King and Queen
Welcome, you’ve stumbled onto part 2 of The Tori Story Series. If this is the first time you have visited this realm you might want to get caught up.
“My Lord,” The Queen stood in the oversized arched doorway that spanned the height of the lofty room. Her body slightly bowed, eyes downcast. She addressed the King with the formalities required in the hall of thrones, and paused, as etiquette required, to wait for him to invite her in.
At once, the dank smell of mold that forever festered on the slimy walls assaulted her senses. She coughed violently into her handkerchief, a drop of blood seeping through the delicate silk.
Abruptly, he stood. “My Queen.” The King beckoned, stepping down the steps that elevated the thrones above the floor. His arms outreached. Concern clouded his countenance. Waiting for her to enter the hall.
At length, the Queen recovered and crossed the vast chamber. Her ornate gold plated clogs clanked as she walked, echoing through out the room.
“A word, My Lord.” She spoke expectant, scanning the room, casting her eyes in the direction of the all guards that occupied the space.
With a warm smile, she turned her full attention to the king cocking her head knowingly to the side and stepped into his embrace. He kissed the creases on her forehead, then tenderly pushed her away from him to survey her at arms length.
Curious and concerned, he held her, scanning her soft features trying to decipher her expression. Her face, however, was a mask of secrets, locked. Unreadable.
“Privacy.” The King ordered. And the guards, each in turn promptly left the room shutting the intricately carved wooden doors behind them.
“John,” The queen spoke in hushed tones but only after the doors were fully shut so as no prying ears would hear. “Please, I beg you, go to Tori. Seek her counsel.”
“The Witch?!” He hissed, releasing his grip on her arms. Outraged, his countenance flushed with anger. “My Queen, I remind you that woman… if that is indeed what she is… is possessed, with who knows what type of evil spirit. Mad. Have you not heard the whispers all through out this kingdom?” He accused.
His words stung. Not the words themselves. No, it was the formal address. “My Queen.” he said.
Too long they had lived together. Much too long for him to address her formally while no one else was around.
Two simple words meant to offer the highest respect, crushed her to the core. There was a time when they were not King and Queen. They were simply John and Hannah. Had he forgotten?
She turned her back to him, an equally offensive gesture though she meant only to hide the tears she couldn’t keep from falling. However, no sounds escaped.
Still she could not control herself, try as she might, silent sobs wracked her body.
The King softened. “Hannah.” He started, resting his hand on her shoulder.
She brushed him away, back still turned and fought to regain her composure. Another coughing fit. Another trickle of blood.
John stood motionless. Once a commoner, then mighty warrior, and now King. Strong, well loved, and respected. Feared. Fearless. Powerful. Yet in this moment he was weakened and powerless.
Taking a deep breath, Hannah recovered her composure. She could not stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks. As she turned to face him, she exposed the rivers of heartache and hurt visible for the first time to the king.
“My Lord.” She choked back her sobs and lowered her voice to an icy chill. “I remind you that… Tori saved my life. And the life of the one and only heir to this.” She swept her hands toward the majestic, albeit uncomfortable, thrones that loomed high above the king. “AND…” she punctuated. “I remind you that without that… that… witch…” She spat out the word as if the very sound of it on her tongue repulsed her. “As you so call her is the only reason you have an heir!” The last word came out in a high pitch shrill echoing across the large hall.
To hell with the meddlesome eavesdroppers glued to the door.
She continued. “I swore I would never let you see me cry. Swore to myself. Not once would you see me broken from all the heartache, that this life bound to you has thrown at me.” she hissed. “And to this very day I haven’t. But… My Lord.” She choked, the weight of her agony forced her to her knees.
No longer could she suppress the horrible sounds of a lifetime of pent up loss.
“Our son is dying.” She wailed.
Indeed, the entire castle heard it.
“How many John?” She screamed looking up at him. “Have many blue lifeless babies torn from my arms after the pain of childbirth?” She rocked back and forth in an effort to comfort each dead child that plagued her memories.
The king stood motionless. Never had he understood her pain, never had he bothered to try. She was forever stoic and strong.
At length he spoke. “She cut you open.” It was his time to choke back tears having never spoke of the incident with her. “You have no idea what I witnessed. It was barbaric. Evil. She choked the life out of you as if by some other worldly magic. Klor Form she called it. An evil spell no doubt.”
“Before you died, she spoke soothing kind words, I thought she meant well. Then you were gone, and that’s when she cut. I see her sinister smile as she carefully sliced your flesh. Still, to this day I cannot unsee what happened that day.” He gagged and shook with the memory of it. “I thought I had lost you forever.”
“I lived.” the queen responded bitterly, her tears spent. “And what’s more, our son lived. I would that she cut me open a thousand times if only to give you countless children. And me some reprieve from the vile existence in this horrible place.
“You owe me this, John…”
Please,” she begged, “for our son’s sake, go to her.”
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