Difficult Choices

The doors burst open, and Viola’s mother, the Queen, marches into the room, her presence commanding and her expression unreadable. Cassandra follows close behind, her movements silent and deliberate, her sharp eyes scanning the room for threats.

Viola and Cassandra exchange glances as the Queen takes in the scene before her. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, her lips curling into a faint, icy smile. “You’ve been a busy girl,” she says, her voice cold and dispassionate.

“Mother, there was an attempt on his life; I had ****!” Viola protests, her voice rising with frustration. She steps forward, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“****?” The Queen’s voice turns icier, her green eyes narrowing. “You are the Crown Princess! You had countless other options that didn’t involve moving this man into your chambers.”

“So I’m allowed to bed him, but he isn’t allowed to stay the night? How does that make any fucking sense?” Viola snaps, her cheeks flushing with anger.

The Queen shoots her a withering look, her expression hardening. “It’s tradition, you impudent child. The purpose of this exercise was to teach you how to treat men properly, not to secure a husband.”

She inhales deeply, steadying herself, and her tone softens slightly, though her words remain firm. “Viola, you are twenty-two, and it’s time to stop these games. Tomorrow, at the ball, I will announce your betrothal to Lord Duccato.”

Viola’s eyes widen, her face paling. “You wouldn’t!”

The Queen’s expression hardens, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Would you prefer Lord Caldersmith? Because those are your only choices.”

“I’d rather fuck a sword than that worthless little troll,” Viola hisses, her voice trembling with rage.

“You will...” the Queen starts, but her words are cut off as you step forward, your voice cutting through the tension.

“I think I may have a solution,” you say, making both women turn toward you. Their expressions are eerily alike, their sharp green eyes narrowing as they study you.

“Cassandra, slit this man’s throat,” the Queen commands, her voice chillingly calm.

“Mother, no!” Viola cries, her voice tinged with panic. She steps toward you, but Cassandra is already moving, her dagger flashing in the light as she presses it firmly against your neck.

“Sorry about this,” Cassandra whispers, her voice low and apologetic. Then she raises her voice, her tone cold and professional. “Shall I, Your Majesty?”

The Queen smirks, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Choose your words carefully, male. Cassandra doesn’t tolerate men speaking out of turn in my presence.”

Her gaze sharpens, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Though, given the pounding you gave her, perhaps she’s simply looking for an excuse to end you.”

Viola shoots you a nervous glance, her hands trembling at her sides. You swallow hard, the razor-sharp blade pressing lightly against your throat. The room is silent, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself is holding its breath.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” you begin, your voice steady but cautious, “Lord Caldersmith approached me in the men’s chambers. He offered me a place in his house and suggested I pursue a union with the princess in his stead.”