A Golden Queen
“It’s too hot!” exclaimed Samphire. She rolled onto her back and rested her arm over her eyes to shade them from the glare of the courtyard.
They had long since retreated from the worst of the heat into the cooler shade beneath the cloisters, but the warmth of those golden rays seemed to follow them into the relative dark. The sound of water trickling from the fountain in the centre was a tantalizing torment. What she wouldn’t give to lie in those cool waters. Had they been in the Queen’s private garden, her fountain would be filled with her ladies-in-waiting, but they were not there, and Samphire was driving herself half mad thinking about it.
“You could take off your dress,” replied Hyan. Her voice was barely more than an uncomfortable moan, as if it required some great effort to talk. She may have been born and raised in the warmer, southern provinces, but Hyan felt the heat of summer in the city just as much as the rest of them.
Samphire gave her a half-hearted poke in the side. Any other movement was beyond her. “The guards would love that.”
She raised herself up onto her elbows and looked to where two guards flanked the entrance to the King’s private chambers. Compared to the brightness of the courtyard, the atrium beyond the archway looked so dark as to be almost black. She longed to fall into that cool darkness and never see the sun again until autumn came.
She did not remember falling asleep, but the next moment she was pulling herself from oblivion and opening her eyes to a world sharp with cold. Frost lined her eyelashes. Thin blankets of snow covered each of her fellow ladies-in-waiting. Their dormant figures showed no signs of life.
Samphire shivered. She nudged Hyan beside her, but the girl was unresponsive. Frost coated her clothes and hair. Beneath it, her skin was blue with cold.
Samphire flinched away. She struggled to her feet, slipping on icy flagstones. The guards had slumped to the ground either side of the archway. Fear bade her slip a dagger from one of their belts. She clutched it tightly and then stepped into the atrium. It was no warmer than outside. Snow had drifted across the polished floor and icicles hung from the ceiling.
The door to the King’s bedchamber was ajar. She stepped up to the gap and peered in. The bed was empty, the sheets rucked up and pulled taught across the mattress to the floor where the King sat gripping one corner. Something dark had stained the sheets. The King himself was entirely drained of colour. In the next moment, his strength left him, and he slumped the rest of the way to the floor.
A familiar figure stood over him. Blood stained the hem of her golden gown, and when she turned to look at the door, Samphire saw blood around the Queen’s mouth.
“Samphire!”
She woke with a start to find the sun hot in the courtyard and every trace of snow gone. Hyan was shaking her gently.
“The Queen is back,” she said, helping Samphire to her feet. The Queen now stood in the shade of the archway. The rest of her ladies were hurrying to her side, and Samphire rushed to join them. She smoothed her skirts as she walked to stop her hands from shaking.
“My darlings,” said the queen, her gaze settling for a beat too long on Samphire, “let us return to my garden.”
They fell in around her, following along back to that blessed garden with its cool fountain and shaded paths. Samphire shivered involuntarily. She walked a few paces behind her queen, her eyes fixed on a small blood stain on the hem of her golden gown.