The Warrior Queen

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 1,943
2/14/2023

She ground her teeth together again, her eyes staring daggers at anything and everything. The time had come; she could delay no further. But still. Thoughts waged war in her mind as she weighed the few options available. None were satisfactory.

The feast continued all around her. Soldiers out of uniform, drinking wine that was not theirs, eating stolen scraps of meat on borrowed plates. None fit to serve, let alone rule. But try telling them that.

Consus, the most popular among them, sat off to her right. He was surrounded by an entranced crowd, weaving mythical tales out of standard battles to men who served by his side when they occurred. They were well aware of the countless embellishments he added, but none seemed to mind. Anything for a good story, they would say. But she knew better. She could not be fooled. What he was—above all else—was a liar. He vowed his unwavering loyalty when she spared his life, but that vow meant nothing now, so close to… bedrest.

Wido was the strongest. He was a wall of muscles, towering head and shoulders over the rest. A veritable giant, he remained undefeated in daily sparring matches. He was almost worthy of training with her were she not in her present condition. She had her eye on him for months now; his rule would go unchallenged, of that she was certain. But the man was daft as he was strong. She could not trust any decision he would make. He sat to her left, ravenously chewing flesh and bone alike as wine rolled down his chin. The sight made her sick… or maybe she was just nauseous.

Her fists clenched until all color fled.

“Are you in pain, my lady?” her manservant asked.

“I am many things. A beloved queen. A fierce warrior feared as far west as Morfeld. A nomad who claims any land under her feet for her own. But I am no mere lady.”

“Of course, my queen,” The scrawny man dared an eye roll. “Old habits.”

“Sit with me, Evander,” the queen ordered. “I could use the perspective of a commoner.”

“So long as you eat. You need your strength now more than ever.”

“Oh, please, I’m fine.”

“Yes, but is he?” Evander motioned to her protruding belly.

As if on cue, the child kicked forcefully against her side. She winced, swatting away Evander’s supportive hand as she did. It was undignified. The best swordswoman in all the land, conquer or countless armies, now swooned over by a servant. This child better be worth it.

For years she had wandered the twelve kingdoms without a land to call her own. Ever since she killed the prince to whom she was given, like a piece of property. That was still her proudest moment. She demanded to be trained with a sword before their marriage. Argued it was a matter of protection since so many attempts had already been made on his life. When he agreed, she spent every waking hour perfecting her skill. Then, after months of his insistence that she was trained well enough to fend off any attack, she challenged him to a duel to “prove her inadequacies”. Within a minute, she ran him through. And she carried his sword at her side ever since. Never again would she be made to do anything she did not wish. But that was not enough to guarantee the things she did.

It had taken time to build her reputation and acquire the army she now possessed. To begin with, the different kings laughed at her for claiming queendom without a husband. Then they tried to stomp her out. When their attempts failed, they offered marriage, and it was her turn to laugh. Today, most allowed her to wander their lands without threat or harassment. But seldom few would grant her an audience. They offered no reverence to her title of queen. “Queen of what?” They would ask. She had no land, no king, no heir. She was nothing in the eyes of their patriarch. Perhaps it was out of frustration, but that would soon be resolved.

There was little doubt who the child’s father was. Young King Macedon of the North. It was a small kingdom, but a kingdom all the same. Macedon’s father tragically died before he was old enough to sire an heir. And he was too inexperienced at rule to deny the wandering warrior queen an audience. A few tricks and lies later and… her current predicament. She was weeks from having a strong claim to a throne that would be effortless to take. An heir. Land. And a king by her side, if she desired it. She would be denied no longer. But with every bold move came great risk.

“Eat!” Evander shoved a bowl of stew toward the queen.

“Tell me, Evander, who among the men most fear me?”

“Fear? I hadn’t thought of it.”

“Of course you have,” her words were direct and terse. “Men only think of power. Fear of it or a drive toward it. And you…” she looked him up and down. The young man was pale and thin. His black hair, a mop upon his head. “You certainly do not seek it.”

“Do you think so little of me? Truly?”

She took in his outraged tone with bewilderment. Why would speaking the truth cause such offense? She pressed on regardless. “The men will not endure rule from a bed. I must put another in my place for a short time. And that man must fear me enough to give up ultimate power when I have recovered. Who lives by fear and not by drive?”

“Those are the only two options? No other motive exists?”

“Your queen demands an answer. Who fears me?”

“I do not know. Egidus. He seems the nervous type.”

“Egidus?”

“When you had slain prince Phaedrus in your friendly duel and were hunted by the whole of the kingdom, and I fought off the guards alongside you. When I showed you the secret passage and waded through the sewers to aid in your escape. Was it fear or dive that urged me on?”

“Fear, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed, his annoyance obvious even if its cause remained unknown.

“Had you not left with me, you would have been interrogated, imprisoned. Perhaps even killed to be made an example of. You say, Egidus? He is a bit young, don’t you think.”

“And in the months that followed, before the army that parades from kingdom to kingdom with you, it was just the two of us. We wandered the forest, neither of us hunters or foragers. We nearly starved, remember? You became deathly ill, and I cared for you until you recovered. Did I fear you then?”

“Yes,” came her answer.

“Yes? How?” His frustration rose. The queen could almost hear the talk among the army dampened as ears turned toward them.

“Had you betrayed me, there were but two outcomes. Either I would succumb and you would be left alone and without supply, or I would not and hunt you down for the betrayal.”

“Unbelievable,” he threw his hands in the air. He rose from his seat, fully aware this was an action she could not mirror without great effort. “There is no other motivation you can imagine? None?” 

“I am your queen. I could have you flogged or exiled or hanged with a snap of my finger. And there is nothing you could do to change that. Does that not cause you dread?”

“Emphatically, no.”

“You doubt my power?”

“No. Of course not. Never. I accept it wholeheartedly. But I do not fear it, for I know you to be a just queen. You would not issue such judgments without cause.”

“Perhaps,” the queen pondered her manservant’s impassioned words. The distinction seemed so arbitrary to her. His belief in what she would do did not alter her reach of power. “But the threat remains. You acknowledged yourself, I could—”

“—I do not fight by your side because of what you could do, but for what you do. When I lay my head down at night, I do not dream of what might happen, but rather what will be. Do you not see?”

“Not yet.”

“I left my homeland, my friends, my family, for you. Gave up a position in the palace and any reputation I had acquired, for you. Not for the power you might one day accrue, not for the things that might one day be done with said power. I cast aside everything I had for you.”

“You are right,” the queen whispered. She had overlooked Evander all this time. His undying service. She had only considered the soldiers, but perhaps that was her problem. With great effort, she rose to her feet. The breastplate rubbed against her bulging belly painfully. She gestured toward her sword, the one she stole from prince Phaedrus as he bled out in the courtyard. Immediately, someone retrieved it for her. The festival din had faded away entirely by this point. Each soldier carefully watched their queen as she did what they had all been waiting for over the last few weeks.

“Kneel, before me,” she drew the blade. “Evander, loyal servant.”

He obeyed without hesitation. The queen brought the sword down upon one shoulder and then the other.

“Now rise, Sir Evander, knight of the wandering warrior queen.”

A cheer broke out among the camp. And the queen allowed it to continue for a moment before she raised her hands to quiet them down again.

“And your first order as my knight, Sir Evander,” she emphasized the last words. He smiled wide. She brought both hands carefully to her scalp and lifted the crown that sat there. “Protect my crown and throne until I am fit to reclaim it.”

Another cheer broke out, this one more tempered. Consus, Wido, and their respective advocates remained silent. They wore their emotions on their faces. The crown, they each thought, belonged to one more worthy.

The queen leaned in and kissed Evander’s cheeks, one after the other. As she did, she whispered. This conversation was between them alone. “Remember what you have gained under me,” she said, “and consider what you will lose if you attempt to keep this crown for your own.”

Evander wrapped both arms around his queen’s neck. He held her tightly and pressed his mouth to ear. “Love,” he whispered back.

“What?”

“I acted not of drive or fear, but love. I would have given my life for you without hesitation or regret. Wandered aimlessly across the twelve kingdoms until your dying breath. But that is a motive you cannot grasp.”

“Love?”

“You are not the queen I thought you were.” He withdrew and held her at arm’s length. Tears streaked both sides of his face. “ I will protect your crown like the loyal servant I am,” he said. “And return it when asked. But that will be your last request of me. On that day, I will take my leave of you.”

“So be it,” she could think of nothing more to say.

“And when that day comes–when you take your precious crown, will it be due to a drive or fear?”

“I am incapable of fear, Sir Evander.”

“King Evander,” he corrected. “I am no mere sir.”

She recognized her own words turned against her. The crafty servant. She knew her part but scowled mightily as played it. “Of course, my king.”

“You are incapable of anything apart from fear. Or this decision would not have weighed so heavily upon you for so long.”