His queen

My eyes tear up as the words come out of my mother’s mouth. “You will be the next queen. I won’t be here tomorrow. Just pull the plug!” She ushers me but I shake my head. “Mother I won’t take your throne until you die. And I’m not going to rush your death. I wish to hear your voice every single day and not come to the hospital once every three weeks.” I speak with a stone face, and I don’t break eye contact. I then turn around to see my father standing there. He had a deep frown on his face, and he looks like he just lost his best friend. “Violetta, I-” He loses all of his words as I walk out that door and close it behind me. It was a cold February morning in Weaseltown, Quilcene when the church bells rang for the funeral of Queen Beatrix IV, age 47 years old and died peacefully in her sleep at 12:01 am.

Two months later:

I sit on my throne and cross my arms. I’m supposed to have a king. But where is he? My father set me up with some big-headed bastard probably. Suddenly father walks in with a slight frown. “The king won’t be here until tomorrow.” He states and I stand up. “What!? But what about the kingdom?” I ask and father sighs. “He won’t be able to make it, the driver fell asleep in his car on the way here. He didn’t want to disturb you, so I told him I would take care of me for a day or two. Until tomorrow then.” Father says and walks out of my chamber. “Tomorrow,” he says motioning with his hand as if it were just a minor detail before leaving. As soon as he’s gone, I call my loyal guards over to me. “Have you seen the king?” I ask and one of them shakes his head. “No, Your Highness.” He replies, bowing. I frown and step outside. “A fucking king he is.” I speak to myself placing a crown on my head. Suddenly a guy with black hair, gray eyes, dark toned skin, muscular physique, and super-sized words appears in front of me. “Who are you?” I ask, trying my best to not make eye contact. He laughs and grabs my arm, spinning me around before he answers in an all-too unfamiliar voice that sends chills down my spine. “I am your king.” I back away from him, my face contorted with disbelief. “N- no,” I stammer. “You can’t be my king!” He looks at me with a bored expression, and I accidentally take a step back. “I am,” he states simply. Before I can open my mouth to object, he takes a step forward and grabs my arm. “Shall we go?” he inquires in a regal manner, despite the casual atmosphere. I can only manage a meek “I- I suppose,” and he leads me to a limousine that had been waiting off to the side. We arrive at what appears to be a regal palace. Its immense size and grandeur leave me in awe of how much wealth and power this man must possess. It’s difficult to imagine that someone so powerful could want me, a newly queen of the throne, to join him on his journey. I take a moment to appreciate the grandeur of the palace before I am shaken from my daydreaming by his voice. “Come on.” He speaks and I snap to attention. “Sorry.” I timidly reply and proceed to climb the grand staircase in front of us, taking care to not drag my dress in the dirt. He looks over at me and smirks, “Some queen you are.” I shoot him a glare, “Jerk.” I speak. “Say it.” He commanded, his deep baritone reverberating through the chamber as we entered. I frowned in confusion, my brow furrowing, as I replied with a single syllable, “Hm?” His mouth twitched with a mischievous smile as he repeated himself, “Say it again.” I answered with a note of indignation, “What, that you’re a jerk?” He inclined his head in confirmation, and I rolled my eyes with resignation. “Well it’s true. You are one. Some King you are,” I mocked, feeling my temper rising. He chuckled, amused at my display, and waved a hand, commanding me to take my place. “Go sit somewhere,” he commanded, and I gritted my teeth before sitting down on a nearby couch. He watched me with a stoic gaze, as I stood there, my stomach growling inaudibly, as a reminder of the fact that I had not eaten anything all day. I was nervous, my heart racing wildly in anticipation of meeting the King, yet his presence was now beginning to annoy me. I made a mental note to myself that I would have my dinner at 7:PM. He descended the stairs with an air of regal grace, a sharp contrast to the 3:PM hour when we had first arrived. His deep baritone voice resonated around the hall as he commanded, “Get up.” I stood up and he walked up to me, his face eerily illuminated in the dim light of the hallway. His voice was stern and yet, somehow gentle. “Try not to get lost. Your room is on the second floor, third room.” His voice seemed to echo in my mind as I began to walk up the spiraling stairs, my feet almost gliding up the steps as if they were enchanted. I continued walking, my eyes fixated on the seemingly never-ending staircase, before I turn another corner and slap myself in the head. I was lost. I crouched down in defeat and looked around, my eyes darting back and forth, searching for any sign of familiarity. All around me was darkness, and ancient paintings. I soon felt something around my waist and I looked up to see the King. His tall, regal figure stared down at me with a look of disappointment. “I’m sorry, sir,” I stammered, my heart in my throat.

“It’s Reign,” He spoke, his voice reverberating with authority. I gulped, not quite knowing how to respond. “Sorry, Reign,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. He sighed before standing me up. “Room,” He commanded, pointing towards an open door. I practically ran into the room, embarrassed beyond belief. I shut the door quickly, shuddering from the weight of the king’s presence. I stood in the middle of the room, my jaw dropping in absolute awe. The floor was a glossy black marble, the walls drenched with a sunshiny yellow creme. The furniture was simply out of this world. The bed was immense and plush, the sheets a sunny yellow, decked with a cloud of black pillows. To the side of the door was a spacious walk-in closet, promising a never-ending array of wardrobe possibilities. Beyond the door was a bathroom like no other, with a lavish shower and luxurious tub, both of which were encased in diamond black marble. The walls were lined with mirrors, while the counter tops glistened like glass. I walked out of the bathroom, my eyes widening as I saw King Reign standing there. His stature was unmistakable and his presence filled up the room. His golden crown glimmered in the rays of light that shone on him. I felt a chill run through my body as I looked upon him.

He turned to me and asked, “Do you like the room?” I could feel my heart racing as I nervously nodded in response. “Good,” He replied softly before turning to leave. I felt a sudden panic grip me and I called out, “Wait!” He stopped and turned back to me, a look of agitation on his face. I quickly composed myself and asked, “What time is it? I eat at 7PM.” “Have you eaten at all?” he asks and I shake my head. “It’s 4:30.” He states, as if that fact is going to change my mind. I bite my lip and turn towards my room. “Well...I’ll do something to waste the time.” I speak, obviously not understanding that he is trying to be helpful. He grips my arm pulls me back, his fingers digging into my skin. “You should eat right now.” He states, as if I’m an idiot and don’t know what’s good for me. “I have to maintain my-” He cuts me off before I can even finish my sentence, clearly not caring what I have to say. “No excuses. Just eat.” I sigh heavily and with a hint of sadness. “Well okay Father,” I speak sarcastically. He stares down at me with a look of disdain, and his eyes sparkle with malice. “I’m not your father,” He says in a deep and intimidating voice. “And you know for a queen I dislike you.” He continues, never wavering from his menacing demeanor. I feel my heart racing and my courage shrinking, but I manage to muster up the strength to whisper, “You’re a king and I don’t like you.” But somehow, he had picked up on my words. “Say it louder,” He speaks as he steps forward, making me take a step back, my body trembling in fear. He strides forward with a regal bearing as I retreat warily. “Say it,” he commands, his voice deep and powerful as he picks up his pace, his eyes never leaving mine. I stumble backwards, desperately seeking an escape, but I am soon met with a wall of my room, and he towers over me, trapping me between him and the solid surface, his hands on either side of my head, my heart pounding in my chest. “Say it again,” he speaks, each word slicing through the air like a blade. I open my mouth to reply, my voice trembling as I whisper, “I--I said for a king I dislike you.” He tilted his head, his cold gray eyes piercing my very soul. “Well, that is simply too bad, my love,” he spoke. “You see, your father, in a manner of speaking, sold you to me. Who else do you have to turn to in these trying times? Certainly not your mother, for Evelyn is no longer alive, my love. She is now gone and resides in the underground.” His words echoed through the room like a solemn dirge, and tears began to form in my eyes. “Do not speak her name!” I said with a broken, yet fierce voice. “Evelyn,” he states, and I full break into tears. I try to wipe my tears away, but he grabs my hands, preventing me from doing so. His gaze is stern and his voice is commanding. “Don’t you ever say that again or your punishment will be severe.” He spoke before leaving the room. I sobbed viciously as the memories of my mother echoed in my mind. I could almost feel her gentle hands in mine and her voice, kind and loving, filled my heart with warmth. I felt her presence as if she was still here, but I knew deep down that she was gone forever. I could no longer feel her embrace, no longer hear her words of comfort. I sighed and slumped down onto the bed, my thoughts whirling around in my mind as a flurry of emotions threatened to overwhelm me. Just as I was about to give into the darkness of my thoughts, the door suddenly burst open with a loud thud. My gaze shot up to see a breathtakingly handsome figure standing in the doorway, a radiant smile adorning his face. “Hello! I’m the new chef,” the handsome figure said, introducing himself as John but allowing me to call him Joe. I quickly wiped the tears from my face, composing myself as I stood up from the bed. “I’m here to give you some food,” Joe continued, his voice tinged with excitement. “I’m here to give you something to eat, if you like. Steak and mashed potatoes. How does that sound?” He asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. He had an air of nobility about him, his presence captivating and mysterious. “Sure.” I spoke, looking up to meet his gaze. He smiled warmly at me, and set down the plate of food. “Do you have a measuring cup? I always like to make sure I’m consuming the right balance of food,” I said, embarrassed at being so particular. He frowned, and shook his head. “You can just eat. You don’t have to worry about that,” he spoke, but the words barely reached my ears. My mom had always told me to be so careful with the way I ate, and the tears started flowing unbidden.

Joe, sensing my distress, walked up to me and wrapped his strong arms around me in a hug. I hugged him back, grateful for his presence. Suddenly, King Reign strutted into the room, his presence immediately filling the air with a majestic authority. I hastily released my grip on Joe and looked down. “Joe you can go now.” Reign spoke his tone annoyed. “Yes, sir,” Joe replied humbly, bowing once more before leaving the room. I felt my stomach drop as I looked down and nervously poked at my steak with my fork. “Eat,” Reign spoke again, this time his tone much more forceful. I remained silent. “Look at me,” he spoke again, advancing closer towards me. I slowly raised my head, my eyes meeting his. He spoke again, his voice stern and unwavering, “Don’t ignore me.” I nodded in submission, the air of the room suddenly seeming to thicken. “Eat.” He demanded, and I opened my mouth to protest, only to be cut off by his voice again. “Eat.” He commanded again, and I sighed in defeat, picking up my knife and fork and stabbing my steak. “Word of advice,” I muttered more to myself than him, “I hate steak.” His lips quirked in a sneering smile, a cruel glint appearing in his eye. “Word of advice,” He mocked, his voice low and menacing, “you aren’t special.” I frowned and pushed the plate away. “I won’t eat,” I declared firmly, and watched as he gripped my chin, his expression stern yet somehow still gentle and forced the steak in my mouth. I chewed on the steak slowly, savoring its flavor while my eyes were locked on his. “That’s abuse,” I spoke after I swallowed the bite. His gaze pierced through me as he lowered himself onto a nearby chair. “I’m not leaving this room until I see you eat,” his voice filled the room with a sense of finality. I scoffed before spooning a bite of mashed potatoes into my mouth. He watched me intently, his gaze never leaving my face. I felt my heart race with each passing second as I nervously gulped down the bite. He seemed determined to make sure I ate every last bite of my meal.