Page 25 of The Krampus' Queen
My only question is who struck the first blow.
“What happened?”
He blinks rapidly, his shaggy head lifting. Melted snow’s transformed his mane into a pelt that plastered to his head. As he stares around the room of ghosts, his gaze lands on me. “You’re still here,” he whispers in shock.
“Despite your best efforts,” I mumble.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
His rage is gone. No, not gone, frozen in his heart. I can almost feel it flickering on the edge of his voice, but he’s drowning in sorrow and can’t break past the ice.
His question hangs in the air. It’s a good one, one I should be asking myself.
I push off of the ground, my stockings slipping under me as I do. “Because I… I need to know.”
“Know what?”
He’s never been in here, probably not for years. But after yelling at me, he sulks off to his throne and spins a fairytale about an abandoned castle. If it’s isolation he wants why did he wait so long to snap? There was no reason for him to keep me around. That first night he could have just tossed me through the door and called it a day. But no. He let me stay. Cooked me meals, made me clothes, cupped my feet in his hands to warm them, and told me tales of deer with gold antlers who fly across the moon at night.
Why would a man who prefers to be alone keep me around?
He sits like a deserted island floating above a sea. Peering just below the surface is the once great city that’s submerged into the sea save for the top of the lonely castle. He doesn’t crave solitude, he fears it.
I press my chest into the first stair and gaze up at him. “Why did you try to chase me off?”
“Try?” A flicker of life darts through his darkened visage.
That first night I was too freaked out about the kids under the floor to stop and think. Why would a castle with one occupant have a throne room? Thrones are for lording over people to make them feel small, but he only rules over dust mites. It doesn’t make any sense.
“What happened to the people who lived here?” I ask, my voice steady. “Did you kill them?”
He scoffs. “After all this time you still think of me as a monster?”
“You did tear the book out of my hands, threaten to hurl it into a fire, and screamed at me to leave.”
“And, despite you disobeying my every demand, you yet breathe.”
“Touché.” I’ll give him that, but there’s still time to correct his mistakes. “So… Tell me about the legendary Krampus, the kind of man or myth who’d sit on a throne of antlers until his blood stains them.”
He glances over his shoulder to the splattered red I’d noticed before. Did he not even feel them pricking his skin? Does he not care?
“Long ago, there was a village at the base of this mountain. People, as they are wont to do, took to exploring. Higher and higher they climbed until one young man, frozen and near death, stumbled through my doors. If I knew what my nursing him to health would lead to, I might have left him in the snowbank.”
I climb my way up the first step, much like that young man who survived thanks to the Krampus. “Did the people fear you?”
“Some, but others were intrigued, even excited about my existence. They came to my home, gathered. Built huts outside. As the weather’s rage tore their houses of sticks to splinters, I invited them in. Before I knew it, they had rooms. Homes. People became generations, became vassals under me. I had an entire court dedicated to keeping my home in order. It was…” He stands, a hand to the sky and his face turned as if chasing the sun.
Darkness creeps across his brow and he slumps back to his chair. “Conflicting. They needed a king, a lord to rule them—so they built a throne and this room. There were so many parties, dances. Not just for Christmas. I had no idea that humans celebrated outside of the winter solstice, arms swinging, drinks sloshing. The joy was never-ending.” He’s smiling wide, his hands outstretched as if he’s about to join in with a waltz.
A pang strikes my stomach. At first, I could only see a creature of claw and fur, but the Krampus on this throne is not difficult to picture in elegant finery. A crown of gold instead of horns, delighting in the antics of people who loved him. A prince who could have anything…anyone he wanted.
“And you had your pick of the ladies,” I say, a hundred percent not jealous. It was so long ago, why would I even care?
His hands drop. “My bed was not empty, no.”
Ha! I knew it. He’s fucked cute peasant girls with freckles and braids on the sides of their heads. Probably while they giggled and sucked his cock down like they were swallowing a garden hose and…
Okay, I might be a little jealous.
