Looking around the obnoxiously over decorated hall, I sip my iceberg martini. You’d think the kingdom was flourishing and full of happy citizens if you saw a video of the affair on any of the supe social media, but that’s not the case. I’m certain the new queen’s social media attaché has posted a flagon of snippets to impress royals and plebs alike across the globe, but what they see online is definitely not the state of the people of the Ice Kingdom. It’s heavily edited, perfectly lit freeze frame of how the upper echelon live crafted to portray Queenie’s sister as a kind, supportive liege who loves her people.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Anyone who spends time around her court of asskissers and hangers-on is well aware of how she actually feels about everyone—she spends hours gossiping and tearing apart those not in her inner circle. Whether the topic of the day is the peons below her or the royalty of other nations she’s jealous of, my girl’s sister is as venomous as a pit viper in private. However, at events in the public eye like this, the Queen dons her fakest smile and kindest demeanor in order to hide the darkness of her heart. I’m ashamed to say it took me longer than it should have to identify her two-faced behavior, but in my defense, they hoodwinked me into thinking I was a partner to the royal family. I provided balance that was much needed to help create a world where her people would thrive… or so she told me.
The minute I disagreed with her and the King-to-be, I became the enemy. I knew my charge wasn’t being handled appropriately, and I refused to put her in the painful physical restraints they’d devised. It was unethical and cruel, but that didn’t matter. Her Royal Bitchiness commanded it and if I didn’t comply, they would have sent me packing before I even got the chance to try my own theories. I convinced them to give me leeway to experiment. Once I showed them I would obey, they left us alone in the summer palace.
I probably should have known then that the woman who seemed so concerned about ‘helping’ magic users like her sister learn to control themselves was only looking to protect her power.
Trumpets sound and I turn, watching the procession enter. They dressed Queenie in a ridiculously binding dress in ice blue and white. I pulled her platinum hair back in an intricate braid that falls over one shoulder. She’s trembling under the layers of tulle, corset, and sparkling sequins—I can feel it. But the necklace Trixie found for her is still sitting over her heart, and I can only hope that it calms her enough to keep her power under wraps during this shitshow. I’m not allowed to accompany her in the slow walk to the thrones, though I’ll be able to make my way over once the crowd has gone back to drinking and stuffing themselves full of the rich banquet.
The new Queen does not like competition for the affections of her cult.
That’s why my girl is tied up in knots and fluffy body obscuring skirts; she’s soft and curvaceous, with an ample bosom and round ass. She looks like Bettie Page but softer and blonder. In contrast, her sister is thin, with curly red hair often styled in a large beehive. Her sharp features are always watching and she frequently outfits herself in designs like she’s wearing this evening: a long, svelte purple dress with a high collar at the neck and no back to speak of. I’ve seen pictures of them both as children, and while Queenie looks exactly like the girl who locked herself away, her sister has morphed into a harder version of herself since the coronation.
They’re both beautiful women—I’d never body shame another woman to make myself feel better, especially in public. I can’t say the current Queen would be as respectful, despite her many social media posts claiming the opposite. But despite all the vitriol and punishment her sister doles out, Queenie loves her sister dearly and would be disappointed in me if I pointed out the hypocrisy practically oozing from the pores of our ruler. It frustrates the living fuck out of me because one of my grand plans for leaving was to use the dirt I’ve gathered on the phony Queen of the Ice Kingdom to knock her out for good.
Okay, that plan was in direct opposition with my plan to keep my girl safe, but truthfully, I can’t stand liars and fakes.
Speaking of the two-faced snot, she’s finally alighted from the dais and is now standing in front of the crowd. As usual, they filled the room with sycophants and toadies who will hang on her every word as if it came from the lips of the gods themselves. They all directly benefit from her favor—for now—so they’re eager to cheer and clap, even when the words coming out of their liege’s mouth are dripping with hatred and anger.
“My devoted followers,” she says as she looks directly into the camera in front of her. Her perfectly coiffed assistant flutters around the dais, adjusting lights and watching her with adoring, brainwashed eyes. I’m ready to barf when she continues. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate my dear friend Bianca’s ascension to Ladyship. I couldn’t be more pleased to grace all of you with my presence on this momentous occasion.”
Yikes. The ego on this woman is out of control.
The diminutive Bianca alights the steps and kneels in front of the queen like a feudal serf. I can tell by the look on my Queenie’s face that she’s dismayed, but I don’t know why. It’s time to move. If her upset is too overwhelming, we’re going to have an incident live streamed to every supe community around the world. I won’t be able to protect her from the things her sister wants to do if she’s caught on camera losing her shit.
Of course, that’s probably that petty bitch’s plan—to show the entire world she’s the victim rather than the other way around.
You’d hope people who develop their own powers as children or teens would understand, but over the millennia, I’ve learned that both humans and supes only see what they want to see. If admitting the truth doesn’t directly benefit them, they’re happy to allow tyrants to flourish in their midst. It’s even harder to move their opinions if they are being spoon-fed sob stories in the background, so I assume the Queen’s ‘flying monkeys’ have been working in the shadows to make this set-up palatable.
Trixie appears out of nowhere, chittering her outrage as she absorbs some of the anger flowing through me from our companion bond. Like most of her kind, she’s quite empathetic with me and we’re able to communicate handily in that manner. I turn my head briefly, nodding at her, and she scampers off quickly. I sent her in search of a distraction if need be, but while she’s doing so, I’m quietly making my way to my girl.
“Arise, Lady Bianca of the Ice Kingdom. The fealty you and your family have shown since the start of my reign will now be rewarded. Your farms will become part of the royal proffer and all the realm will know we support your goods. May all of my kingdom enrich your coffers and make your name legend within the bounds of our borders.”
Queenie’s eyes widen again, and I can tell she’s struggling. The stamp of royal approval will encourage the courtiers and the wealthy to shift their purchases to garner the queen’s favor. It will leave farmers across the kingdom with rotting fields and unpaid taxes—a dangerous combination for a citizenry that is barely scraping by while the idiots attending this party are living high on hog. Sadness is coming off of my charge in waves; she didn’t give up her crown for her sister to turn their rule into a dictatorship.
Bianca does as she’s bidden, turning to smirk at the cameras. Her family was financially sound and their businesses were already flourishing. There was no need to do this, but the new queen did it simply to make my girl upset while the video rolls. Everyone knows the monstrous Business Guild is filled with the Queen’s pets, so their decision to publicize a formal ceremony that has already happened was strategic. Nothing about the ceremony today is real—it’s all a giant PR move and an attempt to provoke Queenie into signing her own death warrant.
By the time I make it backstage, the queen is droning on about her various causes—none of which she gives an actual damn about—and patting herself on the back for being a ‘philanthropist’. She’s not fooling anyone; the artists and merchants she’s withdrawn her support from if they eclipsed her influence have damn near had to go into Witness Protection. A few of her former assistants have literally disappeared off the face of the earth rather than face the ire of the Ice Queen.
Luckily for me, her vanity knows no bounds. I’m neither thin nor curvy and because of the uniqueness of my features, they have relegated me to wearing a courtier get up that matches my charge’s clothes. The breeches and corset are in complementary blues and my shirt is white as snow. It washes out my pale complexion, but I don’t care. Because they did not force me into some loathsome gown, I’m able to slip through the curtains stealthily and place myself behind Queenie with ease.
I place a hand on her shoulder and I can feel the temperature in the room rise slowly as her breaths even out. She’s counting them, probably even naming how many things she can touch, taste, smell, see, and hear in an effort to calm her frayed nerves. This is the woman I came to know after I found the solution to her magic fueled tantrums all those years ago.
The ex-queen cares deeply about her people and this stunt has her heart flossing with worry.
Watching the cameras move for a moment, I plot their paths so I know when I can lean down to whisper in her ear without being seen on the stream. When they pass, I murmur low against the shell of her ear, “You’re doing wonderfully, darling. Keep breathing and know that if this gets further out of hand, I poised Trixie to cause a commotion that will allow for your exit.”
My simple reassurance pulls the rest of the tension out of her frame and I watch as the charm on her chest glows for a second, then dims. Narrowing my eyes, I make a note to examine it more closely when we are back at the summer castle. Magical items are both a blessing and a curse—while I don’t believe the psycho was right to relieve my girl of her heirloom, I also don’t want anything amping Queenie up.
I’ve long believed that my icy lover may be the product of something other than the happy marriage all the stories speak of. Her sister was fully human until she became a fairy tale creature and neither of their parents had been documented as having magic. If they had, my girl would have had some training prior to their deaths. Instead, she was left to founder on her own with no discernible support system to help her learn control. Her shame and fear were multiplied when she grew older and could not hide her gifts.
No supernatural parent would allow their child to become a danger to their own kingdom.
My dealings with the local Council and the Society only increased my doubts about her heritage. They were far too willing to bargain with me for her freedom and their price for helping was extremely low. The leaders of my kind definitely know something they are not willing to share about the daughters of this kingdom.
If my suspicions are accurate, Queenie may be a lost one and that means finding out her true parentage is the only way to truly harness her powers.
The question remains… Does her sister know? If so, was turning my girl into a monster her plan all along?
The speech ends and the applause begins, filling the room with shouts and cheers as the redhead pretends to be humble and embarrassed by the praise. It’s hard to see unless you are as close as I am now, but the glint in her eye is telling.
She never intended to be anything but the center of attention and Queenie was in her way.
I can’t leave her here without protection or she’ll be dead within a week.