Black Widow Queen

Isabella stared at herself in the mirror, trying to sort out how she'd gotten to this point. The green dress she wore for the coming handfasting was extravagant,with pearls sewn into the bodice and in waves on the hem. They trailed up and down the skirt, creating a garden of jewels on the dress. She smoothed down the sleeves that came to her knuckles.

With a sigh, she looked back to the mirror. Any expression she may have had was caked over with the excessive amount of makeup that had been slathered on her face. Which was a good thing, she reflected.

"M'lady? Are you ready?" the maid, Jamie, she remembered, asked her.

"Yes," Isabella replied with a firm nod. She was ready. She was ready to meet the king and be handfasted to him. But she was also prepared to complete her mission. With a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and followed the maid. The diadem sat heavy on her forehead, the green jewel shining in the candlelight as they walked down the hall. Her lips thinned as they walked the darkened halls to the courtyard. It was tradition for the handfasting of the king and queen to take place outside under a full moon. It was one of the few ceremonies that still took place according to the moon cycles. Isabella wasn't sure if she was grateful for the darkness which meant fewer people in attendance or irritated that they would be watched even more closely.

She took another breath as they reached the doors. When they walked through, only the wind greeted them. The music wouldn't start until after the handfasting, as this ceremony demanded a respectful silence so everyone could hear the words being spoken. As she walked between the rows of people, she eyed them, marking them in her mind.

When she became queen, it would be important to know who she could trust and who she would have to be wary of. She only spared a glance at the man waiting for at the end. The king had to go.

He'd driven their country into the ground. The nobility were greedily taking advantage of his inattention and his military was standing ready to invade another country. It had to stop and Isabella had decided she would be the one to do it. Her eyes narrowed as she came to the end of her walk and she turned to face him. He barely glanced at her, instead his eyes shifted to something over his shoulder that she couldn't make out. When the priestess began talking he finally turned his attention to the ceremony.

Isabella barely remembered it. The words she repeated back to the priestess, the vows they both took. They both knew the words were hollow, useless. She had her own plans for him and he, well, he didn't seem to care. Instead, as soon as the reception had begun, he beat a fast retreat, who knew where. Isabella didn't bother to fume. She knew she'd be the sole ruler soon enough and she may as well get used to the part now. The only part that irritated her was she wasn't sure if he would show up for their night together.

Finally, she was being walked to their bedroom and her maids carefully helped her change into her night clothes. He wasn't there yet. It gave her time, she told herself, as she concealed the small knives throughout the room. Wherever she finally confronted him, she would be ready, she swore. They would be alone and she would complete her mission. It would be a tragedy, she decided as she thought over what story she would have to tell, fingering the coverlet on the bed as she finished hiding the last knife.

The door creaked open and she whirled to face him. He stood there, his arms crossed, a disgruntled look on his face as he met her eyes for the first time that day. Rubbing his temples, he turned and shut the door.

"So," he began, beginning to turn back around. Before he could say another word, she had already leapt at him with a bared dagger. He gasped and ducked, raising his hand to ward off the worst of the blow. The blade dragged down the edge of his forearm, raising blood but it wasn't the death blow Isabella had hoped for. Hissing in anger, he scooted to the side, eyes narrowed as he watched her.

"That's why you insisted on waiting until the handfasting to meet," he snarled.

Isabella growled in response. "It's only what you deserve, after the mess you made of this country. I’ll make it right," she vowed.

Jayse blinked, eyes going wide for a moment. "That's why you wanted to marry me?" he spat.

"Why else would anyone want to marry you?" she spat back. "You're a pathetic piece of flesh who doesn't care about his people."

"I care!" he yelled, dodging as she came at him again. To her surprise, he pulled a dagger of his own from his thigh and her blade sheared off of his. "But I can't rule. Stop… attacking me for a second so we can talk about this," he grunted, shoving her off of him when she slipped under his guard.

Isabella scrambled to her feet from where she'd been shoved to the floor, breathing hard. There was blood on her blade and splashed around the room, but not nearly enough. She hadn't expected him to actually be able to fight back. He'd always appeared to be a spoiled, posh little prince when she had seen him in the past. "What's there to talk about? Someone has to take care of these people and you obviously aren't going to do it!"

"Because I don't know how!" he roared. "I'm the youngest son. I wasn't supposed to take the damn throne. That was my brother's job. I'm doing the best I can but obviously it's not good enough for some people," he snarled. Taking a breath, he held out his hands in peace, though he didn't drop the knife. "One of the reasons I agreed to be bound to you was I know what kind of education you had. You were raised to rule, to be a duchess. You know how to manipulate the court and how to deal with politics. Flatly stated, I don’t."

Now Isabella paused, puzzled, her knife over her head. "Wait, you want me to rule? You aren't going to fight me on this?"

Jayse shook his head. "I had every intent on giving you that power. But now you're making me second guess myself given that you just tried to kill me."

She lowered the knife a fraction, making sure he wasn't going to jump her when her guard was down. "I was told you wouldn't let me rule. That you'd just lock me up in a tower as a queen and I would only be a figurehead. Someone to bear your heirs," she said bitterly.

Jayse visibly shuddered. "I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone," he said, also lowering his knife another fraction. "You're the eldest daughter of the duchy and the presumed heir. I assumed that you'd been taught how to rule. I had every intention of having this discussion with you tonight, but I had some things to take care of before I could join you here."

"Like what?" she asked suspiciously. 

"If you promise to put that dagger down, I'll explain," he said, one hand still up in a guard but slowly sheathing his own blade. He left his hand on the hilt as he waited for her response.

Isabella hesitated, the voices warring in her mind. He seemed sincere and it would be easier for her to rule if he was still alive and actively giving her that power. There would be no need for a mourning period or to concoct a story to explain his death like she'd been anticipating. With a final sigh, she straightened. Still watching him warily, she laid the knife on the couch that stood beside her and waited, her fingers twitching just in case.

The king breathed a visible sigh of relief and let his hand drop. Wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve, he sat down heavily in the chair he'd ended up next to. "This is not at all how I imagined this conversation going," he said wryly.

Relaxing minutely now that he was sitting, she leaned against the back of the couch. "I didn't anticipate a conversation at all. But since you started one, talk. You said you'll let me rule?"

"Absolutely," he said firmly. "Whatever we need to do to give you that authority, I'll happily sign over. If you need me to show up sometimes, I can do that as well. But the project I'm on needs a lot of intense attention. That's why I left after the ceremony," he added.

"What’s the project?" she said, unable to resist her curiosity. 

He rubbed his temple with one hand, suddenly seeming unsure of her reaction. "You know how the crops in the southwest region have been dying?" Isabella nodded. It'd been one of the things she wanted to address immediately since it had appeared he wasn't doing anything about it. "My research has shown it's some kind of illness with the crops. I've been breeding new strains of wheat for the farmers to use that's resistant  to that strain. It's taken…" he blew out a long breath. "A lot longer than I thought it would. I tried to bring in some magic-users at first, but they were more hindrance than help so I've been doing it on my own."

Isabella blinked at the revelation, then slowly sat down. "I didn't think you knew anything about that," she replied honestly.

"Yeah, I know I give that impression," he said with a grimace. "I get so wrapped up in these projects that I tend to forget to tell people about them," he admitted.

"Well, how close are you to a solution?" she said, leaning one arm on the back of the couch.

"You see," he started. The rest of the night was spent debating back and forth on the various issues of the kingdom. Isabella was surprised just how aware he was of the issues she wanted to address but slowly came to realize as they talked that he was a caring man, he just couldn't express it. Finally, as the sun began to break over the horizon, she yawned and looked out the window.

"We should sleep," she finally said, her eyelids drooping.

"I'll take the couch," he started to say but Isabella was already shaking her head.

"And starting rumors? No, we'll sleep in the bed together." He looked uncomfortable at the thought for a moment. "Don't worry, I didn't hide any knives in there," she teased. "Public perception, remember?"

With a sigh, he stood up and shucked off his coat. "Very well." He glanced around the room. "I'm going to be finding knives for months, aren't I?"

Isabella smirked as she slipped into the bed. "Probably. You never know when an assassin will show up," she quipped. He groaned at the thought, but otherwise said nothing as he slipped into the other side of the bed.

"I'm glad things turned out the way they did," he said before she fell asleep.

Isabella yawned, turning to face him. "Me, too," she breathed, hand touching the knife that was tucked under her pillow, just in case.  Soon, they were both deeply asleep as the sun continued to rise.