Chapter Two, part two
A low whistle broke the silence of the throne room, followed by a sharp crack. The lioness was in her throne, the plush ruby cloak damp and clinging to her shoulders. Idly, she tossed another star, spiraling it through the air to land in the doorframe, inches from the first. Whistle, crack. Ears set back; she fingered another, tracing the razor edges with a claw. Her scouting party hadn’t returned - three seasons and no word. The rain didn’t help, either. She shuddered, drawing her cloak closer around her body. She hated being wet. The water seeped through the stone, making everything in the castle moldy and damp.
The thick oak door groaned in protest precisely as she flicked her wrist, sending the gleaming metal blade through the air. Crack. It embedded itself in the door, pinning down a tuft of orange fur from the head of the soldier who had entered. Unimpressed, she watched the young fox nervously touch the top of his head as the realization of what could have happened to him sunk in.
“Well?” Her deep voice rumbled with displeasure as she plucked another star from her belt, watching the young recruit out of the side of her eye as she idly tossed the deadly razor.
Attempting to conceal his quaking knees he straightened his tattered brown tunic and bowed down on one knee. Trembling he kept his eyes to the floor. “Soldier Sandfire, your highness, with a message from the pantry guards.”
A smile crept over her pocked face. In the dim candlelight her battle scars were illuminated, cutting across her once fine features in jagged lines. No fur grew over the scar tissue, and each large, sickly pink slash on her face reminded the army of her insane determination. If she meant to kill, she would kill, and nothing, not sword or axe or magic, could stand in her way. Both ears were missing large chunks of flesh and her entire right cheek was dented, the bone crushed and sunken in. She bore resemblance to a skeleton, a minion of the undead so frightening many with weak blood fainted at the sight of her. “Rise.” She commanded, studying him with her pale golden eyes. “What message do you bring?”
Slowly he rose to his feet, careful to avoid eye contact with the sickly eyes he felt boring into his skull. “Your greatness, the soldiers from the pantry have sent me to deliver this news...” he paused, sucking in a deep breath. “The shelves are growing empty, mistress. The meat supply is low.”
Her tail twitched once in anger. “Praytell, dear Sandfire, how much, exactly, is there left?” Her voice dripped with false affection.
“There are six deer carcasses, your highness, twelve rabbits, and a half dozen pheasants, give or take.” He visibly shivered despite his best efforts to remain in control.
Reaching beside her she lifted a goblet of wine and slowly took a sip. The room was silent save the rapid heartbeat of the guard. Irritation filtered through in her voice, and her eyes narrowed. “And how, may I ask, did the supply dwindle so low?”
“The constant rains of late, milady, have brought spoil to much of the food. Hunting is scarce. We have tried our best to replenish it, oh powerful empress, but it seems that most of the prey is in hiding because of the storms.”
Sandfire cowered as he awaited the reply, tail held tightly between his legs. Her voice poured over his body and he found himself frozen to the spot, the curt tone making him break into a cold sweat.
“Return to the pantry. Tell them to organize a hunt. Now.” He bowed once more and turned to flee. Eyes wide with panic he darted out of the room and down the hall. He barely had enough time to finish being thankful for his life when the razor star lodged itself deep in his neck. With a heavy thud he dropped to the floor, a thin stream of crimson blood running into the grooves of the stone hallway.
Rising from her throne, Rhyanna Slash, the BloodQueen of RavenMor, strode over to the lifeless body. With one quick motion she bent and removed the silver star from the unfortunate fox’s neck, wiped the blood on his tunic, and returned it to her belt pouch. “Idiots...” She hissed, seething. Her eyes burned brightly and her lip curled as she stepped over the carcass and descended the staircase. A passing guard respectfully bowed. She lashed out, grabbing his shoulder with her claws and dragging him towards her. He whimpered in pain as she spoke, yet knew better than to protest. “You...” She spat in his face, “Clean up that carcass in my hallway and organize a group of soldiers.” Upon release the soldier fell back, sporting five new puncture marks in his arm. Reaching into her belt pouch, she produced two jagged iron barbs and proceeded to fit them over her canines. Grinning, the two metal saber-teeth gleamed in the faint candlelight. “It’s time to hunt.”
The thick oak door groaned in protest precisely as she flicked her wrist, sending the gleaming metal blade through the air. Crack. It embedded itself in the door, pinning down a tuft of orange fur from the head of the soldier who had entered. Unimpressed, she watched the young fox nervously touch the top of his head as the realization of what could have happened to him sunk in.
“Well?” Her deep voice rumbled with displeasure as she plucked another star from her belt, watching the young recruit out of the side of her eye as she idly tossed the deadly razor.
Attempting to conceal his quaking knees he straightened his tattered brown tunic and bowed down on one knee. Trembling he kept his eyes to the floor. “Soldier Sandfire, your highness, with a message from the pantry guards.”
A smile crept over her pocked face. In the dim candlelight her battle scars were illuminated, cutting across her once fine features in jagged lines. No fur grew over the scar tissue, and each large, sickly pink slash on her face reminded the army of her insane determination. If she meant to kill, she would kill, and nothing, not sword or axe or magic, could stand in her way. Both ears were missing large chunks of flesh and her entire right cheek was dented, the bone crushed and sunken in. She bore resemblance to a skeleton, a minion of the undead so frightening many with weak blood fainted at the sight of her. “Rise.” She commanded, studying him with her pale golden eyes. “What message do you bring?”
Slowly he rose to his feet, careful to avoid eye contact with the sickly eyes he felt boring into his skull. “Your greatness, the soldiers from the pantry have sent me to deliver this news...” he paused, sucking in a deep breath. “The shelves are growing empty, mistress. The meat supply is low.”
Her tail twitched once in anger. “Praytell, dear Sandfire, how much, exactly, is there left?” Her voice dripped with false affection.
“There are six deer carcasses, your highness, twelve rabbits, and a half dozen pheasants, give or take.” He visibly shivered despite his best efforts to remain in control.
Reaching beside her she lifted a goblet of wine and slowly took a sip. The room was silent save the rapid heartbeat of the guard. Irritation filtered through in her voice, and her eyes narrowed. “And how, may I ask, did the supply dwindle so low?”
“The constant rains of late, milady, have brought spoil to much of the food. Hunting is scarce. We have tried our best to replenish it, oh powerful empress, but it seems that most of the prey is in hiding because of the storms.”
Sandfire cowered as he awaited the reply, tail held tightly between his legs. Her voice poured over his body and he found himself frozen to the spot, the curt tone making him break into a cold sweat.
“Return to the pantry. Tell them to organize a hunt. Now.” He bowed once more and turned to flee. Eyes wide with panic he darted out of the room and down the hall. He barely had enough time to finish being thankful for his life when the razor star lodged itself deep in his neck. With a heavy thud he dropped to the floor, a thin stream of crimson blood running into the grooves of the stone hallway.
Rising from her throne, Rhyanna Slash, the BloodQueen of RavenMor, strode over to the lifeless body. With one quick motion she bent and removed the silver star from the unfortunate fox’s neck, wiped the blood on his tunic, and returned it to her belt pouch. “Idiots...” She hissed, seething. Her eyes burned brightly and her lip curled as she stepped over the carcass and descended the staircase. A passing guard respectfully bowed. She lashed out, grabbing his shoulder with her claws and dragging him towards her. He whimpered in pain as she spoke, yet knew better than to protest. “You...” She spat in his face, “Clean up that carcass in my hallway and organize a group of soldiers.” Upon release the soldier fell back, sporting five new puncture marks in his arm. Reaching into her belt pouch, she produced two jagged iron barbs and proceeded to fit them over her canines. Grinning, the two metal saber-teeth gleamed in the faint candlelight. “It’s time to hunt.”