The grand hall of the estate had been cleaned, polished, and adorned with gilded opulence. Nothing in this room looked the same as it did when Gideon ruled from its center because it was mine now.
The table that once bore his iron fist now shimmered under crystal chandeliers and flickered candlelight, and I was its centerpiece.
Men who had once looked at me like I was a doll now kept their eyes down. The chairs around the long table were filled with powerful people, heads of the territories Gideon had conquered, men who had tried to fill the vacuum after his fall, and now sat still in their tailored suits, measuring their options carefully.
I was the option.
I wore black again, for dominance. A sculpted dress that clung to my curves and bore my authority. A thin gold necklace looped around my throat and equally thin earrings dangled down my ears. My lips was colored blood red, my eyes, outlined in shadows.
Elias stood behind me, his silence was more potent than any threat. His black suit was pressed and clean, his face a chiseled mask of composure.
A meeting was being called to discuss what happened the other day, about what befell the traitors and what would befall anyone else who was caught being a traitor.
I tapped my glass twice.
"Let's begin," I said.
I let them talk, let them ask pointless questions and posture and make subtle jabs at my experience. I answered what I needed to, cut through the rest.
"How you handled the situation was commendable, but I must say that hanging is barbaric, it isn't our style." Julius said.
I arched a brow.
"No?" I asked, but no one responded. "It may not have been Gideon's style but it is mine. I will punish and execute traitors however I see fit."
Julius looked like he wanted to say something but reconsidered.
"Those men didn't act on their own, someone put them to the job, and that person is seated here. Now, we may not have gotten a confession from them, but I'm sure we've made an example out of them." I said. "whomever wishes to can go ahead and try, we'll do the exact same thing to them."
One man, Russo, tried to challenge me with a veiled suggestion that perhaps it was time to "bring in new leadership because the people were not satisfied with mine."
I turned my head toward Elias ever so slightly, and he must have done something because Russo paled and quickly backtracked.
The rest of the meeting passed without interruption.
Then came the time for refreshments.
The staff wheeled out silver platters and grand trays of roasted meats, fine pastas, spiced rice, steamed fish, artisan bread, rich sauces, vegetables grilled in oil and garlic, and wine aged longer than some of the lieutenants had lived. The smell filled the air, heavy and indulgent.
I remained seated as the plates were set before each of us. My fork cut through a piece of steak with ease, and I placed it in my mouth without hesitation. It tasted great, and I was glad I was beginning to enjoy food again. I was beginning to enjoy living again.
The others hesitated. There was a long, quiet pause.
I could feel them watching me, each one wondering if the food had been tampered with, if this was some elaborate power play or trap.
They were right to wonder, but I didn't offer them any answers. I chewed slowly, swallowed, and chased the bite with a sip of wine.
"Something wrong?" I asked, eyes scanning the men who had not lifted their forks. "Is the food not to your liking?"
No one spoke.
I raised a brow. "Eat. Or don't. It makes no difference to me."
And with that, I continued eating unhurried. I let my knife scrape the porcelain. Let the silence wrap itself around the clinking of my silverware.
One by one, they followed, tentatively at first, then gradually more relaxed. Still, every single one of them kept glancing up at me between bites as though they feared I'd suddenly pull out a gun and shoots someone.
They should.
The air was thick with tension. Forks scraped against china, I could hear the clatter of nervous fingers tapping against the tablecloth. The tension was a fog that clung to the edges of the room; heavy and consuming.
Across from me was Dario, one of Gideon's oldest allies, he tried to act unfazed, tried to pretend he was intimidated. But his eyes kept darting between his plate and Elias. Every time Elias shifted his stance, Dario flinched.
"You know," I said, cutting into a slice of duck glazed in plum sauce, "the last time we held a feast like this, Gideon made someone eat their own fingers." I paused to sip my wine. "We were out of spoons."
A few nervous laughs echoed around the table. No one knew if I was joking.
It hadn't been funny then, I had been traumatized. I had been so close to throwing up but Gideon had forced to me sit, watch, and eat. And Dario has laughed about it saying I was a weak little girl.
I stood slowly, tapping the base of my glass with a ringed finger. "I trust tonight has made a few things clear," I said. "This table is not a democracy; If you have suggestions, write them in a letter and burn it. If you have doubts, keep them to yourselves."
I leaned forward slightly, just enough to press my presence deeper into the room.
"And if you ever forget who runs this empire now, I will remind you in ways you won't live long enough to regret."
Silence was thick and absolute.
"Gentlemen," I said, "eat. Enjoy the wine. Just remember who poured it."
And with that being said, I turned and headed out, Elias followed.
We left behind the flickering candleligh
t and the hushed breathing of men who now feared their queen. Just as they should.