Chapter 6- The Queen with no power.

6

DACIANA

It had been a while since I felt this way.

Dread, surprise and worse shame.

It suddenly made sense why he didn't care that I held a knife, he knew he could outsmart me and that riled me up.

“Your silence is refreshing,” he teased, failing to hide the amusement in his tone.

The sudden shift of power had stolen my breath earlier, but the longer the cold steel stayed there with no intent, the more my pulse steadied.

“Drop the knife,” I tried to sound intimidating but it came out like a plea.

“Yes your royal majesty, because you insist I will be a puppet and dance to your strings.” He said sarcastically, the blade settling deeper on the base of my neck.

“I know you won’t use it.” My voice steadied this time. “If you wanted me dead, you could have pushed me off the ledge the night we met.”

For one heartbeat his hold faltered. Then he stepped away completely, flipping the dagger in his palm before offering it hilt-first with a bow.

“Careful,” he murmured a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Handing a murderer a weapon isn't a smart move.”

I took the knife without touching his fingers. “Aren’t you tired of posing as someone you're not?”

“That princess might be the honest thing I've said all night.”

“Ahh, so you admit you're my masked prince,” the words slipped before I could stop them.

A flicker of something waved through his gaze but he was quick to mask it before I could decipher the emotion.

“I am no prince,” he corrected, his demeanor slipping into winter.

I didn't want him to be like the porcelain princes so I decided to return to the pose he enjoyed discussing.

“What's your aim? It's hard to believe you're just a guard with your skill level.”

“I'm just a man who understands the world outside.” There was something in his tone that made me curious.

He seemed personally offended by theatrics of the palace and not just in the way I loathed, a more personal perspective.

“You're insinuating you're a freedom fighter, let me guess your target is the one who wears the crown, why haven't you done it already?”

The corners of his lip curved, his eyes gleaming once more. “That's because princess, your people will do it in my stead.”

I blinked, gawking for a second.

“Explain this superficial take,” I urged, graciously playing with the goblet to avoid him reading the truth in my eyes.

“You know just as much as I do the one thing your people resent more than the truth, is people who they can't keep in line, and that makes you fascinating.”

I felt my heart thump against my ribs, slowly I met his gaze and he didn't waver, an intent that every word was nothing but the truth.

The news of my death didn't unnerve me close to his compliment.

What about this man made the hair on my skin prickle?

It sent an electric rush pooling low in my belly.

There was no point in denying what he proposed so instead I asked the only question left that felt safe.

“What’s your name?” I questioned, certain within he wouldn't give that information easily.

“Tea time’s finished.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Unless you fancy explaining a poisoned prince and why you are conversing with a guard. It's in your best interest to leave and go play dress up.”

“I am the queen.” I imposed it. “You’re supposed to obey me.”

His mouth curved—slow, almost pitying. “I’d love to watch that theory survive contact with reality. You're the queen that has no power”

The confidence I’d worn like armor cracked. Just enough for doubt to slip through. My fingers tightened around the hilt until my knuckles ached. In one motion I slid the dagger beneath the folds of my skirt, pressing it flat against my thigh where no one would see.

“If you came here to murder me,” I said quietly, “then you’re exactly the same as the men you claim to despise.”

Something flickered across his face, words he didn't expect broke the poised mask in half. The easy mockery vanished and the line of his jaw turned to stone.

I lifted my chin higher, proud I managed to inflict just a dent of what he’d done to me.

Then I turned and walked out, fully aware our conversation just ended but this was just our beginning.

An hour later, nothing else mattered except the words he said.

A guard could be stripped and flogged to death for speaking those words to a King.

I was in doubt if he could say it proudly because I was just like he said a ‘placeholder’ disguised as a Queen or maybe he wasn't a guard at all.

It was infuriating.

Did I want him to beg or prove him wrong?

Make him suffer or make him proud.

“Daciana! Daciana!” A squealing voice jolted me from the haze. My cousin Avery bounced into the room, curls bobbing as she clutched the folds of her dress. “Tell me everything! How did the tea party go?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. Was he scandalous? Did—”

I raised a hand, cutting her off with a soft exhale. “It went… well it did happen,” I said, unable to conjure a lie. “Everything went as it should. No mishaps, nothing noteworthy.”

I meant gossip worthy. Tariq was a gentleman, a good man at best but he wasn't as enthralling as his guard.

Her grin collapsed to a thin line, clearly displeased I didn't have much tea from the tea party.

I offered a faint smile, then tilted my head. “Hypothetically,” I said, voice quieter now, carrying a dangerous undertone, “what if my husband wasn’t a prince?”

Avery froze, then erupted into laughter, the sound bouncing against the gilded walls and my better judgement. “You’re joking! Surely you jest! That would be outrageous!” Her hands fluttered over her chest.

Before I could answer, the door burst open again then Aunt Blaire’s shadow fell across the room.

It felt like she snatched the air right out the atmosphere. Her sharp gaze sliced through Avery’s amusement.

Avery snapped upright, bowing her head so quickly it seemed reflexive. “Aunt Blaire,” she whispered in reverence, the sparkle of mischief gone, replaced with the rigid posture of obedience.

“You both require rest,” Blaire continued, her eyes sweeping over us with unrelenting precision. “Avery retired to your quarters, Daciana your posture is slacking, stand up straight.”

Typical Aunt Blaire. It was a nightmare enduring this until I was to be married.

And then I will suffer a different nightmare for the rest of eternity.

As Avery left, maids came in, bringing a wooden stool where I stood and they striped away the gown, prepping me for the night.

A soft knock on the door came and Aunt Blaire stepped away to answer it when she returned she handed me a parchment paper.

“Sign this.” She simply instructed.

A maid stepped away to bring a board with ink and quill.

I unfolded the letter, letting my eyes roam the words. My fingers lingered over the parchment, tracing the bold headings and stamped seal.

“What are you doing?” Aunt Blaire demanded as I kept reading.

My frown deepened as comprehension seeped into my chest. “I’m… reading what I am signing,” I said, keeping my tone from slipping into satire.

“Must you always agonize us with your unruly nature.” she snapped venomously.

“Why am I signing papers I don't read?” I inferred defiance in my tone. “I'm to pass on a bill for a council meeting for the Queen's court when I haven't met who is on the board.”

“Oh for goodness sake,” Aunt Blaire sighed, palming her temples. “Men are to handle the affairs of the kingdom.”

“Who decided that!” I argued, shocking everyone including the maids but that didn't keep me quiet. “I want to be part of my court, I want to handle–

My words were cut off by a sharp slap cracking across my cheek with stinging precision. Heat bloomed on my skin, and my head snapped sideways.

“Your parents are turning in their graves seeing what you've become,” she hissed. “Sign the papers. Quietly. Now!”

My fingers curled around the parchment, the cold edges grounding me in the reality I had to obey.

I grabbed the quill and in one swift motion signed the paper quietly and handed it back.