The Witch-Queen cursed the Lord of Brimone and she cursed the Dead Man.
Where were their blasted reinforcements?
Why weren't they here yet?
How far was the enemy from reaching them?
And this Niece of the Mercenary... Where was she?
The Witch-Queen ducked into her tent and found the Lord of Brimone waiting there. She pulled off her hood, and loosed her hair. She was, by all means, a picturesquely beautiful woman.
“No sign of the army,” she muttered.
The Lord of Brimone sat up, “Something must have happened with the kingdom. We need to go back.”
“To find our enemies waiting there? Not a chance.”
“Then what do you propose we do?”
The Lord of Brimone paused, wondering if the Witch-Queen was toying with him, “You're kidding.”
“It seems a little much, but we've no choice. If our army is destroyed, then we can hardly hope to overthrow the Earth-realm with only a handful of soldiers.”
“But... All the planning... And the schemeing... And the years of work...”
“I'm aware, Grumm. But these things take time. On the brighter side of things, our main obstacle has been removed. Now its only a matter of raising an army,” the Witch-Queen smiled, “And this should be easy enough. So many tiny, little kingdoms with their struggling rulers - just waiting to be overthrown. All it would take is a stick and a few carrots.”
“You really want to start again?”
“What other choice do we have, Grumm?” the Witch-Queen paused, “Unless... you've given up the cause.”
“Forgive me, but I don't think it's worth all the trouble. I told you to quit while you were ahead. You refused, and my army, my kingdom may have had hell to pay for it.”
A flicker of anger passed through the Witch-Queen's face - but it passed so quickly, that the Lord of Brimone wondered whether he had actually seen it.
“My apologies,” the Witch-Queen said, siddling up to him, “I had not intended for things to come to this. Can one truly be blamed for following their dreams?”
The Lord of Brimone raised his brows, surprised by the Witch-Queen's behaviour, “It was our dream,” he said, slightly dazed, “I suppose I carry as much blame as you.”
The Witch-Queen ran her finger along his jawline. She beamed up at him, “I know you are loathe to partake in re-establishing our army,” she said, her honeyed voice a seductive whisper, “but aid me, and I will name you my king.”
The Lord of Brimone gazed at the Witch-Queen. He put a hand to her face and kissed her softly. He felt her hands touch his neck and shoulders as their kiss grew in passion. She was moaning into him.
The Witch-Queen managed to press him down, “Is that an affirmation?”
The Lord of Brimone nodded.
The Witch-Queen wrapped her hands around his neck and throttled him. The Lord's eyes bulged, his hands clawing at the Witch-Queen's. But he could not free himself - especially not against the Witch-Queen's dead right hand.
When he was still, the Witch-Queen sighed and drew a dagger, stabbing the corpse through the throat. She screamed and then pretended to sob.
Guards rushed into the room.
“He had gone mad with rage,” she cried, “and... and he forced himself upon me. I didn't know what else to do!”