Dagger in the Back

As he was being rushed back to his chambers, hemmed in between the drawn weapons and metal breastplates of his castle guards, King Ruben once again cursed the assassin for their clumsy attempt. Anything but poison, and he might have at least salvaged the night.

“Dagger from the curtains would have at least made for a good story,” the king muttered. The captain of his guards nodded, not listening, eyes flitting from corner to corner, trying and failing to find more assassins behind the dustbins and ornamental vases.

Javin DeBrost, his councilor, was trudging alongside, trying to keep up without tripping over his robes. He looked at the king and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t make light of this, sire. It’s the second attempt this year.” DeBrost dabbed his sweaty face with a kerchief.

“Only twice? Think I need to raise taxes again, give ‘em something to really be mad about,” said Ruben. His guards chuckled. DeBrost looked about ready to crap himself. “Oh, come off it, Javin. Cervillia sent an assassin or two a month when we were campaigning in the lowlands.”

Javin glanced at Ruben, then “Since you mentioned Cervillia, I have a thought–a dire thought, sire, about the Queen…”

Ruben stopped, and the retinue halted around him. “No,” he said to Javin.

Javin gulped and nodded. “Later, then, sire.”

Tonight was the feast of St. Valvus, the patron saint of lovers. There’d been a masquerade planned, minstrels with coordinated costumes, a dozen other fripperies and nuisances that Javin said were important distractions for the nobles. Ruben suggested that if the nobles were want for distraction he could summon the royal hangman and have a few of the more odious ones fit for nooses. That was the extent of his protest, though. In the end Ruben signed the bills and writ of funding to pay for the damnable party. The only concession he’d demanded was for a plate of those sweet St. Valvus pastries that the cook made special for the occasion.

The escort stopped in front of a pair of gold-banded doors, lions and unicorns and other fanciful creatures painted on the wood. They were outside the royal apartments now. The captain went inside with some men to check.

As they stood on the plush yellow carpet, Ruben thought of his Queen, that polecat. This morning she’d promised him something special on St. Valvus. He dared to hope that it would involve some kind of lacey unmentionables. Despite the circumstances of their marriage, and that she’d tried to stab him on their wedding night, they had a generally good relationship. Not something that could be said about most kings and queens. But of late the Queen rarely acknowledged his affections. As it was, the assassin had dashed any chances of nocturnal amusements, ruined his night along with a perfectly good cup of wine.

Satisfied that there were no assassins hiding in his chamber pot, the captain allowed Ruben to enter. King of all Bern Vassen, and he had to be allowed to enter his room. Not for the first time Ruben wondered if his little brother had really been the victor in their contest for the throne.

Throwing himself into his favorite chair, Ruben ordered everyone out. The guards took station outside the door, but somehow Javin didn’t think that applied to him. Ruben stared listlessly at the ceiling, where the green silk curtains which covered the walls were tied together in a canopy. Maybe there was a law where Ruben could forgive his brother and exile himself instead.

“--even listening to me, Ruben?”

“Hm?” Ruben asked, looking down. Javin frowned.

“I said, it’s possible the Queen could–”

Ruben shot up. “I will not have you casting aspersions on my wife!”

“Don’t be a fool, sire!” Javin shouted back, loud enough for the guards to hear. “Haven’t you noticed? She’s been cold to you because she’s plotting behind your back!”

“Where’s your proof of this?” demanded Ruben.

“I have sources, rumors of her meeting with the nobles–”

“I’ll not hear of it!”

There was a knock on the door. A servant entered with a covered tray, studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone. She curtsied, took the lid and left. Javin scowled after the girl and locked the door behind her. There was a pile of St. Valvus pastries on the tray.

“Well, there’s at least one good thing to come of tonight,” said Ruben, reaching for a pastry.

“Stop, my lord!”

Ruben looked over. The Queen was there, dressed in a huge black robe, arms pulled tight around her. She glared at Javin, who glared at her back.

“Lystressa,” said Ruben, setting down his pastry, “how did you get in here?”

“The secret passage in the fireplace, my lord,” said Lystressa, eyes never wavering from Javin.

“She’s here to kill you, sire!” cried Javin. “She failed with the poisoned wine, now she’s provided poisoned food!”

Ruben looked over to Javin, who was sweating profusely. “If she’d wanted to kill me, she’d look me in the eye and gut me. She’s a Cervillia, blood of empresses.”

“Too right, my lord,” said Lystressa. She tossed her glossy black hair back, and brandished a pair of daggers. “I’m here because this weasel has been plotting to kill you for months.”

“Lies!” said Javin.

The door shuddered. The captain was shouting from behind it.

Ruben slowly got up. “Why don’t you eat this pastry, Javin? If you think there’s poison in it.”

Javin looked to the pastry, held like a weapon in Ruben’s scarred hand. Ruben searched his old friend’s face. A decade of war together, a decade after in statecraft and planning. Their eyes met.

Ruben knew he’d been betrayed.

Javin saw the realization. The counselor drew his dagger. “Sorry, Ruben.” He lunged.

Ruben knew he should move, but his feet were stuck to the floor. A lifetime of friendship…

There was a warcry from behind, and the Queen pushed past and hurled herself at Javin. The knives between them were a blur of flashing steel. Then Javin stumbled backwards into a wall, a dagger in his throat and another in his heart.

The door smashed open and the captain and his guards burst in. They found Javin dead, and Ruben holding the Queen.

Later, after the body and the blood had been cleaned up and the poisoned pastries disposed of, Ruben and the Queen sat together on the edge of the bed. They ignored the guards at each corner of the room.

“Are you hurt?” Ruben demanded.

Lystressa smirked and shook her head. “That old man, against me? He never stood a chance. I’m sorry for keeping you at arms length, my love, but I heard rumors of his plots. I needed to give Javin an opening, to catch him in the act.”

“Damnit, Lys! You could have told me!”

With a serious expression on her face, Lystressa stood up and faced Ruben. She tugged her belt and then peeled back her robe. Underneath she was wearing something white and lacey. “Please accept this as my apology, lord.”

Ruben glanced over to the captain of the guard, who looked shocked but gave a tight shake of his head. Ruben shrugged. If the man wasn’t going to leave, then maybe he could learn something new.

“Happy St. Valvus Day, my lord,” said Lys as she climbed on Ruben.

“Happy St. Valvus Day, my heart,” replied Ruben.

In the balance, it turned out to be a very good night.

*****

THE END.