Young Writers Society

"My Queen,"

She looked up from her reading chair to observe her butler bow at the waist as he spoke his greeting. She lifted her hand in a dismissive gesture, returning her gaze to her book. If one could even call it a book. It was more of a journal within a book; the pages of a large book had been hollowed out to create a big enough space to conceal a journal in the center. Unless someone got too close, it would be hard to discern journal pages from book pages.

"Is your tea at a desirable temperature, my Lady?" Asked the prestine butler with his crisp accent. She noticed how perfect his uniform was put together, free of wrinkles and flaws. How he kept his dull gray eyes hooded and made sure they never met her gaze. How he kept his head bowed slightly to the floor. How he held a black hand towel draped over his left arm, and how he kept his right arm folded behind him. She noticed his black hair, slightly frizzy and always unruly.

"Forget the tea; he's here, isn't he?" She stood, swinging her arm so that the black lace and silk of her ornamental gown swept in an arc around her. She held her back stiff and her chin high as she stalked past the butler, silently and subtly gesturing for him to follow. He obeyed without question, padding after her like a puppy following his master.

"That he is, my Lady." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. The Queen knew for a fact that this visitor--who always tussled her butler's hair--made that very same butler very uncomfortable. He was certainly eccentric, to say the very least. "I don't see why you must continuously see this man. He isn't suitable for a business partner--which is what your foreign allies think he is. He isn't suitable for a friend--which is what you think he is. And he isn't suitable for a prospective lover, which is what everyone else in this blasted castle thinks. And his entire demeanor is... how to put it... somewhat scandalous."

"Don't speak out of turn, Lorale," the Queen growled, partially ignoring his advice. "Besides, he's better than Evora. You want scandalous, just take one look at her. She dresses like a flipping man, for crying out loud!"

She picked up her pace, listening to her high heels clicking on the cold stone floor, and his own flat-heeled shoes clacking as he strained to keep up with her.

As she walked down the long corridor leading to the Guest Acceptance Room, she let her thoughts wander to Evora. Where was that woman, anyways? She had gotten word that a plague had started in the northern region of her territory, and it was that female scientist's job to whip up a cure. The unreliable woman had been gone for nearly two months; usually the Queen would let this slide, but on the other hand, Evora usually came back before the Queen needed her.

"My Lady, you've passed the room." Her butler cleared his throat, stopping her near-sprint down the hallway. She could've kept speed walking like that for at least another ten minutes before the hallway came to an end. This castle was much too big, but it had come with the whole 'royal package'.

Reaching the door, she signaled for the butler to leave, and entered the room without caution. Strolling over to her favorite chair in this particular room--a big feather-filled oval sitting chair the color of the ocean, dark wood trim holding large cushions in place--she plopped down and waited for the visitor to make his trademark dramatic entrance.

She was shocked when she noticed him already standing by one of many floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the room. Where was his sweeping gestures and over-pronounced words? His care-free manner and bouncy personality? It almost scared her to see that stern face, clenched jaw, and two hooded eyes. Hooded eyes that turned to glare at her while he angled his body toward her.

"Larana," he hissed, baring his teeth. His four canines were abnormally long and reflective, making his other teeth look dull. His pupils turned to tiny black slits as his silver eyes flashed. Cold calculation swept across his face like passing traffic, making her heart nearly stop beating.

"What? What's happened?" She asked, disgusted when she heard her voice quiver. Standing, the Queen braced herself as the visitor lunged at her. Wrapping his left hand around her throat, he pushed her back down into the chair with a thud.

"You lied to me, Larana."

"What?! I haven't lied--" she tried to protest, but he tightened his grip on her neck.

"The bridge. Is still. Standing. Why is it still standing, Larana?"

Realization hit her. The bridge. She could have sworn she gave the order to Gladys to demolish the old structure... and Gladys and just recently told her the deed had been done. The bridge should be gone; gone, as this man had demanded. She shuddered at the very thought of the bridge still standing. Some ancient energy had attached to it, he had told her. It was draining him to have that energy so near. She had to destroy it. Destroy it before their pact was affected.

"Gladys told me it was finished." She choked out, feeling precious air seep out with the words; air she could no longer replace. She grasped at his hand, trying to pull it away, but he was too strong. Of course he was; he wasn't even human.

"Gladys lied, then!"

"So why aren't you choking Gladys, curse you!" She shrieked, and he released her. She reeled forward, catching herself with her hands as she retched on the floor. He had touched her for too long, and it certainly hadn't helped that he was so angry. His powers had been concentrated on her, and that had been dangerous. Much too dangerous.

"I don't feel her in this Place anymore." He whispered, suddenly calm and collected. Like he hadn't just tried to kill her. Like his hand wasn't still red from gripping her throat so tightly.

"She jumped dimensions?" She asked, rubbing her neck and grimacing at the mess she had made. "Doesn't that take a lot of power? Power that humans don't have the capacity to hold?"

"Exactly. She likely had immortal aid. I don't think it was a Reaper, though." He smiled at her, holding out his hand to help her up. She took it after a moments hesitation; he noticed this, his smile faltering.

"Why would you say that?"

"Two reasons: Firstly, the spell wasn't sophisticated enough; you know we Reapers have to do everything with style. And secondly, it's Master isn't nearly as beautiful as mine." He touched her cheek. "Surely that means it must be some mindless divine entity who has no sense of beauty?"

She slapped his hand away, turning her back on him to face the windows. She hoped she could hide her escaping smile from him, but it wasn't likely. It was hard to hide anything from a Reaper.

"Well? Why are you still here?" Her back still facing him, she waved her hand in yet another dismissive gesture. His eyebrows arced.

"Mistress?"

"Kill Gladys. Bring me her soul as proof. And... seek out the entity that activated her Rift passage. I don't like the idea of beings capable of enabling teleportation roaming about like everyday riff-raff."

The Reaper smirked, letting out a single harsh laugh. As she turned her head to glance at him, he bowed low at the waist, one arm behind his back, the other held out to her. She walked over and pressed her forehead to the top of his hand. His eyes flashed a bright silver, and she instantly felt a headache coming on. Every demand had a price. Everything taken had to have something of equal value given back. Hopefully the price wasn't as big this time.

"Of course, Mistress," he purred, chuckling. She blinked, and he was gone; no trace left but a feather black as night.