Bruno

"Would you like some refreshments?" says Aurelia, nodding at the table.

"Not hungry," says Hadrian.

"You can sheath your sword, brother. I'm unarmed. What could I possibly do to you?"

"That's precisely what I said to my guards about an hour ago, and they're dead now."

"All right." She nods, then lowers her feet to the floor and slides off the bed. She pauses, facing Hadrian, the tip of his sword touching her white night gown, staining it with blood. "Keep holding on to your pointy toy if it makes you feel less scared of me."

"I wouldn't call it scared. More like apprehensive." Still, he lowers the sword a little and steps back to allow her to walk to the table where, besides the candelabra, stand a couple of bottles and a deep bowl with fruits. "Imminent death makes you hungry, sister?"

"Not hungry, but I could use some wine."

She steps casually over Jasper's body and stops by the table. I come closer to make sure there's nothing there she could use as a weapon. She looks at me over her shoulder.

"Wine, Bruno?" she says, and then laughs at my expression. "Oh, I'm joking. I'm sure neither of you would eat or drink anything from my hands."

"You find it funny?" I say, and the smile slips off her face.

She turns to me, leaning with her lower back on the table. "You really loved Oliver, didn't you?"

"I did," I say. "What about you?"

She shrugs. "He was a good boy, but too hot headed and stubborn for his own good. If he listened to me, we could have lived a long happy life together."

"He listened to you a lot."

"He was beginning to think too much of himself." She sighs. "Was beginning to sing that same old song I kept hearing my whole life—she's a woman, what could she possibly understand in politics? Even though everything he knew about it, I taught him." She purses her lips and shakes her head.

"Do you know how infuriating it is, Bruno?" She stares up at me, and I can see something new in her eyes, some emotion threatening to burst through her usual serene expression. "Do you know how it feels when you see, time and time again, how the people in charge make mistakes that lead to deaths and suffering of thousands, let alone enormous waste of money and resources, and you know exactly how to set things right, but when you speak your mind, they laugh and call you a sweet silly girl?"

She looks at me inquiringly, and I hold her gaze, hypnotized by the fierce passion ringing in her voice.

"When I predicted future trouble, they called me fearful; when I advised on useful alliances, they called me soft; when I pointed out how many times I have been right and they have been wrong, they'd tell me to leave serious matters to men and go mind my own business. And what was my business, exactly? To sit with my hands on my lap, wear pretty clothes and jewelry, and watch my foolish father and brothers stomp this kingdom deeper into dirt?" She pauses, her eyes blazing.

"So now you're going to tell us that you did it all for the sake of your people," says Hadrian, coming over and stopping next to me.

"I don't care about the people." She throws her hair back and shifts her furious gaze to him. "But they are a part of my kingdom, and I care about that. It's mine! I was born into the royal family, wasn't I? This kingdom could become a flourishing, rich, peaceful place, if not for generations of its drunken, self-absorbed, dumb rulers. Can't you see it, Hadrian?" She squeezes her fists. "It's been centuries of wars, us attacking them, them attacking us. Generations of fools satisfying their egotism by playing games with lives of real people as if those were toy soldiers, ignoring the effect it had on our economy, trade, agriculture, everything!"

She makes a wide gesture with her hand, and her sleeve catches one of the bottles, sending it tumbling to the floor. The thick carpet prevents if from smashing into pieces, but the cork pops out and thick liquid spills out. That gives her a pause. She looks down at the growing stain, her chest heaving. When she looks up at us again, she seems to have regained her composure.

"Another carpet ruined." She smiles. "At least it's not the wine. Just some oil Jasper asked me to massage him with, to untie his muscles." She shudders. "That was disgusting." She turns to the table, opens another bottle and pours some wine into a goblet.

"So you imagine yourself to be the new, better kind of ruler?" says Hadrian.

"I was meant to be just that." She turns back to us and upends the goblet. "I only had one flaw: I was born a woman, and the tradition claims that women can't rule." She shrugs. "But traditions can be changed, once you gather enough support and remove those who stand in your way. Alliances can be made. Do you think it just so happened that Oflana sisters sit on their throne and refuse to marry anyone? Do you think it just so happened that their father has dies so conveniently a few months ago?"

Hadrian blinks. "Did you --"

"Us girls, we need to help each other." She smiles. "It's a new age, brother, and to bring it about, the changes were required not only here but abroad, too. Now that all the major obstacles have been removed --"

"Such as Oliver?" I say.

She smiles at me sadly. "I'm sorry for your loss, but when the future of a whole nation is at stake, one man's life isn't worth much."

I'm not sure how I feel anymore. She sounds dangerously convincing. She has abolished the Firstborn Law that had ruined my family. She has been acting to improve the lives of her subjects—perhaps in order to gain their support, but still, it's more than any of her predecessors have done. What would I think of her had I not lost my best friend to her schemes?

I glance at Hadrian, and even though his face is impenetrable, I'm sure the same doubts are going through his mind. Yet what choice do we have? Even if we decided to let her live, she would never rest until she puts us safely in our graves.

"We can't let you go," he says, as if reading my thoughts.

She takes a steps back, her eyes moving from my face to Hadrian's.

"I don't blame you," she says. "Nor do I hate you. You're not bad people. You do what you must, as I do what I must. It's just that neither of you have a place in what I'm trying to build here."

Then, in a lightning quick move, she knocks the candelabra to the floor, and tongues of flames flare up out of the oil-soaked carpet between her and us.

*** Countdown! Three chapters left until the end of this series! ***