She sits there laxed on her golden throne, legs crossed and head resting arrogantly on her hand. Her fingers musically gallop on the armrest.
Her listless eyes point to the ceiling, to the wine woven carpet, then back. Boredom wears down heavily on her face. And yet--Such elegance. Such dominance.
Divine power and authority excrete from her posture alone. No mere words could describe her unruly yet ravishing beauty. She was due for change in attire to mark the position of the sun.
Grotesquely bothered by the advancing heat, Her Highness whips out her favorite fan and lightly arouses a cooling breeze.
I stand armored from head to toe in steel plates, a uniform for every minute of the hour; every hour of the day; every day in a year up until my last breath is drawn.
The leather of my gauntlet rasp as I stretch my fingers from holding onto the polearm since morning.
I keep the noise level minimal, restricting my movement to avoid disturbing her delicate ears. Sweat drips down the side of my face. I exhale.
The stench of yesterday's meal reflects back to my nose.
I peek from the holes of my helmet. Call it admiration, kinship, maybe even familial, but my affection for her knows no bounds. It wasn't of intimacy--not at all.
I was content just being by her side. I was more than fortunate to be chosen as My Queen's personal royal guard among my brothers in arms.
That and only that was enough to drive my strength to a lifetime of faithful servitude. Perhaps in another world or in another era, things could have been different.
Perhaps then, I could harbor feelings from No Man's Land. But reality deems it not.
And for that, I smile under the metal, embracing bliss of just being able to serve her; an expression that forever evades her eyes.
The stage curtain reveals a kingdom ablaze. I topple over her. Irrepressibly, a speck of blood drips onto her cheeks, tainting her complexion with the ravages of war.
How many years has it been? Fifteen? Twenty? For the first time, our eyes had locked. But this wasn't how I wanted it to be. Her pupils were shaking.
Her face was frozen in shock, as if my actions come as a surprise for her. What can I do to make it stop? It hurts.
Even with the arrows that pierce my back, the look on her face hurts much more. I grow tired by the second. In the background, I hear cheers of victory. Was it over?
It was over.
I let myself collapse to the side. The clattering sound of my armor rattles in my ears. I'm glad I was able to fulfill my duty. I was even blessed to gain a reaction from the usually cold stagnant queen in my last moments. "Don't worry," I wanted to tell her.
"They'll be another to replace me and protect you just the same."
But in the end, I don't recall her even knowing the sound of my voice, the only thing that separates me from the rest.