The guards snorted.
“By whose authority?”
“My own.”
She flung back her cloak, revealing her face, her dark hair made up in a grand style and studded with blue paper roses. The effect was instantaneous. A quiet gasp went up from the crowd.
“I am Eirwen, Crown Princess of Aberthor, and I order you to open this door.”
“It… it can’t be…” said one of the guards. “You’re… you’re supposed to be dead.”
I get that a lot.
“Five years ago, your queen tried to have me killed. Now she threatens the life of the one who spared me. She is a murderer and a tyrant, and I will take back what is mine, on behalf of my people. Now, I command you again… open these doors.”
The guards stared at her, utterly immobile.
She drew her sword. The crowd behind her whispered and murmured.
“I have other ways of making you listen.”
One of the guards shook slightly. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but… we cannot budge on any but the Queen’s command.”
“You can’t be serious,” said the other. “She’s not… she can’t be–”
Something struck him in the neck, something so small and minute, it was barely visible. He clutched the spot like one would an insect bite. His knees started to wobble.
“What…” He dropped to the floor.
The other guard looked around in a panic. Eirwen pressed her blade against his throat, her fingers inching towards the keys on his belt. “You can tell the Queen I knocked you out,” she said, and jerked her head to the side.
The guard dropped his spear, and moved away.
Eirwen slid the key into the lock and opened the door. A strange, whispered silence passed over the crowd, like she was opening the door to another world, one of gold and silver.
“Halt!” A voice cut through the veil of silence. “In the name of the Queen!”
Eirwen turned to face the guards amassing at every corner of the square. She smiled at them as calmly as she could. “I am the queen.”
The square erupted into chaos.
Wren fired her pistol into the air. The civilians scattered like peas, shooting off into every corner. One guard was downed by an arrow, another by Merry’s darts. Eirwen did not wait for the rest to bolt across the cobbles towards her; she streamed into the building, barring the door behind her, paying no attention as they hammered at it. She seized a bag of grain and raced up the stairs, emerging on the platform above the square.
This was why Onyx had chosen it. Not just for the act, but the visibility.
“Citizens of Aberthor,” she cried across the chaos, “your queen would have you starve, would deny your family sustenance while she gorges on luxuries that you can only dream of. I know those luxuries. But I know hardship, too. For five years I have lived as one of you, and I promise, if you help me take back the throne, you shall not go hungry again while I grow fat. Fight for me, fight for yourselves.”
She tossed the bag of grain to the ground, where it split and poured out white silver. People ran forward in droves, scooping it up with their hands, into bottles and bowls. She grabbed another bag, and another, and another, emptying out the store into the streets.
If only a few heard her, it would be enough. If only a few chose to rise up now, or spread the word, it was enough.
Let Bianca hear. I am coming for you. You cannot stop me.
∞∞∞
Bianca fumed about her chamber, screaming at the mirror and hurling things at the wall.
“That little wretch! Why did you not inform me of her plans?”