Checkmate by Isabelle

The Virgin Queen by Alexia Sinclair

I vowed to protect him.

He never asked me to, but I did it anyway. Because I loved him. And that’s what you do for someone you love. You offer your life if you have to. If it means they get the chance to live another day.

I knew the risks. I’d seen the encroaching army. They’d crept closer, piece by piece, aiming for us. Taking us down, one by one.

Even then, I stood my ground. He was my King. And I was his lady.

I would not leave him. Not when he needed me so. 

But then, the men I’d placed on guard started falling. Men I’d trusted. Men I’d grown to love for their loyalty and their bravery. Men who shed their blood so that we might live to fight another day.  And I could no longer stand idly by and watch our kingdom come to ruin. That is not what a good Queen does.

So I strapped on my sword and rode out with my knights, one thought in mind: I would take down anyone who tried to take my King from me.

He counted on that, my brilliant monarch. He counted on the blazing fire of my love to protect him.

He chose his Queen wisely, as I assume most Kings do. For a King knows that the purpose of his Queen is twofold. A soft, feminine exterior to placate the masses, with a heart of steel and a will of iron.

It is not easy to be the wife of a King. A woman learns  early on that her power is limited to seduction and coercion, and even those are contingent upon the continued interest of a King. That interest is difficult to keep, when even the Queen of the opposing army is creeping closer, trying to lay herself on his bed in the name of victory.

A Queen protects her King at all costs. She knew that. Just as I know that.

She did not fault me for pressing a dagger through her heart. It was the price she paid, for her King.

At all costs. Even at the cost of her life.

In the end, the knights fell first. The opposing army drew closer, toppling our towers. Once the wall was breached, they came after our bishops.

It was up to me. Our entire future rested on it.

So I went into battle and I fought in the name of my King.

Just as he hoped I would. Just as he expected me to.

And the thing I learned, even as I encroached upon their sleeping King in the dead of night, weapons in hand, is that in the end, even a Queen is but a product of her King.

A piece to be moved on the board.

A pawn in his hands.

About Isabelle

Isabelle is a multi-published author who dabbles in romantic fantasy and Young Adult fiction. A dreamer who loves Jane Austen as much as she loves Star Wars, Isabelle is most comfortable on stage behind a microphone belting out her favorite karaoke tunes, or curled up in bed with a book and a cup of cocoa on a rainy night. View all posts by Isabelle

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