, but fearful eyes betray his body.

"See how easy it is to obey orders, Clarissa?" My husband shakes his head. "It's an embarrassment that a clumsy servant can set a better example than you, but perhaps you will learn something by watching him take his punishment."

I study every movement as the king sticks his hand out into the hallway and prowls back towards us, trailing a whip across the floor.

"You've gone awfully quiet, Clarissa," he taunts. "Any final words before I begin?"

"Yes. I do have one final word for you." My lips curl into wicked amusement. "Betrayal."

The king has committed many atrocities over the years. Towards me. Towards his people. We have all suffered long enough.

"Guards, seize the king," I order.

This ends tonight.

The king's face flickers through a myriad of emotions as the guards drop my arms and take his instead. He settles on rage.

"Guards. I am your king. You will release me at once," he barks, struggling against the combined strength of two trained guards. But their grip only tightens. "Guards!"

"They will not listen to you," I inform him, crossing my arms across my chest. "Nor will anyone else help you."

"What is the meaning of this?" He growls.

"Everyone in this room is loyal to the rebellion." As a safety precaution, Marianna ensured that only rebel guards would be stationed outside these chambers at night. They were not to interfere unless they believed my life to be at risk, or unless I gave the command. The king stills, his physical fight failing as the cogs in his mind become overwhelmed. "You have been living amongst rebels for a long time."

"You," he breathes.

"Yes. Me," I taunt, beginning to circle my now-powerless husband. "Your wife. The wife you bruised and belittled. Abused and oppressed." I pry the whip from his fingers and toss it to the floor. "You tried to force me into submission, but you failed to understand how to earn it. Cruelty may inspire obedience, but it is compassion which inspires loyalty." I turn to the servant boy. "What is your name?"

"It's Peter."

"Peter, please hand me a sword."

"Yes, Your Majesty." He bows, before pulling a sword from the scabbard of one of the guards.

The king begins struggling again. "Preposterous. This is treason!"

"This is justice," I correct, accepting the sword from Peter. "See how easy it is to obey orders?" I smirk at my husband.

"Whatever you think this silly stunt is going to achieve, you won't get away with it," he says, followed by a string of imaginative insults and empty curses.

He stops suddenly, looking down in shock to see the sword poking out of his chest. Blood wells around the metal edges before spurting free as I pull the blade out.

"Release him," I order the guards.

The king's trembling hands move to his wound, coming away coated cherry red. His eyes slide up to meet mine, a multitude of emotions flickering through them. The shock cools his rage, and the terror heats his despair.

"If only you had treated me differently, we could have ruled together," I hiss. "But you abused me. You abused your people. And now I am taking your crown, and I am going to fix the kingdom you broke."

"You could never fix this kingdom. You–"

I slash the sword clean through his throat. His body instantly crumples to the floor while his head rolls to the side, stopping against the unused whip.

"Peter, send word to Marianna that the king is dead, and I wish for her to meet me in the throne room. Guards, with me."

"Your Majesty." Peter bows and dashes out of the room.

I head out into the corridor after him, the guards falling into step behind me. As I meander the hallways, people stare at the crimson trail dripping from the bloody sword still in my clutches. But no one questions me. Instead, they join my procession through the palace. It doesn't matter what emotions drive them, my head lifts higher at their apparent support.

I leave a bloody path all the way to the throne room.

I climb onto the dais, where I have only ever stood before. The soft velvet cushions my body, still sore thanks to the former king, as I sink onto the throne. Never in my life have I felt power like this. It sends a heady thrill through me. I lean to one side to prop my sword against the throne.

"The king is dead," I announce to the crowd gathered before me. "I am now your queen. You will either bend the knee, or you will leave this palace immediately."

Almost everyone falls to the ground. A few remain standing. As they slink out of the room, Peter enters, followed by a cloaked stranger. They weave their way towards the dais.

"Your Majesty, allow me to introduce Marianna," Peter says.

Marianna bobs her head and steps onto the dais.

"A pleasure to finally meet you," I greet.

"It is a pleasure for me too." She produces a crown from underneath her cloak before announcing for our audience, "We recognise you as our rightful ruler, Queen Clarissa." Marianna places the crown on my head, beaming at me. I grin right back. She leans down to whisper in my ear, "The rebellion has already been informed of the shift in power. Will negotiations be going ahead?"

"Yes. But I will only require the presence of the rebellion's leader. I'm hoping we will work well together."

The throne room transforms into a party as people celebrate with champagne and dancing. I arrange for the former king's head and body to be removed from my chambers and burned to ashes. Then I join the crowd. People approach me to share their thanks and congratulations. Some are even brave enough to ask for favours, which I grant merrily. I never realised exactly how much these people needed to be saved.

I smile to myself. It feels incredible to finally be acknowledged as a real person. A leader. A queen.