Story & Art : Kumiko d'Primato
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In spring, before the blooms died, I played with my shadows. My thumbs were clasped together, fingers spread wide, shaping a bird on the floor,
—flap, flap, flap—but it was never meant to take flight.
I was a bird, not a queen—
I held back my chuckle and lowered my hand; the nobles in the throne room couldn't say their queen had gone mad.
Yet... the only thing on my mind was the bird outside the window.
I was a bird, not a queen, flying out of bed at dawn to eat my breakfast alone. Even a bird would look down on me, for it kicks and screeches when forced into a cage, while I stepped into mine, smiling.
This palace, its suffocating office, where nothing but work awaited me: endless piles of papers, tiresome meetings, attending ceremonies—smiling.
As queen, I could hardly breathe. It wasn't my corset—the back laces were loosened, snugly fitted without strain. The breathing worsened only within these walls. Sniffing salt in secret eased my yearning, but the seaside kept calling me.
What wouldn't I give to stand by the shore, inhaling the briny breeze once more? Perhaps I really should move the palace there; then I'd finally find some comfort in my cage.
After the ceremony ended, would I be free?
Free… once my husband's reign ends. The coup cannot wait forever.
The carpeted floor sprawled under my guests, but then, stains would mark its surface—too deep to clean. Perhaps it would be better to burn it down entirely. The grand palace of Terradine could always afford new decorations.
This cage of mine...
A glance to my right found my husband, gray and worn, still handsome. Though present, he was distant as the shore; his mind drifted where none may follow, slumping on his throne. These seats were so soft, so grand, yet we struggled to sit still.
Tell me, my lord, aren't you a caged bird, too?
Even when in his right mind, he would fly out of bed at night. All his ladies who feigned sleep noticed when he got up, hands clasped behind him as he left. The palace knew his steps—the guards had memorized his route. He paced too much, as if I would bother murdering him while he dreams.
The king noticed my stare and leaned in close. "Is it today?"
"Well," I silenced my mind; overthinking would only make everything worse, and my lies had never been convincing. "Have you seen your eldest?"
Right there, amid the crowd, the king's eldest stood out, his men's shabby suits looking as worn as he was. Hard to believe that he was a prince.
"Shh," the king pressed a finger to his lips, and pointed to the ceremony.
I relented. Would the king attack me now? The palace was full of my guards.
But the king merely slumped, ignoring me, and retreated to his own musing. He was surprisingly calm for someone who faced the grim.
The priest began to sing; his high tenor led the ceremony, melodious tone, conveying the promise of spring.
I counted down.
The ceremony started, marking the goddess's day and my anniversary.
It was a turning point—I would unshackle my kingdom from the curse.
Patience. After all, the man sang quite well for a puppet priest—better than a caged bird.
Not everything caged can sing.
I would let my husband receive the goddess's blessings one last time. His fall must be perfect, fit for a king.
I sighed. What ending would we have had if I had only attended to my queenly duties?
Perhaps I'd be happier as a commoner, minding my children's laundry. Or as a maid, tending to my lady's laundry. A queen's duty was to ensure her people could hang their linens under the sun, for those were a sign of peace in the land.
A king's duty was to love his kingdom as if it were his wife, while a knight must guard the land with his life, as if it were his own mother, so neither his wife nor his mother had to tend the enemy's laundry.
But I never tended anyone's laundry. I was celebrated as the king's ally—not quite as his spouse.
White gloves, itchy lace—I slipped them on and off. His promise ring was long gone, and not even the faintest trace remained. My thumb caressed the bare skin, recalling the metal's smoothness.
How foolish I was to have ever expected love...
Would I be happier if I were his mistress, minding only the simplest pleasure? His kisses and caresses, sewing new dresses, retouching my rouge, striving to be the prettiest?
No. I am his queen. The one in his heart.
He had so many mistresses, but only one wife. Was it so hard to set his crown aside, take my hand, and speak plainly about how he feels?
Whose name does he cry out at night?
Ophelia, Ophelia.
In the corridor, in the bedroom, even when he engaged with someone else.
Ophelia, Ophelia.
Such absurdity. He was more devoted in madness than he ever was in sanity—the half-day curse works like a charm. I had traded my wedding ring for the spell, it was a cheap price for a broken marriage.
Shouldn't I twist it for Terradine's advantage?
Now he was nothing but a caged bird. During daylight, he was lucid but withdrawn. During the night, he drifted somewhere darker, where his love became blinding and all-consuming.
At night, he saw every lady as me.
The curse fed on his obsession, but it was a bitter irony. In his mind that was falling apart, I finally have his heart.
But everything was far too late, and many things were past forgiving. I had no dark-haired prince, not even his little wings fluttering amid the snow—only sleet dripping and cold.
How unfair.
Well, nothing is fair.
I should have known that life wasn't fair. It never was.
Fairness was a fantasy, a story people told each other to soothe the sting of reality.
The living sought fairness to keep on living, but look at the flowers blooming in their glory, only to wither and fall!
Is it fair?
There is a set time for us all.
And so it is for a king.
And his princes.
And his princesses.
Their mothers? Those ladies may live.
I'm a fair queen.
No more guilt...
Nobles' and royals' heads bowed in front of the priest; I glanced at the arched window; gray sky, light dangled through the iron grilles, casting short shadows over the royal family.
The king had so many sons, yet how many puppets can sit upon the throne? One—perhaps one more as a spare.
The priest sang again, marking the middle of the ceremony.
Ah, this hymn. It had been twenty years.
I recalled walking down the aisle, chin held high as Terradine's queen, petals raining from the mezzanine. A silver-haired acolyte carried a flower wreath, and the head priest placed it upon my head. I was nineteen then, young and pretty, with my brothers and Father beaming at me. His sobbing looked silly—
The hymn's crescendo startled me.
My brothers and my father—they are not here.
There are no Yvonine nobles here.
I dabbed my brow with a handkerchief. It was damp.
Then, I had only Liv, but she was far from the commotion, sleeping soundly and secured in the treasure room, down underground.
Liv's hysteria shouldn't disrupt my plan. Everyone else might condemn me, but one day she would understand. For her sake and Terradine's, I would bear all the sins. Because even a bird would protect her young from nightmares.
My daughter, Liv, was untainted by the king's cursed bloodline. The nobles called her a bastard, but their words meant nothing when she sat upon the throne. Her claim was righteous, as a descendant of the goddess.
Liv would inherit more than a kingdom—she would also inherit her freedom.
Once the king who failed his wife and son was gone, Terradine would become a widow.
But I would strengthen Liv's hand. Together we would protect Terradine. The kingdom's walls stayed fortified, and the knights well-fed; their laundry clean, folded, as they kept our enemies at bay.
I chuckled; I'd be a widow tending to a widow. Bound by duty to carry on, Terradine and I would mend together.
The king didn't fulfill his vows, but I would fulfill mine.
When his reign ended, Liv's reign began—along with her puppet king.
By then, I'd like to know who'd still dare to call Liv the bastard princess.
But not all nobles were against us.
I recalled Madame Rosetta's parlor, her lavish tea service—and her pet.
She must forgive me for ruining her party last week. Madame Rosetta was one of the few nobles who never judged my affairs or bashed Liv—a rare ally.
But how could she treat a caged bird that way?
The tiny creature was paraded around for her guests, forced to sing on cue. Shaking and scared, those melodious chirps were not cheerful but a desperate weep!
"Get me out! I want somebody! It's so lonely in here!"
Its cries tugged at my heart. Without much thought, I tore open the cage—its door wide.
Everyone's gasps erupted, and their tea spilled, staining the carpet. A maid dropped her tray, scattering baked sweets everywhere, under tables and chairs.
It was a nightmare, and the murmurs began; they said, "The queen has gone mad."
Fly, little birdie! At least one of us is free! I gazed at it.
It blinked at me in disbelief, perched on the threshold, then fluttered to a tree by the window. I followed it, watching its round form, colorful feathers flitting from branch to branch.
It looked back at me once, as if to say, 'Thank you, my lady. Goodbye."
Go now. I waved.
It flew, blending with the sky's blue.
Since then, silence from Madame Rosetta.
Good for her. I imagined she was safe at her tea parlor, especially then; it was better to stay at home.
Still, I wonder what had become of her pet.
Does it thrive, resting its wings on some laundry string?
Or does it sit above the bay, watching sea waves at play?
I would be here, waiting, under these vaulted ceilings.
The priest's voice sang the final verse. The goddess's day service came to a close.
"Mother, Her water in the sea, in the rain,
drowned me, loved me, surrounded me.
Who could replace nature's embrace?
Or Her dance throughout the year?
Birds' songs went cold in winter,
Earth of white and gray.
In spring they returned, cheering Her field day,
A promise that would never fly away.
Mother, the land I belonged to,
She comforted me.
She held me, calling me home."
I bit back a laugh, though it stung my throat—I pinched the dampness between my eyes. That nameless man. His humor is always so twisted!
Of all the verses, his puppet priest just had to read that one—that's my funeral verse!
I glanced at the king; he was still deep in thought.
My lord, remember who carried my flower wreath at our wedding?
The silver-haired acolyte also consoled me on my deathbed. Such a hard-working man. A strange bird, that one—he said many absurd things.
As I had been lying alone, waiting for my time, the acolyte came to me, calling me by name. Ophelia.
I thought he dared to be bold because I was dying. But then, he said it was too early to die.
He also said that I was occupying his grandmother's bedroom.
The priest's tenor concluded the ceremony. The bells on his staff ring, and my heart swelled—thump thump thump—the moment I've been waiting for!
The kingdom's birth; the king's fall!
Spring blooms adorn every column. How lovely.
But I turned my nose away, pressing a handkerchief against it. Their sweet scent should be enough to mask the upcoming stench. Something far worse would fill the air.
It was not my fault or revenge—it was for Terradine's sake!
Who dares to sit upon the cursed throne?
Every door was sealed; my knights stood vigil while more marched in, armor clanking as they rushed to the mezzanine, doubling their defense line.
The coup couldn't wait any longer.
I am the queen of Terradine.
We had to get through that day, once and for all, and everyone would be free from the curse.
Time was slipping, and twenty springs had passed; my kingdom and I had waited too long. The winters had been forgotten, but I remembered every cold one.
The smart nobles knew something was amiss—most of them stopped attending court events after Liv's coming-of-age ball.
While the daredevils, nobles who craved drama, fled as soon as they smelled the dregs of war: buff, battle-hardened men. The shabby coats they wore hid their armor's gore.
The eldest prince's sword peeked from under his frock coat, dragging on the floor.
So much gold I spent on him, what for?
The prince only brought a handful of men… I sighed, as I expected a grand showdown, a perfect rebellion.
Where did all my gold go?
But at least he kept his word and showed up.
These many would do. The border could use the rest of his guards.
The king spoke to me, while gazing wistfully at him. "He looks old. You should have seen him as a boy."
"At least he's alive—unlike our son." I leaned in closer. "Have you ever loved any of them?"
His lips pressed into a thin smile, then turned away. He showed no sorrow, only indifference. His flaccid reaction disgusts me!
"Don't you have anything to say? Any last words?" I couldn't breathe, choking on the question.
Nothing at all? Don't I at least deserve your hate…
The king clasped his thumbs together, fingers spread wide, shaping a bird, then—FLAP—abruptly separating them, as if the bird were torn in half.
His hollow gaze met mine. "That will be Terradine's fate."
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