Yield

The quick trot of the approaching footsteps rang out a clear warning on the flagstones. The waiting women listened pensively as the messenger paused at the oak door to gather her breath – and her courage – before entering the room.

“Your Majesty,” the messenger bowed deeply before approaching. “I bring news from the North. We have been defeated. We have failed you.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and waited for the rage that would inevitably follow.

The Queen of the South stood slowly. “Damn him,” she muttered, then turning to her consort, “Alice, come with me. I need to think.”

The messenger exhaled audibly as the Queen left the room. The thunderstorm of the Queen’s anger had not yet broken; she pitied Alice.

If the Queen was going to be able to think clearly and rationally and work out her next move, she first needed to get relief from the demon that threatened to prise her chest wide open. Alice recognized the dark cloud that engulfed the Queen and knew what she had to do to help. It was her duty, her sacrifice, and despite the unhappy circumstances, her pleasure.

Without waiting for further command, Alice stripped off her top and stood face to the wall, her arms wide and flat against the rough, stone surface. She had offered herself up like this before the messenger arrived too, driven by her own yearnings and a wish to appease the Queen’s growing fury. The Queen had refused her....