Lavender Light

some creative writing I did about a femme fatale and a queen

inspired by this quiz

for Nixie @highly-functioning-mitochondria

Trigger warning: self-harm in the context of a fantasy magic ritual (burn wounds)

"It might do you good to share what you're thinking more..." the dark-skinned woman clad in expensive travelling clothes said, leaning over the Queen's desk with a dangerously gorgeous smile on her lips. "...Your Majesty." she added as an afterthought, eyes sparkling.

The Queen tensed imperceptibly, staring at the unfamiliar woman who had just waltzed into her study. A beautiful green structured jacket paired well with the black leather leggings she wore, and a few artful curls of her hair framed her lovely face, giving her an alluring yet commanding air. But the Queen's sharp eyes snagged on the dagger strapped to her leather-clad thigh, and the callouses visible on the woman's hands. She knew where one acquired callouses like that. This woman trained with weapons regularly. The threatening edge this gave her only enhanced her dazzling beauty.

There was a word for women like this one, the Queen thought. Femme fatale.

"And who are you?" the Queen demanded, rising from her desk. She had a solid ten centimetres height advantage over the woman, but somehow, the femme fatale seemed overwhelming in her presence.

Those sparkling eyes held her guarded ones like a vice. “Call me Nix, my lady. I was at the council meeting today, you see...thus my opening comment.”

“That it would do me good to share what I’m thinking more? Yes, thank you for your advice, Madame Nix. It is most appreciated.” the Queen said, her tone making it very clear that it was the opposite of appreciated. “But why were you at the council meeting and why are you in study, exactly?”

As if on cue, the study door swung open to admit one of the Queen’s personal guards, carrying a black leather overcoat draped over his arm and a look of barely-contained panic on his face. The moment he laid eyes on the two women facing off in the middle of the room, the blood drained from his face. His posture snapped into a low bow of apology. “Queen Dove! I tried to stop her, but she insisted! It was my fault--” he cut himself off, as if sensing the Queen’s glacial brown eyes on him without having to look at her.

“It’s fine. At ease, man.” the Queen said evenly, waving a manicured hand to dismiss the issue. “Madame Nix here doesn’t seem like the type to be stalled if she doesn’t want to be.”

Nix’s captivating laughter rang through the study. “You understand me already, my lady! That bodes very well for our working relationship.”

The Queen went very still as she began to catch on to who exactly this woman was supposed to be. “Working. Relationship.” she repeated, tilting her head to one side to show that it was a question, but her tone utterly flat.

The guard, still hovering in the doorway with Nix’s overcoat draped over his arm, opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish, as if trying to muster the strength to answer the Queen’s question, but finding no strength to speak of.

Nix seemed to find the guard’s discomfort amusing. Taking it upon herself to make it worse, she turned toward the desk and promptly seated herself on its mahogany surface. With a catlike stretch, she reached across a stack of papers and grabbed the Queen’s decanter of cognac, which she poured into the crystal tumbler that the Queen had been drinking from mere minutes ago, judging by the dark magenta lipstick stains on the rim.

The guard brought a hand to his mouth in abject horror.

The Queen’s eyes followed Nix’s antics languidly, her proud oval face showing not the slightest flicker of a reaction to this overt display of boldness.

Between sips, Nix articulated herself in words both concise and charming. “I was at the council meeting because I wanted to see you in action before deciding to commit my services to you. Your former bodyguard, may the Goddess rest his soul, was an old schoolmate of mine, and in our correspondence, he always spoke so highly of you that it made me curious as to what kind of liege could inspire such devotion in a man as ill-natured as he was. In his will, he left me one last letter, a letter conveying his wish that I might consider taking his place at your side if he was ever killed on duty.” the femme fatale finished her cognac and set the tumbler down on the desk beside her with a resounding thud of crystal on wood. “And so, here I am, my queen.”

Finally, something stirred within the perfectly impassive doll of a Queen. Her narrow shoulders pinched together with something that might’ve been interpreted as pain. Her slender arms came up to cross over her chest, as if to shield her heart from some unseen assault. “You were Vance’s--” her voice, which despite its natural softness, had always sounded strong and compelling to all who heard her, now took on a small, fragile quality in those three words that she quickly cut off with a shuddering breath. “I understand now. Though I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just explained all this in the first place.” as if nothing at all had happened, the Queen dropped her arms at her sides and smoothed the black velvet of her skirt over her narrow hips. When she raised her gaze again, it snapped to Nix with renewed severity. “So, I presume if you’re here to talk with me, I’ve passed your evaluation and you’re ready to perform the necessary rites to become my new bodyguard?”

Nix must’ve sensed the whirlpool of emotions locked tightly beneath the Queen’s poised facade, because her next sentence held something soft and almost compassionate, though her tone did not lose its glib cadence. “But of course. Not every queen can survive such a violent attempt on her life, lose her bodyguard of ten years in the process, and still attend a council meeting with such composure and insightful leadership left in her. But you, Your Majesty, did just that.”

In her first display of true deference since arriving in the study, Nix slipped off the desk and bowed low.

“Queen Dove, would you accept me, the mere daughter of a minor noble, to be your contract-bound bodyguard?”

The Queen was silent for the span of a single, slow breath. “Yes.” she assented with quiet finality.

Nix dropped forward onto a knee, bowing her head even lower.

The Queen crossed to her and held out an upturned palm, which Nix placed her calloused right hand into. Their palms flush against each other, the Nix released her magic first, as was customary. The femme fatale’s magic manifested in a lavender blaze that radiated from her downturned palm like a beacon, bright like her playful and unreadable eyes.

"I, Nixie Dearheart, swear my fealty unto you, Queen Dove Mayheart. I will protect you with my life endlessly, until you choose to release me from my service, or I should die in my service to you. Under these two circumstances alone will I ever leave your side.”

Accepting these words with a nod of her head, the Queen released her own magic. Hers was emerald green, spilling softly from her hand like candlelight, alive and strong like the branches of an evergreen tree, but somewhat subdued when compared to the blinding radiance of Nix’s aura.

The guard in the doorway, who had left hurriedly at the beginning of the contract ritual, now returned with a bowl with iced water and clean cotton cloth, and set it down on the mahogany desk as the smell of burning flesh filled the study.

Nix let out a hiss of pain, but seemed more concerned about the Queen.

The Queen, however, did not react at all to the contract mark being burned into the skin of her left palm. Her dark eyes were fixed on the wall above Nix’s head, as if entranced by something no one else in the room could see.

Nix’s gaze fell to the Queen’s other hand. On her right palm, another contract mark was seared into her skin. Vance’s contract mark. Now nothing more than a scar and a constant reminder of his death.

“It’s done.” Nix said as soon as she felt her magic settle, and she pulled their palms apart.

The Queen passively allowed herself to be led over to the desk where the guard began gently cleansing her new burn wound. Beneath the magically cauterised mess of puckered skin, lavender light flowed stridently along the lines of the mark. Corresponding perfectly on Nix’s hand, the Queen’s emerald mark glowed more gently.

Nix hummed in relief as she submerged her hand in the bowl of iced water. Her eyes never left the Queen’s face, searching for any semblance of human emotion in her impossibly deep brown eyes.

But the Queen’s unbroken facade was like a wall of smooth, beautiful Venetian marble.

Nix looked again at the emerald mark binding her to her new liege, and made a silent promise in the confines of her own mind.

Vance, you can rest easy now, darling. She’s safe with me. I won’t let anything hurt her ever again.

to be continued...

but then again, maybe not, I am very lazy after all

thanks for reading ❣

~ Dove