The Princess and The Pirate
Chapter 28

Lillian looked out her bedroom’s balcony at the storm rumbling far off in the distance, flashes and veins of lightning coloring the darkness. The air was damp, swelling with moisture, creating a cold, icy smell to flavor the sea air.

In her hand she held a thin vial of concentrated apple seed cyanide. It was a warm, shimmering golden color.

A hand crept up her shoulder, displacing her thoughts as she looked to the source. Versetti, the captain of the guard. He placed a rough kiss against her shoulder blade, the princess’s dress having a temptingly low back.

The man was one of few deep thoughts. He was a brute but she had his loyalty and that was all that concerned Lillian. His inner workings didn’t interest her at all. His devotion was a security; whatever she had to do to maintain it mattered little. It was merely a means to an end.

Versetti’s hand slid over her shoulder, down against her milky collarbone, coming to the top of her small chest. The raven-haired princess rolled her eyes, struggling to hold in a sigh. Didn’t he ever quit?

The door to her room opened and Versetti ripped himself away, inconspicuously leaning his legs against the stone railing. Oh my, the harbor was suddenly so interesting!

“M’lady, dinner is being served.”

Not acknowledging her guards’ captain, turning away from the balcony all together, Lillian merely fumed across the room, her large skirts billowing behind her long stride. “Don’t you know how to knock, whelp?”

The servant, not quite so accustomed to cruel tones, stammered. “I-I apologize.” Saint Jacqueline had never acted this way! Well, even if she had, he had just conveniently forgotten.

Versetti followed after his future queen, giving a sneer at the lowly worker, shoving the old man with his armored shoulder and nearly knocking him to the ground.

Adjusting his own robes and rubbing the tender part of his aging chest, the butler watched the pair stomp and clank down the hallway. Rocqueburne was in for some dark days.

Idly tucking the vile into her sleeve, Lillian descended the stairs, lost in thought. The clanking of Versetti’s armor was giving her the biggest migraine. Massaging the side of her temple, Lillian attempted to quell the ever-growing annoyance in her brain.

Entering the dining hall, Lillian rushed to the Queen’s seat. She was already sitting, regally eating a few finger foods. In her evening clothes, as they weren’t entertaining any sincerely important guest, she looked relaxed, untroubled, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

A server was pouring her a drink and Lillian took her opportunity.

“Oh, mother, good evening. Sir, if I may,” she interjected, taking the pitcher from the slave.

“Evening, daughter, how go your studies?” It was just another night, as if the Queen’s own flesh and blood had not died a week ago. She had even given up wearing the traditional mourner’s black. She was never one for traditions anyway. The Queen didn’t even look up from her plate, popping another grape into her mouth and holding her hand out, ready for a drink.

Discretely popping the vial, Lillian poured the cyanide into the bottom of the cup and diluted it with the rich-smelling mead with a smile. The ruby red mixture swirled in the cup and just as the princess placed it in the Queen’s fingers, it was plucked away!

The King, passing by quickly, took the goblet from Lillian’s hand.

Frozen, the princess stared as he took a big swallow from it, plopping himself down at the head of the table.

“Evening, family!” the King exclaimed with a grin, taking another drink.

Lillian only stammered inaudibly.

The Queen looked at him flatly, unamused, her thirst actually growing, “You are such a barbarian, my King,” she snapped, reaching over to an empty place, grabbing its cup. “Lillian, if you would, please,” she said, holding it out to the princess.

The King coughed slightly, trying to clear his throat. He adjusted his collar in subtle discomfort. A servant came beside him, bowing, placing a stuffed pheasant in front of his majesty.

He continued to cough. Cyanide disrupts the blood’s ability to carry oxygen. As it worked through his bloodstream, the deprived cells would slowly starve. With no air, there was no hope. His organs would shut down. He would die and Lillian would watch, stone-faced.

Mid-act, she calmly poured the Queen another cup, slowly. The King pushed away from the table, coughing more. He rubbed the center of his chest, replaceing it suddenly hard to breathe.

“Husband?” the Queen asked as she stood up, concern on her face.

“I…I…C-ca—” He couldn’t get out a single word, heaving deeply but unable to catch his breath. He fell over onto the floor, having the very life sucked from him. Un-oxygenated blood quickly circulated through his panicked body, poisoning him further, isolating his organs from any nurturance.

The Queen rushed over to her husband’s side, trying to hold him up by his shoulders. “W-what’s wrong!”

“The drink!” Lillian shouted wildly, throwing the pitcher and goblet from her hands dramatically. The mead splattered against the wall, the containers cracking at the force. “He drank the mead and look at him! Poisoned!”

It was quite a show.

Swinging around, Lillian pointed to the unfortunate servant who hand handled the pitcher before her. The innocent man trembled at her accusation. “You! You brought this before them!”

The Queen looked up from her husband’s paling face. “GUARDS! ARREST THAT MAN!”

“I…What?! N-No! I didn’t!” the man sputtered but it was too late. Versetti grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck, clutching the man’s flesh and dragging him from the room. “MY LADY! BELIEVE ME!” More guards joined their captain as the servant was dragged from the room, screaming.

By the time the Queen looked back at her King, he was silent, blankly staring at the floor, relying on her hands to stay up. “H-husband…” the Queen whispered as she shook him, giving his body a soft shove.

The King gave no resistance. He fell back, staring upwards at the heavens, but his sight and life had left him as he lie dead on the castle’s luxurious carpeted floor.

The Queen held her own face and screamed at the sight.