Chapter 5: To Forsake a Deity

To forsake a deity-was there anything more dangerous? Anything more costly? Roman had pondered this as he considered the magnitude of defying a god. It felt akin to the power structures he'd known all too well during his time as a prisoner, where those above him wielded absolute power, free to punish without reason. Perhaps the gods viewed mortals in the same way, with a detachment and indifference that allowed for punishments more severe than human minds could conceive.

Roman stood silent, his hidden gaze softening as he listened to the queen speak. Her voice held a weight he hadn't expected. The name Dairius rang faintly familiar. He realized it must be the name of their late king. In the world he knew, nobility was rarely known by their first names; they were always distant, defined by titles and grand surnames that separated them from the common folk, whose last names marked their trade and family history. He and his family had been named Millers, just as the Smiths had been blacksmiths, and the Taylors had been tailors, each surname marking the place of their labor.

"I..." Roman began, his words halting and heavy, struggling to take form. "I often wonder if... if I hadn't married my wife, she'd still be alive. By loving her, I doomed her." He took a breath, his chest rising and falling with a sigh that seemed to release years of pent-up sorrow. "But I can't regret it... because I know she wouldn't have regretted loving me. Not even as it all happened."

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly painful. He could feel the queen's eyes on him, but he looked away, afraid of what he might see reflected back-a mirror to his own guilt, his own failures. Yet, as he averted his gaze, a surprising sense of relief washed over him. In some odd way, sharing his grief with her felt strangely comforting.

"I think His Majesty must have felt the same way," he murmured, almost to himself. "For what it's worth, I don't blame you for the attacks. It wasn't you that summoned the demons; it was a goddess. Whatever vow you made... it must have been worth it if it involved falling in love."

The queen remained quiet for a moment, gripping the edge of her chair as she composed herself. Then, in a voice layered with years of regret, she began to speak. "I made a vow to the goddess-a simple vow, really. I swore never to fall in love....with a commoner and godless man...At the time, it seemed like the right choice. I thought I could remain detached, rational, as a queen should be."

She traced the design of her mask, the repetitive motion calming her. "Then I met Dairius. All my carefully laid plans, my rational thoughts, faded away in an instant. I knew the risks, and I thought our love could withstand even the wrath of a goddess. But I was naïve." Her voice softened, the pain evident in her words. "When the attacks began, I knew they were the goddess's punishment for breaking my vow. But the joy I shared with Dairius made it impossible to regret my choice, even as my kingdom began to suffer."

Her voice grew more fragile, like a thin thread stretched too tight. "After he died, everything lost its meaning. My happiness was replaced by an emptiness I couldn't fill. I threw myself into my duties, hoping they would distract me, but it was all a mask, an illusion. I could feel the goddess's judgment, her disdain, bearing down on me. I knew that no amount of duty could erase the emptiness I felt, not while the vow remained broken."

Roman listened to her, captivated by the similarities in their stories. They were both marked by choices that had led to pain, each haunted by decisions they could never undo. He looked up, seeing her for the first time with a clarity that reached beyond the mask she wore. Her subtle movements, the way her fingers lingered on the mask, reflected a sorrow that felt deeply familiar. In that moment, he recognized a kindred spirit in her.

"Your Majesty, I... I understand," he said, his voice uncertain. "I know that emptiness. You do everything you think they would have wanted. You tell yourself it's all for them, even when they're gone."

He hesitated before stepping forward, closing the distance ever so slightly. It felt wrong to be so close, yet he couldn't help himself. "My wife, Tomira, she wasn't anyone special, but I loved her all the same. Love doesn't make sense. It defies reason, logic. That's part of its magic, isn't it? To punish you for something you couldn't control..." He trailed off, realizing he had spoken out of turn. He shifted the conversation, hoping to draw her out. "May I know your name, Your Majesty? Your first name?"

The queen looked at him, caught off guard by his request. There was something genuine in his voice, a sincerity that broke through her guarded exterior. "My name?" she replied softly. "It's Madlene." She paused, the name hanging in the air like a fragile confession. For so long, she had hidden behind titles, letting others call her "Your Majesty" or "Your Grace." To reveal her true name to someone felt almost like an act of rebellion, a way to reclaim a piece of herself that had been buried for so long.

With a steadying breath, she reached up and removed her mask. Roman's breath caught as her face was revealed, delicate and almost ethereal, framed by silvery hair that cascaded like moonlight down her shoulders. Her features were both strong and gentle, her eyes reflecting the years of hardship she had endured.

Roman, feeling compelled to match her vulnerability, removed his own helmet. He knew he looked rough, his hair tangled and unkempt, his face marked by scars and weariness. His once-bright blue eyes had dimmed, a reflection of the life he had lived. But he couldn't bear to remain hidden while she had revealed herself.

"If a strong queen is what you aim to be," he said, bowing with an awkward sincerity, "then know that you have a strong personal guard by your side, Your Majes-" He stopped, fumbling over his words. "Would you prefer I call you 'Your Majesty,' or... Madlene?" His face flushed with embarrassment, and he quickly added, "It's just... I'm here to serve you, so it's best if I understand all your preferences."

Madlene looked at him, her expression softening as she took in the sincerity of his words. There was something about his vulnerability that resonated with her. She had spent so long hiding behind her titles, her roles, that she had forgotten what it felt like to simply be seen. "You may call me Madlene," she said, a faint smile gracing her lips. "For as long as you are by my side."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared grief filling the space between them. Madlene's fingers traced the intricate patterns of her mask, now resting in her lap. She hadn't expected to find solace in this strange, weary man, but his presence felt like a balm on a wound she hadn't realized was still bleeding.

Roman spoke again, breaking the silence. "It's strange, isn't it? How two people can come from such different worlds, yet end up in the same place?" He glanced at her, his eyes searching her face for understanding. "I think... I think we're both searching for something. A reason to keep going, even when it feels like there's nothing left."

Madlene nodded, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "Yes," she murmured, almost to herself. "Perhaps we are." She took a deep breath, straightening her posture as she looked him in the eye. "I have neglected my kingdom for too long. I've let my grief consume me, but that has to change. I owe it to my people, to Dairius... to myself. It's time I give them the strong queen they need."

Roman felt a surge of respect for her resolve, and without thinking, he found himself saying, "Then let me help you. Let me be the strength you need, the guard that stands by your side, through whatever comes." He bowed, this time with genuine reverence, and he spoke her name once more, as if solidifying their shared understanding. "Madlene, you have my loyalty."

Madlene's eyes softened, a quiet gratitude evident in her gaze. For the first time in what felt like years, she felt the faint stirrings of hope. She had thought herself alone, bearing the weight of her choices, but now, with Roman beside her, she felt the strength to face the future...

With a new resolve, she walked towards the door, beckoning Roman to follow. She moved with a regal grace, her royal attire flowing behind her as they made their way through the castle. As they passed through the grand hallways and winding corridors, guards, knights, and servants all paused to bow, their heads lowering in silent respect. But even amidst the gestures of reverence, Madlene could sense a subtle shift-whispers, glances, the quiet acknowledgement that something was different about her today.

The castle, once a symbol of grandeur and strength, now bore the scars of neglect. The walls, once radiant with vibrant tapestries and adorned with precious artwork, were now shrouded in a muted gloom. The sconces that lined the hallways, once blazing with a warm, welcoming glow, now cast weak, flickering light that barely held back the encroaching shadows. Madlene's heart sank as she took in the decay around her, each faded tapestry and cracked stone a reflection of her own inner struggles, the years of grief and guilt that had crept in, leaving their mark.

She paused in front of a portrait-a faded painting of her late husband, Dairius, his once-bright eyes now dulled by years of dust. She felt a pang of sorrow, her fingers brushing against the worn canvas. Turning to her servants, she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet authority. "Hang Dairius's paintings again. Restore what we have lost," she commanded, the words heavy with a sense of duty she hadn't felt in years. She continued on, her pace steady, her steps more purposeful now as if each one was a step towards reclaiming a part of herself that had been lost in the shadows.