Never Presume

     The door creaked open, and as it did so, Bertram could faintly hear the sounds of his new queen muttering to herself. He eased around the half-open door, and smiled when his gaze fell on the sidhe hunched over a parchment, her lips moving as her finger ran down the page.

     "T’is late, my queen. Maybe ye shoulda be gettin’ ‘ome?" The troll stepped fully into the room, his smile warm. "Even queens need rest."

     The newly crowned Queen Honoria turned a baleful eye on him. "I’ll leave when I’m ready. I’m not keeping anyone up."

     "Nay lass, ye’re not, but ye do need yer sleep," he said calmly, unfazed by her glare. "Shouldn’t ye be gettin’ ‘ome to Jonas?"

     She stiffened, then turned pointedly back to the parchment. "No."

     White brows furrowed, the troll walked over and settled himself delicately on a chair near the desk. He leaned forward a bit and gazed at her solemnly. "Why not?"

     Honoria flipped a piece of parchment aside, reaching for another. Her face was blank, completely cold and entirely unreadable. Violet eyes were hard as she looked over the document. "Seraphie’s with him tonight, anyway."

     Bertram leaned back in his chair, concern darkening his eyes. "Aye, and? Ye gonna let ‘er ‘ave ‘im all to ‘erself?"

     The sidhe’s eyes flashed purple fire, but she did not face him. "So? What does it matter? It’s not like anything’s going on or anything."

     "Aye, o’course not. Ye’re just ‘idin’ ‘ere so ye don’t ‘ave ta go back and face ‘im."

     She swung around in her chair, rage burning in her eyes. "If you fucking have something to say it, then you’d better damn well say it now, Bertram!"

     Faced with the blazing rage of the sidhe, the troll simply sighed. "If ye don’t wanna admit what I alreada know, it’s yer problem."

     "And just what do you already now?" She was hissing now, her fingers crumpling the parchment in her hand.

     "That ye lo-"

     "Shut. Up." Her voice was icily cold now, crackling dangerously. Her gaze would have done a basilisk proud, and when she leaned forward, the troll felt a chill.

     "I don’t know what everyone’s thinking, Bertram, and to be honest, I don’t give a damn. What I do, think and feel is my business, no one else’s. If you think I need Jonas, you’re wrong. If you think he needs me, you are, again, wrong. I never asked him to sleep with me, I never asked him to be my friend. I didn’t ask him to help me, and I didn’t ask him to be my liege lord. There is nothing between us but backing each other up, just like anyone else who’s fighting on the right side. Anyone says otherwise, I’ll kill them myself. So fuck you, fuck your idea of what I need, and fuck anyone who thinks that I do anything for anyone else. I’m in this for me, and that’s all there is to it." She finished with a snap of her voice, and shook out the crumpled parchment.

     "Aye, yer Majesty," Bertram said wearily. "I’ll leave ye to yer work." His knees creaked as he rose, and each heavy step made the floorboards groan. At the door, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "So ye don’t care if ‘e spends all ‘is time with Seraphie?"

     "No," Honoria snapped. Her eyes were focused on the document, and she had deliberately pulled her chair around to keep her back to the door. "He can go fuck anyone he wants, and I don’t give a damn. It’s his life, just like I live mine. If he decides he doesn’t want me around, that’s fine. I don’t need him, and he doesn’t need me."

     "Oh, aye. O’ course." The troll shook his head as he stepped into the hallway, stopping once more to face Honoria’s back.

     "In that case, yer Majesty, ye oug’t to tell Seraphie t’at ye won’t be needin’ his bed anymore. She’ll be ‘appy to move back in wit’ ‘im."

     "Fine. Now leave me alone. I don’t read as fast as Amelia, and these are written really small."

     The troll nodded, sorrow lining his face, and closed the door softly. In the now silent room, Honoria’s eyes were still fastened on the page before her. Her lips moved as she followed her finger down the page, and she sat perfectly still. A moment passed, and she dropped the pen she held in her left hand. Calmly, she pulled a Kleenex out of the nearby box, wiped the blood from the pen’s broken barrel, wrapped another around the bloody gouges in her palm and threw the reddened tissue and useless pen away. Tightening he

r left hand around the sodden tissue, she picked the document back up and continued reading.