Sim looked through the window out at the battlefield. It was so unnecessary, all of it. She knew the physics of it, the inherent grace that one needed to stay alive. But it was an ugly thing to her. People trying to kill one another when enough died every day. Bodies falling and the silver glints of swords stained with blood. Knights and foot-soldiers alike fighting with their heart and soul, all rank and decorum lost in the chaos of war. All of them so desperate. She imagined she could almost feel some of them, the euphoria they felt during battle. For some it would be the red haze of fear.

The queen was probably just as repulsed as she was, but for another reason altogether. She would mourn the wastage of her elixir, be disgusted by how freely they hacked away at each other. So many bodies, the queen would not be hungry for a very long time. Sim shook herself out of the thought. However the men below her died, they died in what they thought was a valiant manner. Being the queen’s meal was the worst kind of death possible. Demeaning, where a person was reduced to nothing but livestock.

The things that went on in front of her had finally been noticed once she decided that ignorance was a waste of her time. Sim had seen servants disappear suddenly with no one willing to tell her where they had gone. It was all too obvious. The more she found out about the queen, the more she wanted to know. The queen was an ugly creature, devoid of human feeling. But Sim was fascinated by her all the same. Books in the library said she was a creature of myth, something hellish with a heart as black as night. They said she slept in a coffin, which she knew wasn’t true. They said garlic was poison to her, that creatures like her could be killed by a stake through the heart. The only things Sim was sure about were the sunlight and the silver.

On the sunniest of days the queens wore the thickest black dress she owned, donned a hat and covered her face with lace. Never did she step outside. Her silverware was actually gold. Sim would have thought it to be simply an extravagance, but the queen wasn’t one for material extravagance. She decked the castle out in finery, but kept her own dress relatively simple. And the silver. The discovery was the result of the one daring thing Sim had done in the five years since Nan’s death. She had gone to the confectioner and stolen silver powder, dumping the bottle onto the queen’s head as she walked past. The bottle was just the size of her finger, but she still remembered the way the queen had keeled over onto the ground, gasping for breath. She discovered that when the queen cried, she cried tears of blood. That wasn’t in any of the books.

The men outside fought with weapons of iron and steel, ignorant that an iron blade, even pierced through the heart would do nothing to the queen. It was the sole reason their castle still stood, the only reason none of their saviors had succeeded. When the forces dwindled she stepped onto the battlefield bereft of armor after ordering her forces to retreat. Always at dusk, she would show up resplendent in the light of the orange and violet sky, as the sun hid behind the horizon.

Sim saw the aftermath of the carnage she created, and never had the stomach to see the actual process. It was happening again. Sim gripped the windowsill tighter as she caught the first glimpse of the rich blue silk amongst all the dull armor. There was no time for reaction. The men were startled for a second. Then the sounds of crunching bones and interrupted screams filled the air. When the pleas for mercy began, and the sobs, Sim slid down and sat against the wall. Putting her hands to her ears, she tried to block out the horrid sounds. It was fruitless.

Sim waited until the sounds died down and then looked out. Gruesome as always. But despite all their victories, the attacks kept coming. It was as if the other kingdoms had too many dispensable men. The queen was rarely hungry. People outside were growing more and more desperate. Sim wondered what the others hoped to conquer. Nan had told her that Mirtlemeadow was a land of fertile soil, lush forests, and beautiful lakes. All that was left of paradise was dry land and destitute people. All that was left of the old king and queen was their helpless prisoner of a daughter.

It had taken her two years to find out the complete truth. Then it had taken her two more to accept it. She was the true princess, the rightful queen. Sim knew it meant nothing. The queen had overtaken everything. She had come to the castle as a noble lady, and had killed her mother slowly. Draining her of life day by day. Sim wondered if her mother had realized it. Her father had become weak and disinterested in everything around him, even his own daughter.

She knew that the queen hadn’t killed her father. He had done it himself, believing the kingdom to be in a capable hands. He had let himself succumb to his grief, not eating, not sleeping until his body gave out. Sim looked down at the carcasses littering the field. It seemed that men were always eager to get themselves killed. She tied up her hair in a red ribbon and walked out of the room. The queen would want to see her, make sure that she hadn’t escaped during the confusion. Sim would one day, she was sure of it. She just couldn’t afford to take the chance of being caught. She was given freedoms no prisoners were given, and she knew they would be taken away at the first sign of her not loving her prison.

Playing ignorant was getting more and more difficult by the day. The queen most likely thought her to be an idiot. Sim preferred it that way. It was a good thing to be underestimated. What kind of a princess spent her days with the gardeners and the cooks, the serving girls and the stablehands? An idiot, in the opinion of some. A princess that wanted to live, Sim thought.

The queen’s dress was mostly a maroon as she stepped through the doors, her face pink and vibrant. Little streaks of blue were still present in some places, but only if she looked closely. Sim shuddered at the smell. She sent Sim a cold smile before the servants covered her in her cloak and ushered her towards her quarters. Sim returned to her library and went to the kitchens.

Around the stables there was the warm uncomfortable smell of horse manure. She was used to it and didn’t cover her nose, or scrunch it up as some of the maids did. Her horse was waiting for her, a pale grey stallion in his third year. He could easily carry a knight twice her weight, but he never questioned her command. Surya. Sim knew it was pathetic that her only real friend, her one true confidante walked on four legs and couldn’t speak. She rubbed his neck and fed him a carrot. And even he was temporary; she knew that when she escaped it would have to be silent. She would have to blend in with the peasants, have to become someone nameless and faceless. A servant girl, a tavern maid. A horse worthy of a king was not the way to do go unnoticed.

She saddled him and rode out into the courtyard. He was cooped up as he shouldn’t be. He was not born for her little trots through the castle gardens, not the little jumps she performed just to exercise his muscles. He was made for galloping, for racing with the wind and pounding on the hard ground. One of the stable hands took him out every week, but Sim knew it couldn’t possibly be enough. Giving someone a taste of freedom was cruel when they were going to return to a cage anyway. She knew it, because she had imagined it a thousand times before. It was the reason why when she escaped, she could not make any mistakes.

* * *

The queen tired of fighting battles. She enjoyed the temporary feeling of completeness she felt after drinking the blood of so many of the fallen. But it would fade away, and her army would be weaker than before. She knew that none of the other kingdoms liked the thought of a witch, a monster, ruling over a kingdom. Fools. If she had her way, she would conquer them all. Her army was weak at the moment, but with a proper alliance…

She had noted the girl below, the princess. Definitely no longer a child. And not as stupid as she had thought. The girl kept out of her way, not beneath retreating to the servants’ rooms if the need arose. She was pretty, in a delicate sort of way. Her black hair flowed in waves to her waist, her blue eyes striking. She had lips that needed no rouge. Yes, many princes would tolerate an alliance with a beast if they got that beauty in return.

It seemed that little Simona would finally earn her keep.