A Death of A Husband

Queen Myselia sat at her throne, her gaze glazed over as she looked down at the sword and helmet before her. He wore them. He died in them. And they were all she had left of her husband. She looked up slowly at the knights that had brought them. “What happened?” she heard herself ask. Her voice sounded muffled as if she was behind a sheet of ice and someone else was talking on the other side. “We found him in the morning, in his tent,” the soldier explained. “He didn’t die on the battlefield?” she asked. The men shook their heads. He had been killed and they didn’t even know by who. “Get out,” she whispered. “Queen?” one of the men questioned. “Get out!” the snow faery suddenly screamed. The knights stumbled, rushing to leave the icy throne room. The queen’s back hit the back of her throne. Her silver eyes lost yet focused as she looked at the helmet. They had brought back pieces that he hadn’t even been wearing when he had died. Somewhere in her mind she knew of the ice crawling out from the throne. Covering the floor, spreading through the room. It climbed the walls, sealing the doors and blocking out the windows. The ice didn’t stop when it covered everything in the room though. The ice grew, building icicles around the queen, caging herself in the large room. Her mind wasn’t there though. It was back to the day they met. He had been so charming and, unlike all the other suitors, his sculptor was small and simple. But it was sweet. He had made a bird and said it reminded him of her. Of her natural beauty and adventurous nature. He had obviously known who she was before she knew him. She hadn’t said yes to him though. She didn’t say yes to anyone. But that didn’t stop him from approaching her again. He would ask her to dance every chance he could get or invite her to events happening in the village. And she would always say yes for some reason. Their first kiss had been initiated by her, and it was also her answer to his proposal. It had been so tender, and he had treated her so softly. As if she was an ice sculpture herself that would break if he was too rough. He quickly learned that wasn’t the case though. They had spent centuries together but had never had children. They assumed they had time. But they didn’t. He was gone. And all she had of him was a sword and a helmet. Inanimate objects that would never give her the feeling of love through their touch like her husband had. The queen’s sudden scream echoed through the cold castle. It ripped her throat apart, leaving her hoarse as she went from sitting to curling into herself on the throne. Her breath choked up in her throat as cold tears trailed down her eyes. Her sobs shook her body in a way the cold never did. She wrapped her arms around her legs, turning herself into a ball. She felt as if she was a little girl again. Broken and alone. Powerless. She wasn’t sure if the creaking and cracking was from the ice around her, or her heart. Was it breaking? It felt as if it was. She wondered if she froze it if it would stop breaking or just stop altogether. She didn’t care either way. The pain consumed her and left her alone and sobbing in the one place she had spent the most time with her husband. She didn’t know how long she had been curled up on her throne. She knew she had fallen asleep at some point. When she finally lifted her head her neck ached and popped when she straightened it. She noticed it had become dark in the large room. She looked back where she knew the windows were and didn’t see anything but darkness. Myselia could feel the ice around her. The queen lifted herself, ignoring the protest of her body as she stood. She stumbled down the steps in front of the throne, shuffling through the room. Once she reached the doors out of the throne room, she breathed out heavily before taking the ice down from both sides. The doors swung open and the queen was met with many servants’ concerned faces. Her silver eyes were dulled with large, dark circles under them. She had tear stains on her face and her makeup was smudged across her face. Her hair was a mess, sticking up in strange ways from dragging her fingers through it. She looked haggard. “Ma’am?” one of them spoke up. She looked down at him and spoke quietly, her voice still recovering from screaming, “Forgive me. I will be retiring for the night.” She began walking between them, her steps quiet with a grace only a queen could have. She paused though as she added, “Tomorrow, we’ll start planning the king’s funeral and the end to this war.”