David Gaider

“You killed her!” Maric shouted. He picked up the man’s head by the hair yet again to slam it down. “You bastard, you killed her!” He smashed the head down again.

And again.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he choked on his words: “She was your Queen, and you killed her!” He slammed the head again, still harder. This time the man stopped fighting back.

Then, he saw it. Just ahead, in the deep shadows between two of the taller trees, two points of light glinted at them, like a cat’s eyes as it watched you in the dark.

Like elf eyes.

“One minute you’re in love, so much in love that you can’t imagine anything wrong ever happening. And the next you’re betrayed. Your love has been ripped from you like your own leg, and you swear you’d do anything—anything—to make those responsible pay.” Her eyes focused on Maric, and her voice became soft, caressing. “Sometimes vengeance changes the world. What will yours do, young man?”

King Meghren was a tyrant, and one did not honor tyrants; one appeased them. So the nobility put on a great show of adoration for their beloved monarch, their smiles a thin veneer covering their terror. The King, meanwhile, knew the nobles were acting. The nobility understood this, but also knew that the charade was required of them, nevertheless.