From within the great clock tower, the bells tolled the hour, and the princess felt again the familiar pang betwixt her thighs. It seemed an age to her since her own chimes had sounded, since she'd last pleasured herself while they sounded.
She discovered she somehow missed them. In fact, she very nearly longed to hear them, if only to know she'd be under his eye as her fingers played.
As the last toll died away, a new sound reached their ears. Bootheels; quick-paced, clok-clok-clok-clip on the stone steps up to the battlement. As they rose, a flush-faced servant came bounding up to them.
All at once, his demeanor of subservience slipped from his face, replaced by the most horrific face of war. From his robes, he drew a long and merciless dagger. Before anyone could react, he was on them.
With tearing sounds and sunlight flashing upon the blade, he plunged the knife into the Queen again and again. Only after about three of four strikes, did he notice that the Queen seemed unfazed.
Puzzled, he looked from his blade to the wounds and back again, staggering a step back.
Where his blade had struck the Queen were large gashes in her beautiful gown, but no fount of blood flowed beneath. The skin showing through the tears was smooth and clean. As he stared open-mouthed at his blade, he could see it had dulled and bent at strange angles. He looked from the blade to the Queen, her face calm and serene. He began to stammer and shrink from her.
Just as quickly as the attack had come, the Queen seized the attacker by the throat. With no effort at all, she lifted him high off his feet, which dangled and kicked, suspended above the stone. Gurgling sounds escaped his lips.
The Queen drew his face very close to hers. "Fool," she hissed. "You have ruined my lovely gown!"
The man's eyes grew wide with terror as the air about them crackled and hummed. "Did you think your puny weapon could harm me!" She laughed the evilest of laughs as all around the world became still.
"T...T...tyrant!" gasped the man, gathering a huge wad of saliva. With a great sputter, he spat upon the face of the Queen.
A great cry of rage, a crunch, a tearing sound, and the attacker flew across the battlement, striking a stanchion with a sickening snap. His lifeless form slumped down it, as if he were reclining against it, but his limbs lay at odd angles. His head and neck seemed terribly distorted, and his neck twisted sharply, the wrong way. Half of his face was slumped and askew, and dead blood seeped from a ragged tear at his throat.
During all these events, which passed in but a heartbeat, the princess had stood dumfounded. It seemed to have lasted an eternity, but in truth, only the barest moments had passed. She looked from the dead man to the Queen, who once again stood regal and serene, a dainty handkerchief dabbing at her face. Only her eyes shone with a brightness the princess found incredibly frightening.
Shouts of alarm, guards running up the stone stairs, cries of murder sounded all around.
From the direction of the golden tower, the princess recognized the man she'd met in the library, running toward them at top speed.
"Ah, the young prince..." began the Queen, as if to introduce them.
"We've.... met... my mother..." snapped Tarquinne, his breath fast from running, his eyes meeting those of the stunned princess.
"Mother, are you all right!" he asked, urgently.
Young prince! thought the princess. She was totally taken aback, having no idea he was any more than an ordinary nobleman or courtier, much less that he was, in fact, son of the Queen.
"Ah, yes, my boy." The Queen said sweetly.
"A moment please, my dear.." She said to the princess, moving some distance away with the young prince, who began to speak very rapidly to her in a low voice.
They spoke for some time, each casting glances toward the dead man who had just attacked the Queen. Armed guards approached, and at a wave of the Queen's hand, they gathered up the corpse and hurried it from her presence, leaving behind a trail of red droplets.
Then came servant women, all bowing low. At once they set to work, scrubbing and scrubbing till no trace of the foolish attacker's blood remained.
All the while, the Queen spoke intently with the prince, not at all noticing the bustle of activity going on all around her. All at once, the Queen dealt the prince a savage blow with the back of her hand, sending him nearly flying into the abutment.
"INSOLENT DOG!" she thundered. "How dare you treat with them without my leave!"
She towered over him now, seeming to grow larger and more menacing by the second. He leaned heavily against the stone battlement, a small trickle of blood trailing from his lower lip, eyes averted to the ground.
The air seemed to quiver around the two, and the princess could feel stings all over the skin of her arms, as if she'd slept on them wrong.
Just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a deep silence.
"My apologies, my Queen..." he began with a low bow.
"But you have indeed charged me with the defense of this stronghold. Should I allow a band of armed men to make camp at our borders, without even attempting to divine their purpose..."
With this, the Queen softened, and they again moved some distance away, the two speaking in hushed tones. Though they spoke quietly, the princess could barely make out pieces of their conversation.
"... from the outland realm! They say they are kinsmen of the King!"
