Sipping Tea w/ the Ex-Assassin and the Tyrant Part 6

Demon: “Why are you staring at RB, Angel?”

Angel: “The facial expressions. Watch the facial expressions. I can tell when RB gets to a good part of the story by the way her face changes.”

Demon: “Regardless, stop staring. It’s creepy.”

Angel: “Is it?”

Rb: “Yeah, it is. Now hush, I’m not finished reading.”

___________

SIPPING TEA WITH THE EX-ASSASSIN AND THE TYRANT PART 6

“Where is my tea?!” The queen screamed as she looked around what used to be a throne room. Torn filthy rags hung from the ceilings and walls like they were once curtains and tapestries of royalty. Stone pillars were worn down to chunks of rubble. It was a damn mess and she was standing in the heart of it.

Lights from the faery wings of her soldiers lit the night. Her soldiers and attendants fanned out to look for the tea maker and the tea that should have been there in the throne room where a podium sat. The white marble podium was the only thing in the room that wasn’t a heap of ruin. Though dreadfully ordinary, the thing was clearly maintained and cleaned regularly.

“Where is the tea maker? Huh? Can someone tell me what in the hell is going on?” She stamped her foot, high heel digging into the fragile stone floor. Her soldiers were scrambling for answers, but no one told her shit. “Find them both!”

She paced the floor waiting, staring down at her beloved. The skull looked back up at her lovingly as she spoke her concerns. “You should be doing this, you know. All this should be yours. We should rule together.” She leaned in closer, “Why? Why won’t you take over? You are so much calmer and patient, my love. You have the finesse and cunning I don’t. I… Yes, you’re right.” She sighed. “You’re always right.”

Placing a kiss on the skull, she smiled, feeling her frustration ease.

“Your grace,” One of her captains came up to her and bowed to one knee.

“Speak,” She said putting her free hand on her hip.

The man waved his hand to the side signaling… Aaaah.

Three soldiers shuffled up to her with a withered old man wearing a grand ceremonial robe of Light – white with gold and black trim far more beautiful than the rest of the drab filled Temple.

“I’m guessing you are the tea maker?”

The old man frowned, his cloudy eyes unfocused. He stood, barely, swaying as if any moment his brittle bones would fail him.

“Answer me!” She shouted.

“Huh?” The man’s voice croaked as he tilted his ear to her. “Huh!”

Death was only a heartbeat away from this blind and half-deaf shriveled-up shit unworthy of her time.

“Did you find the tea?” She asked the soldier.

“He was hunched sleeping near a steeper but the vessel was empty. It doesn’t look like it’s been used for years.”

“Dammit. Talk to him, scream if you have to, but make this fool talk.” She pointed a flaming finger at the decrepit speck. Now she was starting to believe the myth about the tea maker dying after creating the tea. To think the maker spent over thousands of years of life to create a damn healing elixir. A waste of time and breath.

They took the ancient man away to question him. She twirled around when she felt the approach of several guards.

“Most powerful queen!” One of her captains ran up and bowed low. The other soldiers followed suit.

“Yes?”

“My soldiers found someone unconscious in the ruins below. According to a few of the pilgrims we interrogated, the man fits the description of a male who was looking for a female faery named Sherris.”

The queen’s veins turned to ice as more guards poured into the shabby throne room carrying the one man she hated more than anything. The only man who slipped from her grasps so many years ago.

The captain smiled, pleasure mirrored in his face knowing he just received a promotion. He would be right to think so because she was going to have him in her bed chambers when they returned to her kingdom. Thrills of excitement shivered through her as they strung the man up, thick strong arms lifted high over his head. One soldier flew the rope to the ceiling where it was tethered and tied high on a pillar.

On his face was a single scar on the side of his cheek that was as if a narrow cut had healed wrong. His face was as chiseled and rough as rock. Nothing beautiful, it looked like life hated the man, giving him such a distasteful appearance.

As he hung, muscular body swinging, she circled him. All thoughts of her purpose there vacating her mind as the hate bubbled, boiled, and steamed. Her arm rose and swung a backhand so hard, her body trembled in pain before a scream of fury echoed though the ancient castle like a siren.

The man’s head rolled hard before his eyes popped open and fixated right on her. His obvious shock came out in a curse, “Oh, shit.”

She snarled. “Yes. You. Are.”

SIPPING TEA WITH THE EX-ASSASSIN AND THE TYRANT Part 1

SIPPING TEA WITH THE EX-ASSASSIN AND THE TYRANT Part 2

SIPPING TEA WITH THE EX-ASSASSIN AND THE TYRANT Part 3

SIPPING TEA WITH THE EX-ASSASSIN AND THE TYRANT Part 4

SIPPING TEA WITH THE EX-ASSASSIN AND THE TYRANT Part 5

RbH

0 Comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s