Chapter 3: True Words of Distress

The sun asks the wind to and fro,

What might his chill mean for love,

And she frowns upon an awful woe,

Told that cherished warmth is solely above.

:o:-:o:-:o:-:o:-:o:

"Alack! Alack! What might this be?" the Queen cried out at the sight of the caged animals, eyes wide in shock. She took a hasty step forward, some of her red hair tumbling out of her crown's hold as she grasped her husband's arm, gaze locked on the poor things.

A pair of black turtles sleepily blinked up at the woman, hiding beneath the oversized leg of a strange . . . something. A bear, maybe. Or a wolf. Or a lizard. She wasn't quite sure which.

The King softly brushed her hand away, quirking a half-smile. "I told you before, my dear. They were purchased from the local forest. Those animals are suffering because of their deformities and ailments, so we must be kind to them and put them out of their misery."

Her heart panged with hurt as a few servants proceeded to carry them away, towards the back of the palace, where the storage and kitchens were. Oh no, no . . . She never took well to the occasional deliveries of the creatures from the "weird generation of deformities", as her equal once put it. But she always had to watch when he returned from his trips.

And it pained her every time.

Adjusting his gloves, the King started down the hall, moving further into their regal home. Quaint and natural as it was, the vanity still existed in tiny accents, a crystal chandelier hanging in front of a ligneous archway or a country rug across the floor with gold thread knit into the seams. The windows were covered in beautifully maintained vined plants. Flowers of all kinds dotted the gardens and every now and then she could catch a glimpse of them outside.

She followed the King despite her initial need to protest, hurrying along the polished stone walkway in attempt to catch up to him. He made no visual effort to slow, but she was able to match his pace. Her lips pressed into a pouting line, posture straightening.

It was silent as they descended the staircase, apart from the clicking of their shoes against the reformed ground. The Queen's eyes found much interest in that ground. Until the quiet tension broke, that was.

"Enoch continues to deny our compensations," he said, not turning his head in her direction. "The messenger brought back all of the meat we offered so I had it sent to the market to be sold to the vendors there, like we've been doing with the extra food for the past couple of years. I thought . . . you might wish to know."

Sold? It seemed such a waste. The poor could not afford to buy meat very often. "What for? It would be better to donate it. Our funds are satisfactory."

"They shall stay that way, now that we are properly participating in the economy. We should not keep easily handing out our riches to people who do not return them. At least not without a way to keep the funds coming back," the man said, voice carrying a hint of frustration. "This is the best we can do."

She didn't want to argue, but she would have, given that the King's response was entirely biased and false. Maybe should have. Pottsfield was supposed to get the provisions for free, meaning that there would be no loss if someone else were granted them. And meat was rare, almost, in the Unknown. A delicacy. Life was cherished. Only under special conditions did anyone eat other than a vegetarian's diet.

But she refused to say a thing. Confrontation ruins relationships.

o-o-o-o-o

Days had passed, the usual routine and visits bringing something of a smile to the Queen's face. She immensely enjoyed helping others. It made her feel actually worthwhile.

Though, the King seemed to not be able to care less about it. His frowns grew with each subject that stumbled in through the main gates, begging and praising and pleading for aid. And she was certain that his stance was reluctant to uphold assistance.

How heartless, his act was becoming. For it was an act, surely. Her King would not dare actually believe that the people weren't deserving and his greed was next to none.

Perhaps . . . there's simply a plague on his mind? Thoughtfully, the Queen's attention darted back to him.

The robed man was sitting on his throne, resting his head handsomely upon a gloved hand, looking out into another world entirely. Plague, indeed.

"Dear?" she called, walking towards him, having been escorting the last person out of the palace. "Is there something ailing you?"

The male turned to look at her, expression distant, slightly troubled. "Hm? No, nothing you must worry yourself over," he replied after a brief pause.

She didn't believe him, instinctively wanting to resolve whatever problem he might be facing. "Allow me to do what I can to lessen your burdens, may there be any," the woman offered, cheeks rosy with hope. I can fix this. I can bring him happiness again. "What is bothering you?"

"My Queen," he said, beginning to grin, a low laugh bubbling up from his hidden depths, "I appreciate your concern, but you needn't fuss. The only issue I have is on what we're to order for dinner."

The royal raised her eyebrows. "I'd hope that our meal isn't that troublesome."

He smiled genuinely. "I'd hope so, too."

o-o-o-o-o

There wasn't any trouble with dinner that night. Or the next. The cooks prepared everything skillfully. The servants were rewarded for their careful dedication. The Queen and King were happy.

Most of the time.

The Queen continued to catch glimpses of the other monarch's moods here and there: averting eye contact, distance from the small discussions they held, the tensing and relaxing of posture. She would direct him towards it inconspicuously, hoping an explanation would arise.

None came. He would redirect himself or drop the topic entirely, finding some sort of excuse. It made her . . . uncomfortable. And, naïvety forbid, suspicious. Just a bit.

She missed the times where they could share in closeness and revel in joy, bringing the Unknown peace together. We could still do that. She was convinced. Though, for the moment, they quarreled with clashing ideas more often than not. He would make it a game, one she didn't enjoy playing. The King's pieces attacked with ferocity, viciousness and strength. He would barrel through with logic and experience until the Queen thought his point indestructible. But she had kindness, mercy and support. Their spectators, the palace's inhabitants, the civilians, decided in the end, placing themselves in favor of the Queen. So ended nearly every argument, every two-sided decree.

The King looked to be fed up with it. Whenever he had a statement, it became progressively enforced to try and get her to agree. Because that was how it was. To rule others, one's own must already be conquered.

That much she understood, and that law governed her life, unrelinquished. It was probably the first thing the Queen hated in her existence. Let there not be a second.

Alighting down on their shared mattress, in her royal nightclothes, the woman let herself ponder the bedroom while her spouse finished readying for sleep. The room was grand, simple, natural and rustic to the very designs on the walls. An intricate wooden dresser sat on the far side, near windows draped with silk curtains. A candle holder with a silver handle was the only object on the bedside table, its wick aflame with pretty, orange light. Small lines of smoke billowed out towards the window from its dancing form, flying languidly, curling peacefully into the dim sky.

Something shuffled behind her, the rustling of a robe brushing the bed sheets. "Watching the fire, sweet?"

The Queen tipped her head, looking back at the King with a soft smile. "Observing, yes." She saw as he lowered himself, getting into an appropriate position for slumber.

He hummed acknowledgement, that same distance clouding his gaze. "What do you see in it?"

Curious, she decided to humor his question. "Beauty," she said, feeling a slight reverie coming along, "and lenience. No matter how far the sky, the smoke will always find its way when the fire lets it go. The flame's brightness is gentle and fluid . . . with the candle, it can light enough to rid the dark."

"But flames can also be dangerous and deadly," the King pointed out. "It can ravage a village, a town, bring soldiers to their knees. Fire's smoke can make people cough and sicken them. Burning crops cause panic."

"Why must you be so negative?" the redhead huffed, mood tainted by the fearful images. They were extremely unpleasant. They made her afraid. Why was her husband obsessed with force? She saw no benefit for it.

"I was simply trying to acquaint your musings," he replied. "If you'll notice, every pretty thing has a secret truth beneath it. The Unknown's not as wonderful as one might believe. It is up to us to prepare for the worst so that we may vanquish evil as it interferes with our lives."

"There isn't any evil, my King . . ."

"No evil? Evidence sits plainly throughout our kingdom that there is in fact evil!" the man exclaimed, voice rising too high for her comfort. "You've heard the reports of increased Highwayman activity, of the scavengers ripping apart entire fields until trespassing laws were demanded, of the liars that walk into this palace and take our riches for their own gain!"

The Queen gasped, taken aback. "Those people are far from liars. They come to us asking for help! We give it to aid! Why should we ever think to deny those who plead us?"

He scowled at her, shaking his head, a darkness in his expression. "You may be asked to give your life one day, my Queen. Then what shall you do?"

She was silent, orbs watery with sorrow, lips pressed thin.

The King closed his eyes, head resting on the pillow as he pulled the covers over himself. "Don't drift too deeply. Tomorrow's calling."

The Queen's temperament was mourning the conversation, traces of drowsiness chased away by apprehension. "I will rest . . . and sweet . . . dreams."

o-o-o-o-o

Smiling softly, the female monarch looked over the subtle designs on her new teacup, adoring the impressive craftsmanship and passion put into it. She loved it. "This is wonderful! Spectacular job you did here!" the Queen exclaimed, beaming back at the servant standing happily near the dining table, eyes ablaze with joy. "You are incredibly talented, Alice."

The elated servant, her hands hidden respectfully behind her back, was bouncing on the heels of her feet. "Thank you. Thank you, Your Majesty, miss Queen. It means so much to me."

The woman laughed warmly, cheeks flushed. "I'll cherish your gift always. Please continue being creative."

"I will. I will, I promise." Alice dipped into a curtsy, grinning wider than thought possible as she made an exit through one of the huge archways, unable to keep from giggling up the staircase.

The Queen continued to admire the cup in her hand, setting it softly in front of her as the plates of food were brought out. Her attention lifted to the steam. She was pleased with the effort the cooks gave to keep it hot for them. Their dinner was very appealing, which she made clear, smiling all the while.

The King's eyes were trained at her from across the table, borderline pensive. He made a motion towards her. "That was unexpected."

She nodded in delight. "A surprise. It touches me how sweet our servants are. They really do care for us."

"What need of you a teacup?" he inquired, beginning on the vegetables. They came from the palace gardens, tended to by its own inhabitants.

"Such a strange one," she laughed, spirit continually soaring. Her mood was bright after a refreshing exchange with anyone. It lasted fairly long each and every occurrence. Presents were lovely, smiles more so.

"Better she craft you a weapon so you can protect yourself," the King deadpanned. "Even if it's ceramic, it'd do you more than what you have now. Despite the fact that you probably wouldn't use it under any circumstance."

The Queen laughed mid-bite. "I would never desire to, that you're right! But I'd much rather defend myself against antiquated chalices." She swallowed, the aftertaste of the carrots satisfyingly delicious. "Won't that be something."

The King raised a brow, eyeing his own cup for a heartbeat. It was gold-plated and patterned, on account of being royalty and wanting to show wealth, but stripped of otherwise excessive precious materials. Jems went into the treasury. His wife's joke was pointedly aimed at her preference of teas and water over other substances. He didn't appear too amused by it.

"Anyway, have you heard from Enoch since last?"

"Nothing apart from his insistence to recover Pottsfield himself," he said, giving her an indecipherable expression. "I'm still quite skeptical."

"That prideful cat," the Queen chuckled fondly. "He should accept our repayment."

"I think his independence is respectful, even if he's possibly unable to sustain it," he remarked in a suggesting tone, pausing to chew a piece of broccoli. "Allowing an animal to govern a town of lost human souls at all is shockingly trusting." Somehow, she sensed that it wasn't that shocking.

"Oh, but he's as capable as us, you see? His enchantresses he mentioned did an amazing job with his suit! Now he can communicate with his townsfolk whenever he needs to," she gushed, trying to rub a little of her positivity off on him. "That reminds me — I still have to meet them and return the favor for making such a lively festival possible!"

"Even magic has its limits and downfalls," the King stated knowingly, acquiring that familiar distance as he spoke. "His abilities in the costume can only reach so far. In the end, he's just a feline trying to fit his way into the hierarchy."

The royal blinked, unsure of how she should respond. We've been unable to change things, either.

"After all these years, he still hasn't successfully pulled another one of those grand harvests together," he specified. "Don't you think that that's a sign that his magic isn't enough?"

"We need to give him the hope from help," the Queen pressed. "After he accepts it, he can use the rest of the fruits to get Pottsfield back on its feet."

"It's not always that simple, my dear," he replied, smiling at such a time. "Magic is ultimately trial and error in method, in spite of having a reasonable goal in sight. You can enchant something — this plate, per say." He ran his fingers along the rim of the now-empty dish, moustache wrinkling in a thoughtful smirk. "You use your magic and make it refill with nourishing food whenever it is eaten from. And it works! The starving are in celebration! If the laziness of peasants thinking they're entitled to a meal isn't enough of a price to pay, you'll find that the markets are experiencing strange disappearances of produce. Those that work hard are punished due to your supposed good deed. A failure in the end."

She retreated slightly in her seat, eyes glistening with pain. "If that is true, then can magic not be of use?"

He lifted his hand and clapped once. Their lead chef bursted out of the nearby kitchen doors, presenting another course of the meal and setting it down in front of the monarch. After a short exchange, the worker left.

Those are the animals from the cage, the Queen observed with remorse, awaiting a response.

The light-brown-haired man dug his fork into a piece of meat, appearing smug in a way as he looked up at his wife. "Where were we? Ah, yes, I remember," he mused, taking a bite. "Magic, though unpredictable and untrustworthy, can in fact be of use if mastered properly. Each spell requires the utmost skill and familiarity with the end product in sight. For example, the two enchantresses that Enoch conspires with — Adelaide and Whispers — have been working on a breathtaking project for the Unknown for the past few years, reworking the same spell, but they haven't hit their mark yet. They have had so many unfortunate problems throughout the way and will undoubtedly have more."

"What?" the woman asked. "I never heard of any project."

"That's because it's a secret project," he said, and she honestly saw his orbs flash darkly. "I thought I should respect their commitment and keep the knowledge to myself until it was ready to be revealed, but you seem interested enough and I believe this will help to let you understand my point."

She waited, dread overweighing her hope that his big revelation would be something beneficial.

"I figured out how to make everyone stronger," the King explained, grinning from ear to ear in an unsettling manner. "Imagine! The endless expanse of the Unknown and not a single creature or civilian without an alert mind and a formidable defense. A world where everyone is capable and free to protect themselves from impending danger! A populace that doesn't shy from mere robbers and can rebuild its own foundations! Doesn't that sound truly miraculous?"

"I am at a loss, my love . . ." the Queen trailed, small lips turned down. She was afraid to ask how such a task might be accomplished.

"Then let me put this into perspective. The night after the last harvest festival, I was distraught with myself. My training and dedication for this kingdom, for nought in the situation that pleaded most. If my authority meant anything, if our towns weren't left soft, I could have prevented that disaster. We could have done something to stop that lowly Highwayman, had you seen my position from the start," he said bitterly, taking a long drink from his chalice and setting it firmly on the tabletop afterwards. "I knew you wouldn't be able to accept my ways. I could have talked to you in the morning, and you would try to coax me from my ignorance, my senseless aggression and tell me that I was the one who was mislead. No. I remembered the enchantresses mentioned at the party. And that midnight, I took off on horseback while you were asleep."

Regret crawled up to the redhead's heart, clutching it with a single, cold claw. Her breath hitched in her throat, preventing her reply from surfacing. It is my fault that he has been feeling this way. I never wished him to think himself like that. I was trying to protect him, my life's dearest King.

"You alright, my Queen?" he asked without a heap of sympathy, contrasting his sharp features that momentarily mollified. "That phrase does bother me so. You always ask, but you'll never do anything to help it. I'm different, though. I will help you. How can I improve your mood?"

"Don't . . . please, don't fear speaking to me of your . . . turmoils. I am sorry. I care for you. I just didn't realize that you were affected that severely . . ." she spoke, ignoring her dinner. She hadn't an appetite. "I will listen. I promise. I want to mend these wounds I've caused you."

"Among other things you didn't realize, I shall. I will tell you everything in the moment." The King continued eating, looking like he might laugh, reason unknown. Perhaps it was a joke. "As you asked, this is it! Reach for answers and you'll find them. Every one of them." His partial smile faded. "I rode to the cottage that Whispers lived in with her sister. I gave my word that they would be paid for their contributions if they kept my idea to themselves and suggested that they create . . . a beast. A monster brutal and chilling enough to strike every villain in our reaches into the dirt. Terrifying enough that grown men tremble to defend their families, forcing them to become apt. But also a creature that can slink in the darkness, patient to pounce, a spectral energy lingering in the forests when nothing happens. Now, you would surely be against this valuable concept and unwilling to deal with the consequences. They weren't. Adelaide was glad for the experience and Whispers thought my intentions pure. Countless attempts to conjure this beast from the forest species have gone wrong. I have been checking on their progress for months upon months, investing our treasures into the search for the perfect specimen. The attempts were sent back with me on every visit. Recall anything?"

His wife froze completely. Those animals he keeps bringing . . . They aren't from a strange generation at all. "I-I can't . . ."

"Believe me?" he finished for her. "You can't believe that I'd do something so drastic and evil and not say anything to you? This isn't evil. This is the only path I could have taken to ensure that our subjects survive on top. Go ahead! Prove me wrong again, darling Queen! Enlighten me with the voice that brightens the mountains! Show me why our people love you!"

Her freezing heart shattered into bits. He thinks he's unloved . . . Tears pricked at her vision, blurring her world. It's untrue . . . "I love you," she sincerely responded, matching his gaze with sadness.

Her husband seemed to stop at that, tender emotions passing beneath his exasperated visage. His fork was held in midair, mouth opening as if he were going to say something, but nothing came out.

Hope flared in her chest once more, longing for the trust they used to share. She would make it better. She would. She would. "Even if they have trouble seeing your side, that doesn't mean it's impossible. They can love you too. They might be soft, but they possess the ability to love and have true friendships, the two strongest qualities of all."

Whatever crack in his composure was there smoothed over. "You don't know the first thing about strength! This kingdom is weak because of your pathetic views!" Angrily, he snatched one of the two small black turtles from his plate, the charred shell a brownish color after being seasoned. "Do you even know it's a kingdom? I am the King! I rule over you and everyone else! Why should my decisions ever be overlooked?"

She stared at him, grimacing and lacking a reply. The Queen thought she saw the cooked turtle's neck tilt towards her. But that was impossible. Still, it made her want to cry when he swallowed it whole, and she didn't see that the King was choking until he lunged for his water, gulping it down and sputtering.

The woman speedily stood from her seat, eyes wide and worried. "King, are —"

He stopped, breathing heavily, dropping his hand to rest it on his chest. Then the most horrible thing happened. He changed.

The uncanny process left the Queen dizzy and horrified as she watched her husband transform from man into monster. Branches slowly sprouted out of the sides of his skull, a pair of grim antlers reaching to grab the sky, dreadfully displacing his old crown and disordering his darkening hair. Actually, it was shadowy sap that seeped from his skin, his whole body quickly covered, the oily fluid soaking his regal clothes. His eyes glowed entirely white. Apart from that, he was himself when she matched her gaze with his, expression dreadful.

"What have I done?" she murmured, unable to hold in a sob.

"I will take care of this myself," he spat in a deeper voice, malice lacing the syllables. Standing, his form was suddenly imposing as he whipped around, dashing away, towards the front gate.

The Queen was bent in grief, face in her hands to wipe her tears while she weeped. It is my fault that this tragedy happened. She gasped, convulsing in agony. I am the cause of his pain.

It took a reasonable while to gather herself, mind clicking information into place, putting together a huge, horrendous puzzle. She opened sore orbs to rest on the King's plate, steadying her breathing.

The second black turtle waddled off of it, completely alive. It innocently blinked at her. The enchantresses . . . they put a spell on these turtles for him. He got his beast, she deducted, almost breaking down again. Oh no. What i-if he . . . I have to stop him!

"Guards! Guards!" she shouted, running as fast as she could. "Guards, you must prevent him from leaving!"

Finding a few stricken defenders in the hall, she appealed them to raise the alarm and retrieve her King before he made it into the forest. They were faster than her. They knew the King's ways, even if they usually didn't follow his system.

She rested against a wooden pillar decorated with flowering vines, panting in exhaustion, pulse racing. Please. Let them catch him. She could not lose her King. No matter what the cost, he was the one thing she would never sacrifice.