Is it a dream, or not? An immersive unreality where she plays the part of the King’s mistress.
The other parts of this story can be found here.
I dreamed.
I dreamed of the press of bodies, the smell of leather. Metal clanged as spears knocked against each other in the throng. The air was humid; I was by the sea, I knew.
“Where is she?” came a woman’s voice. Her tone was regal, but it was hissing, angry. “Where is the whore?”
A spear plunged into the mattress an inch from my face, and my eyes shot wide open. Even in the darkness of the hotel room, I could see the blood-stained metal and burnished wood handle. Adrenaline poured through my veins.
Another spear landed on the other side of my head. I could feel the movement of the air as it pierced the expensive bedding.
That didn’t make sense.
“Here, my Queen,” came a gruff voice from above me. “Shall I kill her for you, your Grace?”
The queen moved like liquid through the crowd. I saw her coming toward me in the way that you see in dreams sometimes, like an omniscient narrator. In reality, pinned as I was between the weapons, there was no way I could have seen her coming toward me.
“Hold back, let me see her before you spill her blood.”
Furious green eyes filled my vision. Even in her battle regalia, she was beautiful. Beautiful, angry, and deadly.
My heart was in my throat, and I tried to turn to see where my husband was. Didn’t he fall asleep next to me last night? I couldn’t move my head, but I tried to track my eyes to his side of the hotel bed.
It was empty. He was gone.
Real fear blossomed in my body. Where was my husband?
“So you’re the whore,” she seethed. “Naked and ready for him.”
My eyes were much too wide, I could feel it. I tried to shake my head. I tried to tell her that I didn’t know what she was talking about, or what any of this was about. Wasn’t I on vacation with my husband? Wasn’t it our anniversary?
“Don’t bother to lie.” Rage poured off of her. She hadn’t raised her voice; she didn’t need to. This was a woman who was used to power, and she knew how to wield it.
I wanted to tell her so many things. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t know her. Fuck, I was on vacation. Wasn’t I staying at the Mandarin Oriental in Miami, a trip we had planned for… how long?
“Disgusting whore.” She spat, and a thick coating of her saliva pooled in the corner of my eye.
It burned, and I felt the heat of humiliation crawl up my cheeks.
Why was I blushing, like I was guilty? I didn’t even know her.
A slow, evil smile spread across her lips. “Your body betrays your guilt. I need no further proof that you’ve consorted with my King.” She turned away and gave the order. “Go ahead. Kill her.”
I watched a spear lift over my face. “No!” I screamed, feeling the last seconds of my life tick away.
“Stop!” A male voice cut through the crowd.
All the bodies, all the weapons, wavered in mid-motion. I watched a metal spear point hover over my face. Time dilated; each second now lasting an hour. I tried to take a breath. But it was as if fear had stolen my lungs’ ability to inflate.
“Stand down, guards.” Again, the voice carried an unmistakable baritone of authority.
All the weapons around me returned to their resting position. Even the two stuck into the bed were ripped out, spewing down and mattress innards into the air.
“You cannot do this!” the queen said. “These are my men. My warriors!”
The soldiers fell back, giving me an unobstructed view of the two main players. The queen looked up at a man, who could have only been the king.
“Everything in this kingdom is mine, including them. And you.” Fury radiated off of him, though his eyes never left her face. “Guards, seize her.”
Two of the closest men stepped forward and grasped her arms. In relation to their massive hands, the queen looked delicate. “You cannot do this, my King!” she said, her voice shrill.
“You have said that,” he replied. He stepped in front of her. She struggled, but the soldiers kept her in place. “And yet here we are.” His voice was flat, empty of emotion.
I wondered how long it had taken for him to feel so little for her. Had he ever loved her?
Where is my husband? The thought came on the heels of watching the king and queen’s interaction, and a new tendril of fear wound itself around my core.
The king cupped his wife’s cheek, but her icy glare did not melt.
His lips flattened. His arm came back so quickly I could barely see it, but the crack of his palm against her face filled the hotel room. There was a collective gasp as her head snapped to the side. She gave him no reaction, and did not raise her face again.
“Hold her there,” he said, walking toward the bed.
As he approached, he got down on one knee and stroked my hair gently off of my face. From this close, I could see the hazel eyes, his unshaven chin. His fingers were tender, their touch familiar.
Familiar?
“Are you alright?’ he asked me.
I could feel the emotion in his voice. I nodded. “Yes, I think.”
“That is good.” His fingers caressed my lips, and I moaned, before I could help the reaction.
The queen screamed. “Whore!”
The man in front of me closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I am sorry for all of this.” He licked his lips.
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe for another reason.
I wanted to kiss those lips. I wanted to feel that stubble scrape against my face.
The memory – the memory? – of his touch was so visceral. I was so close to him, I could smell his skin.
Can you smell, in a dream?
The king smiled at me, and I recognized that smile. “Get up,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand to me.
I looked down at my body. In the Florida humidity, I had gone to bed nude. “I’m naked.”
His smile widened. “I know.”
Photo by MohammadO Shokoofe on Unsplash