It was a long, long walk from the half-destroyed dungeon to the double doors at the end of the second-floor hallway. The only sounds the lonely Thief could hear were her own footsteps being drowned out by the sound of eight guards’ boots stomping around her. They rounded several corners, strutted down long expanses of halls, trudged up about a hundred stairs, all to finally catch a glimpse of those doors. The hood over her eyes covered much of her peripheral vision, but she could see the doors plainly.
The Thief knew these halls, knew those doors. She knew how long it took to get from one end of the hall to the other. So she knew that when they passed that first window, it was two hundred steps to get to those grand oak doors.
She turned her head to the side to catch a glimpse of that first window and was taken aback. The guard closest to her shoved her head down before she could see the figure in the distance, walking along with her.
Just you, she thought to herself. Not who you think.
At the eighth window, it was down to one hundred steps.
Seventy.
Fifty.
Ten.
From far away, the Thief thought the doors to be beautiful, yet plain. Nothing like the intricate stone carvings that lined the hallways, staring back with their judgmental gray eyes. Nothing like the guards and their beautiful golden outfits, the men as cold and heartless as the creatures they stood next to. At first, the Thief thought the doors to be as plain as the clothes underneath her dark red cloak. But as they neared those doors, it was revealed that they were as subtly intricate as a snowflake. The Thief was surprised, to say the least. She had thought she knew them like the back of her hand.
Then again, she was never brought through these specific doors.
Brought here to be sentenced to die.
But as the doors opened wide and the Thief was pushed through, her dark hood hanging low, covering her eyes, she forgot completely about the doors. All the Thief could see was several sets of polished, perfect black boots on spotless marble floors. She remembered a time when she was forced to polish these floors.
The guards holding the Thief’s hands behind her cloak pushed her forward, not daring to come any closer to the grand golden throne settled in the back of the room. She had hoped they would not have taken her cloak, not have searched her, and be the stupid, arrogant men she knew them to be. As she had hoped, her cloak remained untouched and the hidden dagger on her naval remained. Because she was a woman, they felt she was too weak to search. Surely, they believed, she had nothing on her. Surprisingly, though, they did not search her just because she was a woman and they wanted to explore her body. The Thief thanked her unattractiveness for the first time in her life.
The Thief returned her thoughts to the room. She knew how it looked, even if she didn’t have the hood blocking her eyes. She’d been here before. Several times. Both serving the monster seated at that throne and stealing from him. The various ways of escape ran through her head.
“Well,” that familiar booming voice washed over her, settling deep in her bones, “look what we have here.”
The Thief said nothing, instead thought of the millions of different ways she could escape.
“Will you not lift your eyes to your sovereign?”
More silence – her thoughts raced: there were about fifty guards here, she knew, at all times, but maybe more because it was a sentencing; there was a gorgeous glass skylight instead of a ceiling that she could maybe break through if it came to it; of course, there was the servants’ passageway towards her right. The last option seemed the quickest and least bloody-
Suddenly, her hood was ripped back and the bright light of the day shattered her eyes. The Thief cursed in her mind at whoever did this, whoever dared touch her-
But the familiar eyes of the King stared back at her. She must have not heard him stand and charge across the room. The Thief was surprised; she remembered a time when she could hear things like her sister trying to sneak up on her from a mile away. A sprinkle of fear entered her chest as she thought about her sister, but she quickly pushed that deep, deep down.
The entire room seemed to pause, to gasp, as they looked on at her. The Thief was surprised, yet again – there were servants watching. Usually the King made his sentencing private, with just him and his guards. But she could see in her peripheral vision the shocked faces of around twenty servants, holding various plates and dishes for the party happening later that afternoon.
A smug sort of feeling took over her, then. These servants saw the thief who bested the King again and again. They saw the one who’d stolen money and jewels and gave most of it back to their dirt-poor families. They saw the face of their silent, secret hero and saw that it was not who they expected at all.
No, it was the face of a woman.
The Thief saw all of this, too, in the eyes of the King, who still gripped her hood back with enough force to crinkle the fabric. She saw the anger, the hate, the fear.
If a woman can steal this much from him…
“Who sent you?” he asked, voice shaking with anger. “Surely your master left you here to die: there is no need protecting him.”
No need protecting him. The Thief could see it in his eyes: he knew it was her who was the true Thief. He was only trying to protect his reputation. The Thief turned her head as much as she could. It was only a slight tilt of her chin, but it got her point across.
You will find no answers with me, she thought to herself with as much force as she could.
The King dropped her hood and took a few steps back. He rubbed his hand over his stubbly chin and scoffed. The guards around the Thief shifted on their feet. And still, she did not speak.
Another split second of silence spent contemplating how to get out, and then-
The Thief felt a sharp pinch at the corner of her cheek. Warmth followed. A sting. A second sharp pinch, this time at her neck – a knife from a guard behind her. She cringed inwardly; if they kept this blade against her for much longer, she would have no chance of escape.
“A name, Peasant,” the King growled. “A name, or you die here.”
Yet another second of silence. The guard holding the knife to her throat remained like a wall, unmoving and deadly. The Thief stared long and hard at the King’s sharp green eyes.
You will find no answers with me.
So the King waited. Stuffed his hands underneath his armpits. Tilted his head, as he watched the Thief do. Smiled.
“It took me a second,” the King mused, breaking the silence, “but I recognize you now. You used to scrape my shoes and bring me my afternoon snack, now didn’t you? What did your master offer you, servant? Money? A nice, warm home? Someone to warm your bed?”
The guards chuckled at that. The Thief, despite herself, felt her face heat. She became so angry she could not even wonder if it was truly her the King was thinking about.
How dare he-
“That must have been it, then. You were lonely. No guard here is disloyal to me, so he must have been one from the opposing kingdom. How sad. You risked your position, your home here, your title…for, what? It couldn’t be love. Someone of your stature could not be capable of that.”
The Thief’s blood began to boil. Her heart raced. All sane thoughts left her mind until only pure rage remained. And she said the one thing she knew would make his stupid heart leap:
“Long live the Queen.”
Those guards behind her grabbed at her wrists, yanking her onto the floor. Her knees cracked against the marble. The guard holding that knife slipped a little, creating a small scratch on her neck that the Thief hissed a little at, but he moved his hand away quickly. The servants out and about rushed back through their door near the back corner. The King and the Thief only stared at each other.
His face did not change. His eyes did not twitch, his hands did not shake, his eyebrows did not narrow, as she had hoped. No, if anything, his amused expression only grew.
“Halt, Men. Allow this petty peasant-“ he spit those two words to her so forcefully she felt the saliva on her nose, “to explain herself. For we all know that there is no Queen here.”
The Thief’s blood cooled only slightly. She gathered her scattered emotions before swallowing. And, again, she said nothing.
The King waited a total of ten seconds before he reached back for her. His large hand gripped the Thief’s cloak, lifting her back up from off the floor. In fact, he lifted her so high that her toes barely touched the ground.
Every word that he said next left spit on her face that took every ounce of her being to not cringe at. The Thief never broke eye contact with him, never wavered, never broke her hard, cold gaze. She never said one word at anything that was said from the King.
“Let me just remind you of something,” he muttered. “Before your ‘Little Queen’ was royalty in the eyes of you and the rest of the rebels, she was just. Like. You: absolutely worthless. She shined my floors and was played with by my men, just like you. So her, and the rest of the rebels, will be found by my men. They will hunt them and your ‘Little Queen’ down one by one until they are all back to the dirt, where they belong. That woman may be empowering all others to stand up to me, to take me down and replace me with her, but she is dead wrong. I am the greatest King you will ever have. I am the most merciful, most loved, most powerful sovereign. Not her, not anyone. She cannot and will not take my good people away from me. She will not best me with stupid peasants like you.” The Thief was tossed onto the ground. Her hands being tied behind her, there was nothing to balance her or break her fall except her side.
The pain was secondary to the look the King and all the guards surrounding him gave her.
“I would send you back to your Little Imposter to relay that informative message,” the King continued, wiping his hands on a towel a nearby guard gave him, like he dirtied himself by touching the Thief, “but I find you are better capable sending a message from the gallows. Men, notify the Executioner. I want her dead in the next hour.”
Two guards lifted the Thief up by her forearms like she was nothing. They threw her hood back over her head, darkening her vision, and dragged her back out those marvelous red oak doors. The Thief wasn’t given any time to marvel at them, though, or the windows. She could not even return her gaze to the windows to check if she truly did look as she thought. No, she was brought out through a side door and across the grassy outside area.
Past the garden, past the lovely little fountain the Thief used to clean, into the stables. One guard held tightly to her chains while the other grabbed a horse from the stable boy. The Thief was thrown onto the back of the horse, pain shooting into her stomach but forced to be ignored. She gave the stable boy a small smile before he ran back from the antsy animal. The second guard moved her chains so that her arms were tied in front of her instead of behind, and then tied that to a hook on the first guard’s belt. He pushed her hood low over her head. From any angle besides down, the people looking on would guess the Thief to be a man. As they wanted.
The second guard slapped the rear of the horse, and they were off. The Thief had no choice but to hold tightly to the chain, lest she be thrown and killed. The Thief did not feel like dying today.
Not in the throne room, not on this horse, and certainly not by hanging.
The Thief and the guard thundered down the pathway, not bothering to smell the beautiful yellow roses lining the sides. The Thief’s thoughts seemed to thunder along with them. She knew the gallows, had even stepped close to them before. But never had she gotten a front-row view.
The two raced through the widening gates. They raced around buildings. They raced past shouting people who barely got out of the way. And finally, they were slowing down.
There were another few guards who suddenly appeared below the Thief, ready to yank at her chains and get her on the dusty ground. She saw glimpses of people, but no one lifted her hood to help her get a better look. Instead, they pushed it down so the only thing the Thief could see was her own two booted feet, stumbling along the dirt.
“Move.”
The guard who had spoken poked the Thief with something sharp. There was a growing feeling of want, of need: the Thief wanted to retaliate. She had to bite down on her tongue and pinch her fingers to keep from lashing out.
Not yet, a voice in her head murmured, sounding like her own but not at the same time. Soon, but not yet.
As soon as they arrived to the platform, the guards did not bother to give her the dignity of walking up the wooden stairs alone. They instead lifted the Thief up and in front of them, holding her as far away from their bodies like a disease. Her feet slammed into the steps below, but she did not fall. They just gripped her tighter.
The Thief could hear the crowd gathering. She could hear their footsteps, their murmurs, their praise and excitement. Once upon a time, the Thief was one of them. Now, she is standing above.
“For continued theft, for claims against the Crown, for multiple attempts at murder of the Crown, the All-Gracious King has sentenced death by hanging!” The crowd erupted at the first guard’s voice, the one the Thief recognized from earlier on the horse. She was pushed forward once again, pushed to the middle of the platform. Her breath hitched; her heart began to race.
Not yet, not yet, not yet–
“Do we take theft against the crown?!”
“NO!”
The Thief slipped her hands underneath her cloak. Two guards stepped close to her.
“Do we take claims against the crown?!”
“NO!”
The Thief’s hands were out from the chains in seconds. One guard wrapped the rope around her neck.
“And do we take attempts of murder against the crown?!”
“NO!”
The Thief found her hidden dagger underneath her dress. The rope tightened.
Not yet, not yet, not yet-
But before she could do anything, before she could set herself free, before the platform was ripped away beneath her trembling feet, everyone heard a quiet ping!
The rope felt lighter. The long piece fell on her shoulder.
It was cut.
As soon as the Thief realized it was cut, as soon as she knew that her Queen was here, she wasted no time. The Thief threw back her hood and met the bright, sunny day.
The crowd was larger than she thought. They ran and screamed at the thought of multiple murderers running loose. The Thief tore off her cloak and swatted away with her dagger the guards who attacked her. She could not find her Queen in the crowd, but she knew she was there. There was a cart with leftover hay that the Thief jumped on, escaping the flow of extra guards. Because she was a woman, they only brought a few – the Thief saw around five. Now they were calling to the others on patrol, tearing them away from their posts to obtain her and whoever threw that knife.
The Thief ripped through the hay and stumbled off the cart. She grinned at the guards who ran after her, blocking her. She tore through the crowd, pushing people as the guards had pushed her. The Thief was soon in the midst of all the confusion, all the panic. Her head turned every which way as she fought with the guards –
Where is she, where is she, where is she-
A soft whistle sounded, followed by another. The Thief immediately cut left and ran as fast as she could to the outer rim of the plaza. She remembered the rope still hanging around her neck; it was cut off and on the ground in seconds. Her feet pounded on the dirt, one step after another after another after another.
And then she was in the forest that surrounded the entire kingdom. She was running, twirling around trees to lose the guards running after her. As the Thief finally realized she was alone in the deep woods, she allowed herself to slow.
The Thief, breathing heavier than she ever had before, halted against a thick oak. Her breath was so loud she did not hear the person coming up behind her, until they were right against her bare neck.
“How many times do I have to save you?”
The Thief jumped, whirled, and came face to face with her mirror. The girl was laughing, breathing a little hard but definitely not as hard as the Thief. The Thief smiled and hugged her Queen, her mirror, her twin sister.
The Thief looked back at the Queen and gestured to the other end of the forest, the place where the other rebels were hiding.
“Come,” she said, “our people are waiting.”
The twins gripped each other’s hands while meandering through the forest, laughing at the chaos that was the kingdom behind them. The Thief vowed to never go there again, as she does every time she gets caught and almost killed for her thieving. The Queen only smiled, placing a secret bet with herself on how long it would take her twin to reach the kingdom once again.
And as they reached the other end of the forest, as they looked upon their people who rely on them for everything, there was one phrase that reached their ears. The people repeated it, over and over again.
“Long live the Queens.”