Avatar

buzz

@buzzthebeee

will be putting no effort to make this look nice

Terms of Surrender -- The End!

So I already had the ending written a long time ago and decided to finish it up since I left you guys on such a bad cliffhanger lol. Thank you for all the enthusiasm for this fic, I really did not think anyone would read it lol.

Summary: The queen of a doomed city makes the deal her husband refused to make with the conquering warlord outside her city's gates

The Queen leaned back against the molded, damp walls of the cell and tried to find the relief. She had always expected to be here and now she finally was. Away from sunlight, time passed and did not pass. Time did not exist. She could not say if she had sat there for a day or a week.

The cut on her neck stung each time she swallowed. The urge to pick at the scab felt overwhelming at times, and only the fear of infection in this filthy cell kept her from touching it.

Eventually someone would come to torture her for information on whatever scheme her husband’s friend had planned. She had no information to give and she wondered idly if they would kill her for her perceived stubbornness or if she would make up an elaborate lie in order to broker for any relief.

The fear of it glowed dully through the fog of her apathy, so faint she barely acknowledged it. In fact, she almost welcomed the opportunity to get it over with. She did not blame the Warlord for not believing her. As the last remaining heir to her family’s name, she was a beacon for anyone resisting his rule. Just as she thought her lush captivity too good to be true, he must have thought her surrender and cooperation too good to believe. How easy would it have been for her to merely bide her time and lure him into false security?

She had no way to explain herself that did not sound like a desperate, self-serving lie. That felt more unbearable than her impending execution: that she would die with the Warlord thinking she was nothing more than a manipulative snake, that their strange but beautiful connection was all in his head.

And yet she could do nothing about it. Except wait.

Terms of Surrender -- The End!

So I already had the ending written a long time ago and decided to finish it up since I left you guys on such a bad cliffhanger lol. Thank you for all the enthusiasm for this fic, I really did not think anyone would read it lol.

Summary: The queen of a doomed city makes the deal her husband refused to make with the conquering warlord outside her city's gates

The Queen leaned back against the molded, damp walls of the cell and tried to find the relief. She had always expected to be here and now she finally was. Away from sunlight, time passed and did not pass. Time did not exist. She could not say if she had sat there for a day or a week.

The cut on her neck stung each time she swallowed. The urge to pick at the scab felt overwhelming at times, and only the fear of infection in this filthy cell kept her from touching it.

Eventually someone would come to torture her for information on whatever scheme her husband’s friend had planned. She had no information to give and she wondered idly if they would kill her for her perceived stubbornness or if she would make up an elaborate lie in order to broker for any relief.

The fear of it glowed dully through the fog of her apathy, so faint she barely acknowledged it. In fact, she almost welcomed the opportunity to get it over with. She did not blame the Warlord for not believing her. As the last remaining heir to her family’s name, she was a beacon for anyone resisting his rule. Just as she thought her lush captivity too good to be true, he must have thought her surrender and cooperation too good to believe. How easy would it have been for her to merely bide her time and lure him into false security?

She had no way to explain herself that did not sound like a desperate, self-serving lie. That felt more unbearable than her impending execution: that she would die with the Warlord thinking she was nothing more than a manipulative snake, that their strange but beautiful connection was all in his head.

And yet she could do nothing about it. Except wait.

Warlord needs glasses

Tbh, I didn't read the more angst and hurt-y parts but the happy ending is sweet and made me happy :)

Poor Queenie throughout her life till Lordy came over :(((((((((((

He winced. “I hate it when you say things like that. It makes me furious that I did not have the pleasure of murdering your husband with my bare hands.”

Exactly, Warlord. Ex. Act. Ly.

And this:

“I offered you my forgiveness, thinking myself so magnanimous, when I should be begging for yours on my knees. I would now, if I thought I was worthy of it. But what I have done to you is unforgivable.”

He is so honorable! And right! If you drop to your knees to ask for forgiveness, you could just be guilt-tripping them! He has brains and heart! So much heart! I love him!

Queenie deserves the world! I'm so happy for her!

people love extolling the virtues of ball-and-socket joints and how it makes us more advanced and all that but I don't see any fucking octopuses in slings now do I. Bones are overrated and I want a refund.

how dare you lay this curse upon my home

you don't frighten me

Everyone in the notes saying "this is a 10k post to me" "posts that have 100k energy" "posts that are 30k to me" or whatever - alright, fine! Put the fuckin' work in then! You'd better have this queue'd up every day for the next six months! You'd better have all your friends queue'ing it up too!

You want me to suffer?? You want to treat me like my own goddamn bones do??? MAKE AN EFFORT

Anonymous asked:

Hi! I love your writing style and I'd love to see your take on the villain's backstory as they tell the tale of their parent getting murdered by the king for having or using magic when it's banned. Have a lovely day :)

"Are you traumatised, little princeling?" the villain asked.

The teasing nickname felt more like a nightmare now; the memories awash with betrayal and gore.

They villain settled themselves down on the throne; all elegant menace and crackling power. The crown that formed on their head was a thing of magic, shimmering and uncanny, swallowing light. It matched the pitiless hollows of the villain's eyes.

The prince's jaw clenched, his breathing hard and ragged. Bile clawed up his throat. He pushed himself shakily up off the ground, onto his knees. He was surprised he got that far. His whole body trembled.

But everyone else...

"What are you waiting for?" he demanded. "You got what you wanted. Kill me too."

The villain smiled, faintly, and considered him. There wasn't so much as a speck of blood on them but the polished throne room floor and the prince's hands were slick with it.

"You didn't answer my question, little princeling."

The prince bared his teeth, but couldn't quite master diplomacy in that moment. It was all he could do not to scream, or cry. "Who wouldn't be? You - you-" He couldn't quite articulate the horror of it. He closed his eyes but the memories flashed through his mind all the same.

His body moving through the throne room on someone else's command. A puppet of a prince. A slaughterer.

The magic had felt so good while it ensnared him, even as it was saturated by the nauseous inability to stop, the terror, the merciless guilt.

"You're a monster," the prince rasped.

His hands curled into fists. In an instant he was on his feet after all, body broken, sword in hand as he charged towards the villain.

He got as far as getting the tip of his blade to the villain's throat, and then his body locked. He could not kill nor retreat, nor do much of anything at all. Frozen.

The villain blinked at him, lazily almost, a they tipped their head back like the sword was actually a threat. No. Not lazy. It affected laziness, but it was...

"I was traumatized," the villain said, in the same light and mocking tone of voice as before, "when your father killed mine."

Their eyes met.

The prince willed his hand to move, to cut, to kill.

He didn't. He couldn't.

"And that excuses all of this?" the prince managed. "I am not my father. I am not - I wasn't even alive - I would have -".

The villain could have waited, could have let an old man die with some dignity, could have taken a higher ground, and the world would have changed. The change didn't have to be taken in blood and pain.

The prince didn't even agree with the magic laws. Ever since he'd met the monster in front of him, he'd...

He'd heard bits of the story before. Not the king, but some random attackers in some village, and how the villain had escaped only because the attackers had thought them a child dead already. How the magic had saved them.

The prince had thought of phoenixes, then. He should have thought of the ashes.

The villain flicked a dismissive hand and the magic curling around the prince yanked his arms back behind his back, roughly, forcing him to let go of the blade. It hit the ground with a clatter.

The prince landed on his knees, a stifled cry of pain on his lips, tears stinging in his eyes. Not for the hurt of it, not for that small bit of control, but all the rest.

The villain settled a clean hand atop the prince's dishevelled head, like a cruel and gentle benediction.

"Of course," the villain said, as if the prince hadn't spoken, "he didn't do it personally. A man like your father never bloodied his own hands when he could use someone else's. It was his guards. He..." The villain wet his lips, "watched though. I think it made him strong, killing magic users. A man-god, clinging to his false power, when he'd never even tasted what real magic felt like. Real power."

The villain's gaze flicked almost idly around the room, around all the royal guard - the prince's friends and mentors and protectors - who the prince's puppet body had killed.

The prince swallowed. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

The magic, that taste of real magic, still swirled around him. Oppressive and heady and awful and enticing. Dangerous.

The villain's attention fixed on him again. They caressed the prince's cheek as the prince shuddered.

"So, you understand, that if this was personal, it was only personal in the way that it was personal to your father," the villain said softly. "You were born to this and it was always going to be your fate."

"Then kill me for what I was born for. Be just like he was!"

"I did think you were just like him when we first met." The villain's hand moved down further still, wrapping almost curiously around the prince's throat. "But you've proven quite interesting. Not enough to change anything, but..." the villain shrugged.

The prince flinched, recoiled. "I wish I'd been more like him. Then I would have killed you before you ever did this. Before you even got the chance!"

The villain laughed. The sound didn't reach those eyes. The prince had seen the sadness in them, the loss, and he'd thought...well, it all felt stupid what he'd thought, with all the devastation behind them, with that terrible crown twinkling abyssal night atop of the villain's head.

The prince had been told since the moment he was born that magic was dangerous, that magic users were too dangerous to live. He'd thought there was a middle ground. He'd thought that it couldn't be all of them.

Maybe it wasn't all of them. But maybe it only took one. Maybe that was what his father had known when he'd ordered the deaths of two palace gardeners and their five year old.

The hate tasted like rot and hellfire in his mouth, but it felt better than the grief. The howling pit of what he'd done. Of what the villain had made him do.

"I should have killed you." The tears came then; wracking, poisonous things that he didn't want the villain to see and enjoy, but which he couldn't quite stop. "I should have killed you before you killed all of them."

"You know, my little princeling." The villain pressed the prince's head against their lap; a gross caricature of comfort, and bowed their head down too to whisper. "I remember thinking exactly the same thing. Look how far we've both come."

Avatar

If I see romantic subtext I a’int crazy right? Loved it

If you’re crazy, so am I.

Tomfoolery

She wore bells in her hair. Big gold ones hung on the red ribbons weaved into her braids. The chimes bounced and jingled against her spine when she backflipped and sailed in gleaming arcs when she cartwheeled.

Apparently, she'd been part of a circus act before the prince's uncle bought her for the court. And with such a background, she could do all manner of oddities and diversions: contortions and gymnastics, juggling and skits of false clumsiness. She could balance knives on her nose like a seal--up to three at once. Her ribbon dancing was the prince's favorite, the way she made the cloth rush like a river current or swell like living flame. And on the days when everything failed to divert her royal charges, she did not shirk from their endless ammunition of rot, always armed with a bright, laughing smile. As if even in the face of yesterday's scrap pile, she too, was in on the joke.

The prince did not enjoy that last one, especially once he began noticing how the light in her grin never reached her eyes. They stayed dull and opaque all the time, like the frosted glass his father had installed in his windowpanes to keep him from staring out.

However, the prince's father and uncle seemed to revel in food-lobbing days, and it was after one such merriment involving the curdled remains of a creamed spinach dish and a rancid meat pie that the prince found her in the kitchen, swearing and ripping at the knots in her ribbons as she bent upside down in front of a half-filled wooden tub the prince was pretty sure, from the smell, had already been used for mass washing heads of cabbage.

"Can I offer you a hand?" he said.

She beat her bare toes into the wall of the tub with a yowl, flipping her hair back over her shoulders as she whirled to face him. For the first time, her eyes were clear, not shining with lovely laughter but deadly fire.

"Do I look like I want--" The flames doused, and her eyes went wide as silver coins as she registered his face. "Your Highness."

All at once she was on her knees, head nearly touching the greasy stone floor.

"I apologize, I didn't expect anyone of your..." she swallowed as if struggling past something foul, "standing to be here. In this part of the palace."

"Well, I used to come down and read next to the ovens, but I'm not quite so inconspicuous anymore. A little too big to hide behind the flour bags." He chuckled awkwardly. The jester did not smile. "Anyway, Catry said you'd be down here."

The jester leaned back on her heels, eyes narrowed. "That little--" She caught herself, gaze flicking warily back to the prince. "Angel! That little angel. So good of her to direct you to me. May I be of assistance, my prince?"

A warm blush spread up the prince's neck to the roots of his hair. He hadn't exactly thought about the peculiarity of a member of the royal family searching out the court jester. Many a servant could be spoken to on pretenses of orders, but he had no good excuse for why he'd be in search of her.

The truth sprang to his lips before he could think to smother it.

"I was wondering if you were alright. When Uncle thew that last pie, it looked like the tin-- Oh!" He canted his head toward the purple splotch making itself known under her left eye. "It's bruising."

His hand reached as if of its own accord, and she swiftly side-stepped, this time smoothly avoiding the lip of the tub. Her eyes narrowed even further. "I'm fine. Thank you, your majesty, but I assure you the bruise will not affect my performance. I'll have it covered and be ready to go by tomorrow."

Ice. Sharp, pristine, palace-perfect ice.

Right. That was about what he'd expected He had learned long ago that the people hired to serve and take care of him were not comfortable with his attention or friendship. What he meant as concern was always interpreted as criticism, expertly masked by royal politeness.

"I'm certain you will be." He paused, glancing over the tub and its room-temperature water. It was situated in an alcove at the very back of the kitchen, out of sight unless standing directly in front of it. He hadn't realized anyone might... He heated a little thinking about what would've happened if he had arrived a little later.

He pointed at the tub lamely.

"Would you like to use mine?"

As soon as it left his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake. She wouldn't even accept an inquiry on her well-being.

"What do you think I am?" she snapped, face red with embarrassment or fury or both. All decorum had fled. "Your uncle might have purchased me, and maybe to you, that makes me property. But I would rather be guillotined than accept the passes of a disgusting, spoiled, power-abusing, prince!"

The prince thrust up his hands, attempting to block the heat of some of her fire. "Th-that's not what I meant at all! Of course, I think you're beautiful, but I honestly only had your well-being in mind. I would never dream of--" His hands flew over his face, and he cringed as he found his cheeks hot to the touch. He pinkened at the slightest of embarrassments--something his father never ceased to remind him of--so right now he must be vibrant. "Excuse me."

His heart beat loudly in his ears, the blood rush making him a little dizzy.

"You're...really red."

A new wave of heat the prince didn't even realize could outdo the last one washed over him.

"I know."

"If you're this embarrassed just talking, how..." She trailed. "You were serious."

The prince didn't dare confirm or deny. Everything he said today had disastrous results.

"Why?"

He should just leave. Leave and pretend none of this ever happened. It wasn't like she could confront him about it later. But he also wasn't sure he could accept leaving her opinion of him tainted.

"Because that looks terrible." He jabbed a thumb at the foul water, his other set of fingers still clapped firmly over his eyes. "And they already treat you terrible. Me too I suppose. So I wanted...I simply thought you might like some help."

There was a long pause. So long, the prince half-wondered if she'd tiptoed around him while he hid his face in his hands. Finally, he peeked out through the cracks at her clenched jaw and dulled eyes. Reverted from the fiery phoenix of a few seconds ago to the submissive show bird of the court.

She locked onto his gaze. "No. Thank you. I appreciate, your highness's concern, but I fear my acceptance of such a magnanimous offer would not be appropriate. I fear I would tarnish your highness's name if anyone were to misunderstand. For this reason, I must also advise your highness not to seek me out."

A politically correct way of saying, 'Leave me alone.'

The prince's heart sank. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting of this encounter, but he couldn't help but feel he'd failed spectacularly.

"Right. Of course. I appreciate your heartfelt concern." He turned, moved a few steps, then turned again. "I-if you change your mind, about needing help, let me know. Alright? It's not personal. As a prince, I have all my subjects' best interests at heart."

A thin smile. "You have my word, your majesty."

That too, was all politeness, and maybe, at the heart of it, fear.

As the prince miserably retreated, he did not expect to hear from the jester again.

So it was rather a shock when she showed up at his bedroom window two days later, pale as a ghost and covered in blood.

Master Taglist:

Avatar

every single person who reblogs this

every

single

person

will get “doot doot” in their ask box

Avatar
mishassbuttofthelord

HOW

Avatar
paint-me-a-butt

I WANT TO KNOW YOUR SECRET

SERIOUSLY THOUGH WHAT ARE YOU

Avatar
m-a-l-t-a-r-a

I GOT THIS AND I WAS LIKE WHAT THE FUCK

Avatar
thefandomlyfe

there are over 128,000 notes and i still got one

how

Avatar
sarabatikha
Avatar
ohmyespinosa

I GOT A DOOT DOOT AND THIS HAD LIKE 700k NOTES

Avatar
complexspark

I got a “doot door”. o.o

I never did get my doot doot =(

oh my god

are the bots becoming so lazy they don’t bother putting hot women in their pfps anymore

Royalty Prompts

It was close, but Royalty won the poll, so here you guys go!

1. A human prince finds himself engaged to the Queen of monsters in order to build an alliance between their two kingdoms and ease tensions between their peoples.

2. Royal is a prisoner of war to the barbarians that sieged and nearly succeeded in taking their kingdom. Luckily, their armies have held them off so far, but Royal isn’t sure how long their people can stand without them. Or—the more they live amongst the barbarians—how much they deserve to keep their homeland based on its history.

3. A royal emissary is traveling on a starship to scout out the kingdom and planet of their Monarch's upcoming marriage alliance. Unbeknownst to them, the nice fellow passenger they've been building a friendship with is the Monarch's future spouse who is traveling home after attempting to learn the customs and culture of the Monarch's home planet. However, it seems there's been a misunderstanding about the emissary's identity: the future spouse believes they're the Monarch in disguise.

4. Overthrowing the kingdom was supposed to be the hard part, but now that the commoner-turned-royal is on the throne, they realize that being ruler is much more complicated, especially when half the kingdom wants them dead, and they don't know who they can trust.

5. The Kingdom's ruler is despised by everyone but their poison taster. Because of this, their food is poisoned almost daily, which is why the taster--secretly a creature who lives off consuming deadly poisons--likes them so much. They are living in the lap of luxury with this job, and all they have to do is keep switching out the bad food with something good.

6. A royal runs away from their kingdom and into the dark woods, inadvertently stepping into a faerie circle. The fae that steals them does not know what they’re getting until it’s too late: an incredibly spoiled, over-demanding, oblivious brat with no self-preservation skills.

7. The crown prince/princess has never felt the danger of living on the outskirts of the dark woods. In fact, they often take rides or trips into its depths and have never seen anything so strange as the rumors say. Unbeknownst to the kingdom, and themselves, the forest is biding it’s time with the future ruler’s ignorance, for they are a changeling switched at birth, and when the current monarch dies, it will finally be the otherwordlies’ turn to reign.

8. A magical assassin is sent to kill the current monarch of a kingdom, but when their window comes, they take pity on them and transform them into an animal instead. Now the assassin is masquerading a very bitter ruler as their familiar while lying to their teammates/bosses about their death. They also sort of wish the spell did not include the telepathic link, because they don’t need to hear the monarch calling them names on top of everything.

9. The second sibling of a royal family is kidnapped by a dragon who is very intent on keeping them. Once they get past the mortal terror of possibly being barbecued or eaten alive, it’s quite nice being treasured.

10. A too soft king/Queen is overthrown by conspirators and sacrificed to the mountain dragon by their superstitious people. The dragon takes the monarch away much to the people’s glee, but instead of killing them, they take them back home to the mountain peak. The dragon is horrified that these humans can keep sacrificing their own, especially their own ruler.

11. A royal guard must flee a recently usurped kingdom with their young royal charge. Their only hope is that one day, when the royal is old enough, they might be able to return to take the kingdom back. In the meantime, they must go into hiding. A chance encounter with a morally gray city thief gets them new identities, a place to stay, and more found family than they bargained for.

12. The crown prince/princess has always had a weak constitution, so they see the royal apothecary daily for tinctures and elixirs. Their childhood apothecary retired a couple years ago, replaced by a younger apothecary they once apprenticed. With their constant contact and the apothecary’s complete understanding of medical problems that others find tiresome, the royal can’t help but grow attached.

Terms of Surrender Part 5

Synopsis: The queen of a doomed city makes the deal her husband refused to make with the conquering warlord outside her city's gates.

CW: Ingrained, systematic sexism (not from the Warlord)

“I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

The warlord hovered his hand over a rook and then a pawn, considering his next move. The last few visits to the rooftop garden had shown nothing but a city peacefully rebuilding; even so, the queen felt her stomach clench in unease.

“Oh?” she said, keeping her voice light and curious.

The warlord settled on the pawn and moved it. “Yes. The king of Neighboring Country wants to meet and discuss new trade agreements. I had hoped to gain your insight and advice on his upcoming visit.”

“You want my advice?”

The warlord glanced up at her from the board. “Of course. Out of everyone I know, you would have the most experience and knowledge with this man and previous trade agreements.”

“And you would trust my advice?” she asked slowly, game forgotten.

The corner of his mouth lifted up. “Well I wouldn’t follow it blindly, but I don’t follow any advice blindly. It doesn’t make it any less valuable. Would you be willing to share it?”

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 8

They spent Friday on the couch, addicted to, of all things, an interior design competition show. Civilian felt fine enough for work but Jonathan refused to take them back. And when Civilian nearly fell over from dizziness in the shower, they begrudgingly admitted that he had a point.

At first Jonathan only glanced over occasionally from the doorway of the kitchen as he prepared tea and soup, or from his armchair as he read one of his books. But then his gaze lingered more and more until the third episode ended, when one of the contestants was declared winner of that round.

“What the fuck?” he said, sitting straighter. “That design was dogshit and everyone knew it.”

Civilian snorted. “They’ve been kissing this contestant’s ass all season so far. I don’t know why.”

“If he wins, I may have to break this television.”

“That’s not going to change the outcome.”

“No but it might make me feel better.”

When the asshole contestant lost, Jonathan fist pumped the air. Civilian couldn’t help but laugh behind the throw pillow.

“You are way more invested in this than I am,” they said.

“The world may be grossly unfair, but I like to pretend meritocracy exists on trashy reality shows.”

“Have you ever seen another competition show? That’s the last place for meritocracy.”

“Shut up and let me enjoy this young woman’s victory.”

Civilian grinned. “Or what?”

dwagunfwoo-deactivated20160325

writers of the world: please stop using epithets in your writing, trust me “the blonde army doctor”, “the curly haired detective”, “the blue-eyed man” etc. do not sound as good in writing as they may sound in your head

instead, use the characters’ names, they’re there for a reason and it’ll make your writing much more crisp, tight, to the point, and still entertaining

As someone who uses epithets in my writing here, I’ve found the way to use them successfully is when they are rooted in your POV character’s perspective (whether that’s first person or third person limited). In essence, you can only use an epithet that your POV character uses in their own head for the other person.

So if a POV character is sitting at the table across from their husband, referring to him as “the blond man” will jar the reader out of the perspective because hair color/gender is not typically the mental tag for a person you are in relationship with. Depending on the relationship, your POV character might look across the table and think “their lover,” “the prince,” “their partner,” “the idiot,” etc. The article counts too - does your character see “their prince” or “the prince”?

And it can become a character choice! Say the POV character interacts with a couple paramedics mid emergency - no time to get their names. How does your character quickly tag these two people in their head? By gender (Female Medic and Male Medic), by rank/competency (Lead and Rookie), with overly familiar nicknames (Blondie and Muscles)?

And it’s the same for heroxvillain stuff, aka All Epithets All the Time. I can go a bit broader in perspective, i.e. if the world is more black and white I’ll use hero/villain, more shades of gray might be protagonist/antagonist. But ultimately it comes down to POV.

I LOVE this! And I totally agree! I also use epithets in my writing, because sometimes using the name over and over and over in the same paragraph, starts to sound repetitive. Plus they’re fun.

But what I learned early on is this! POV matters, it all depends on how the POV character thinks of the people around them. It’s why sometimes while giving critique I’ll tell people not to use for the POV character because they’re really not going to be thinking about themself as “the hero” or whatever else.

It doesn’t work to cut out all epithets in one broad stroke; it really should be on a case by case basis. Like all writing, think of your reasons behind it.

as a reader I love when it’s sprinkled in a little. Especially when it changes from stuff like ‘the prince’ to ‘their prince’. A small change as the point of view character sees someone else differently.

Terms Of Surrender Part 3

synopsis: The queen of a doomed city makes the deal her husband refused to make with the conquering warlord outside her city's gates.

Find part one and two on my pinned story masterpost -- Tumblr isn't letting me copy/paste links rn

It was a surprisingly easy sell to her people. They had been without hope for weeks as her husband stubbornly decimated his own forces to cling to his throne. Caravans streamed out of the city for two days, but many people stayed, too rooted in their lives, living in houses that had been passed down for too many generations to leave now.

The army — what little remained — had great reluctance in giving up their weapons, but the warlord’s general ensured every sharp object down to a penknife was confiscated before allowing the warriors to leave or face imprisonment.

And in two days time he strolled into her throne room, unharrassed and unhurried. His sword unbloodied at his side. She waited for him on her throne, savoring the last few minutes she had left upon it.

Despite his terms of surrender, she still half expected him to pull out his sword and run her through, hold out her head to the crowds outside. He had a fearsome reputation on the battlefield, one so terrifying that her husband had preferred to take his own life than lose it to the warlord.

He stopped just before her and reached out a hand.

“My lady,” he said, with a small bow.

It felt like a false sense of security, like walking over a rug you knew covered over a sharp spiked pit. But what choice did she have?

"My lord,” she said, for it was true now. She took his hand and allowed him to gently guide her up and off her throne — the first and last day it was ever hers.

He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I must lock you away.”