Arena // Chapter 1.2

“What to do, what to do?” Queen Vermillne watched as Ollormania paced the room in distress. She sat with her skirts folded neatly around her, her back stiff and her hands in her lap.

“I have already told you—” she began.

“I do not agree with what you have told me!” Ollormania spun sharply on his heel, clenching and unclenching his fists. “We have to provide some kind of explanation; the citizens will tear each other apart asking questions. If you claim me your son, and a new heir to the throne, they will be startled into a revolt, and maybe even some kind of rebellion. If you deny it, we’d have the responsibility to find this Blind Warrior and interrogate her.” He ended with an extravagant string of curses.

“Trogne,” began the queen.

“Do not call me that!” He crossed the room rapidly and jabbed his finger at her chest. “You do not have any right to that name.”

“And why do I not?” cried Queen Vermillne, reaching for his extended finger; he snatched it back. “I am your mother, no matter what we say to the public. How could I not use your real name? The one I gave to you?” She stood in an outrage.

“You,” growled Ollormania in response, “are not my mother.”

“Now, young man—”

“You’re not my real mother!” In a flash, he drew his sword and hurled it across the room. The queen inhaled sharply as it lodged in the headpost of her bed. Ollormania’s chest heaved.

There was an extension of silence. “This is not your decision. I will remain to the people only another pawn of yours.” He spat the word. “I vow, I will find she who uncovered our secrets, and I will punish her for what she has done.”

“Ollormania,” said Vermillne, deciding wisely not to use his real name again for fear of having her bed destroyed, for she quite liked that particular one. “I may not have raised you, I may not have taught you what a mother teaches her son, but I am your real mother, and I need you to understand—”

“That is not the topic of discussion presently. I have other concerns that I must look to.” Although he did not show it, he felt once again he was the hurt little boy he had been, wishing he had known his real mother and why she had given him up. And Vermillne watched with regret in her burdened eyes, feeling once again she was the conflicted young woman who had and would make a thousand wrong decisions.
By CJ Bishop