A lone guard dressed in polished silver armor stood before the royal chamber door, his gloved hand hovering for a moment before he finally knocked against the intricate wood. The sound was solid, echoing faintly down the silent hallway.
Not long ago, he would have walked to the left, where the King's chamber stood in quiet authority. But ever since His Majesty's health had mysteriously declined, the Queen had claimed control, and now the guard, like the rest of the court, had no choice but to bow to her.
He hated working under Morgana, hated the idea that the Queen was now responsible for all the movement in the castle. But it wasn't because she was a woman, not because she was once human, but rather because Queen Morgana ruled with a ruthless willfulness that stifled even the air in Versailles. She bent everything and everyone to her desire— her guards, her court, her own husband. Even her own son. And when force wasn't enough, she didn't hesitate to kill.
