Categories > Books > Meredith Gentry > Snapshots of Obsession
I stare down at the body between us. The world is frozen. I have an eternity to look down at the once-King. Her father. My saviour. Dead.
His head lays a little way to the side, where it rolled after the strike. He looked surprised. Blood rushes still from the severed neck, and I shudder violently at the scent. So close and so fresh, staining his rich clothes and the carpets a red as dark as my hair and eyes.
Her sob shatters the moment. The soft hitch of breath, the shiver of the exhale, the painful clang-clatter of the be-spelled sword falling from her hands. The blood smeared upon the blade gleams, looking almost unnatural. I look up at her.
She looks shocked, as if it had been an accident. As if she wanted to take it back.
She slew her father.
She is the Queen.
She falls to her knees and convulses, throwing up beside her fallen sire.
The Seelie may not accept a kin-slayer as a Queen. Not when she is so young, with such diluted blood. They may judge civil war was preferable to Etianne.
No.
She must not be harmed. Not her, oh Danu, please not her.
I step over the body, touching my fingers to her hair for a moment. I'd do this for her. I'll keep her safe.
As she weeps, I bend and pick up the sword. She turns her thrice-blue eyes up to me, full of tears and fear. She fears me, at long last. She thinks I would be her executioner. She is so naive. Her expression turns from fear to disgust and confusion as I bring the blade closer to my face, and as I lick the blood a sound escapes her.
She still doesn't understand.
It doesn't matter. I turn and drive the cold iron into the sidhe's chest, piercing the heart. He cannot be resurrected now. She whimpers again. I drop to a knee, leaving the sword in the King's chest, rubbing my fingers in the hot, slick life blood. I rub it onto my mouth and face in a hunting ritual. I coat my hands.
I hear footfalls, many of them. The king's guard. I hurry, turning to the Princess - to the Queen, who is watching me in horror. Good. I take one of her shaking hands and kiss the knuckles, leaving a smear of her fathers blood. She is shaking her head, looking to the door as well. Maybe it has clicked. As she looks back and the doors burst open I strike her, her head snapping to a side.
It is enough. The sidhe, who know how I love her even if she does not, spill in, blades pulling free. They jump to the wrong conclusions and she will live.
Danu, let her be smart enough to live.
His head lays a little way to the side, where it rolled after the strike. He looked surprised. Blood rushes still from the severed neck, and I shudder violently at the scent. So close and so fresh, staining his rich clothes and the carpets a red as dark as my hair and eyes.
Her sob shatters the moment. The soft hitch of breath, the shiver of the exhale, the painful clang-clatter of the be-spelled sword falling from her hands. The blood smeared upon the blade gleams, looking almost unnatural. I look up at her.
She looks shocked, as if it had been an accident. As if she wanted to take it back.
She slew her father.
She is the Queen.
She falls to her knees and convulses, throwing up beside her fallen sire.
The Seelie may not accept a kin-slayer as a Queen. Not when she is so young, with such diluted blood. They may judge civil war was preferable to Etianne.
No.
She must not be harmed. Not her, oh Danu, please not her.
I step over the body, touching my fingers to her hair for a moment. I'd do this for her. I'll keep her safe.
As she weeps, I bend and pick up the sword. She turns her thrice-blue eyes up to me, full of tears and fear. She fears me, at long last. She thinks I would be her executioner. She is so naive. Her expression turns from fear to disgust and confusion as I bring the blade closer to my face, and as I lick the blood a sound escapes her.
She still doesn't understand.
It doesn't matter. I turn and drive the cold iron into the sidhe's chest, piercing the heart. He cannot be resurrected now. She whimpers again. I drop to a knee, leaving the sword in the King's chest, rubbing my fingers in the hot, slick life blood. I rub it onto my mouth and face in a hunting ritual. I coat my hands.
I hear footfalls, many of them. The king's guard. I hurry, turning to the Princess - to the Queen, who is watching me in horror. Good. I take one of her shaking hands and kiss the knuckles, leaving a smear of her fathers blood. She is shaking her head, looking to the door as well. Maybe it has clicked. As she looks back and the doors burst open I strike her, her head snapping to a side.
It is enough. The sidhe, who know how I love her even if she does not, spill in, blades pulling free. They jump to the wrong conclusions and she will live.
Danu, let her be smart enough to live.
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