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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #2136010
Broken glass and paperwork litter the floor of the Queen's study.


She rose slowly, the last bits of sleep still clinging to her. Her head pounded with the fury of a thousand angry horses. She reached over to grab he bottle of pills from her dresser, but her hand met empty air. Grumbling to herself about idiot servants moving her things, she sluggishly opened pale blue eyes to search for the rouge item; only to find herself not in her bed but on the floor of her study. Sleep fled from her mind as raw panic took its place. Her desk was a mess; paperwork was everywhere, her inkwell had been knocked over, even her draws had been pulled out and their contents emptied onto the desk. Her bookshelves were in complete disarray and books lay strewn about the room, some of them with their page torn out.

She struggled to her feet, the glass that now coated the hardwood floor crunching under her heels. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the night before, but it was all a haze. What had she been doing in here? While racking her brain for answers, she was stopped by a foul taste in her mouth. She ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth, trying to identify it. Her eyes widened as the unmistakable bitterness of wart root and sable settled on her tongue. She'd been drugged! But why? What would anyone need to -?

He thoughts trailed off as her eyes focused on the mess of things from her draw. Scrambling, she riffled through the empty draws but she knew her fears had been fulfilled. The false bottom of one of her draws was missing. Whoever had broken in here had it, they'd found the key. Millions of possible outcomes flitted through her mind, each more desperate than the last. No one would have risked breaking into her castle if they didn't already have the map and the crystals. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white, fear, anxiety and hopelessness battling inside of her for control. She fanatically scanned the room for something that would console her. Her gaze finally came to rest on her sword. The jewel encrusted heirloom lay discarded amongst the shards of glass, sparkling in the light of the newly risen sun. It shone like a beacon of hope. She rose form her seat and picked up the sword. She lovely examined the weapon; tracing its gems and runes. When she pulled back her delicate fingers they were covered in red flakes. Dried blood had crusted into the grooves of the blade. The queen smiled triumphantly, there was hope now. She'd fought with whoever broken in last night and scored at least a few blows. Her quarry wasn't going to get far with a wound from this blade.

Far more relieved than when she first awoke this morning, the queen waved her hands over the study, restoring it to its proper state of order. Looking down at herself in disgust she waved her hands again this time changing in to a clean dark velvet gown. With purpose renewed, she exited the room a dark gleeful smile on her face. She had a thief to find and torture.


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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2136010