Evangeline stared into Silver's calm, enigmatic features—a jarring contrast to his usual manic chaos. The weight of his words hung in the air, festering in a way that stoked her mounting fury. She snapped, turning toward the handmaidens with a voice like a whip.
"Get out. All of you. Now! I don't want to see a single one of your pathetic faces."
Silver watched her outburst in silence. He knew he had struck a nerve, and he had absolutely no intention of withdrawing the barb.
The handmaidens moved in a panicked, synchronized rhythm, descending the stone stairs with their apples still precariously balanced. All of them executed the retreat perfectly except for the youngest—a clumsy novice still learning the lethal choreography of survival.
Her foot caught the hem of her oversized gown, and she stumbled. The bright red apple rolled from her head, bouncing across the stone until it came to a rest against Evangeline's boot. It was, quite literally, the worst possible moment for a mistake.
The girl collapsed to her knees instantly, tears carving tracks through the fruit juice on her pale face. "Please! Mercy, Your Majesty! I tripped... my dress... it caught under my foot!"
Evangeline stared down at the vibrant red fruit for several agonizing seconds. The silence that followed was heavier than a death warrant. She began to walk toward the girl, her footsteps slow and rhythmic.
"You say it was your dress that brought you down?" Evangeline asked, her voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration.
The girl whispered, her eyes glued to the Queen's boots as if they were the only solid thing in a collapsing world. "Yes... yes, my Lady."
"Look at me," Evangeline commanded.
"How... how could I dare, Your Majesty?" the girl stammered, her voice a thin thread of terror.
"I said, *look at me*."
The girl lifted her head, meeting a gaze as desolate and frigid as an ice-choked wasteland. Evangeline's face remained a masterpiece of cruel composure.
"Fetch me a bow," she ordered.
The girl froze, her limbs turning to lead, but fear forced her muscles to move against her will. She retrieved a bow, her hands shaking so violently the wood rattled, and placed it into the Queen's waiting palm. Evangeline reached out with her free hand, bunching the fabric of the girl's collar into a tight, suffocating fist while her other hand gripped a fresh, crimson-tipped arrow.
"If this garment is what hinders you," the Queen hissed, her voice a jagged blade of spite, "then I shall ensure you never trip again. Do not fret. Take it off."
The girl's eyes widened, a frantic, animalistic panic taking hold. "W-what?"
Evangeline tightened her grip until the seams of the dress groaned and shrieked. "Take off the dress. Unless, of course, you'd prefer I remove your head instead? Choose. Quickly."
With trembling, clumsy fingers, the girl began to unlace her bodice, the fabric sliding to the stone floor like a discarded skin.
She stood there shivering in a thin, ragged chemise—a pathetic scrap of linen that offered neither warmth against the biting wind nor a shred of dignity. It was a sight to wring pity from a stone, but the Queen's heart remained a void. Evangeline stepped forward, placing the fallen apple back atop the girl's head with a motherly smile that made the skin crawl.
"You look much lovelier now."
The Queen retreated several paces, notched a crimson arrow, and let fly. The shot was a masterpiece of cold-blooded artistry. The apple exploded into a thousand bloody shards, spraying sweet, sticky pulp across the girl's trembling shoulders and mixing with the tears that streamed down her face in a silent, unending torrent.
Evangeline turned to Silver, her eyes shimmering with a dark, predatory pride. "Did you see that, Silver? I believe that was my finest shot of the day."
But to her astonishment, when she turned to him, Silver's face was averted. That permanent, hysterical grin—the very hallmark of his madness—had vanished, replaced by a grim, taut line as he stared into the distance.
"No," he answered, his voice uncharacteristically flat. "I didn't see it. Though I am certain it was magnificent, coming from your hand, my Queen."
Evangeline's smile died instantly. Her tone sharpened, cutting through the air like a lash. "And why did you choose to deny yourself the sight of my skill?"
He kept his gaze anchored to the bleeding horizon, a deliberate refusal to look at the girl shivering in her undergarments. "Well..."
"Speak," she commanded.
"Well... it has never been a preference of mine to look upon a woman stripped of her modesty," he replied, his eyes still refusing to meet hers. "If I may be so bold as to make a request, Your Majesty... perhaps you could find it in your grace to dismiss her? Please, my Queen."
With a flick of her hand that radiated cold impatience, Evangeline signaled the girl to go. The maid didn't wait; she scrambled away, clutching her torn gown to her chest in a desperate, pathetic attempt to shield herself as she fled into the sanctuary of the stone corridors.
"You can look now," Evangeline said, her voice dripping with acid. "She's gone."
Silver turned back toward her, but he found the Queen's eyes narrowed into lethal slits. She began to circle him, her gaze sweeping from the bells on his cap down to the tips of his curled boots with a suspicious, piercing scrutiny that felt like a dissection.
Silver asked, reclaiming a shred of his bravado with a nervous, jagged laugh, "What is the meaning of this look, Your Majesty? Is there a problem with the scenery?"
"I have no problem, as far as I am aware," she replied, her voice hauntingly neutral.
Silver arched a brow, a scoff escaping him. "Then the problem lies with me?"
She stopped directly in front of him, her voice dropping to a harsh, intrusive whisper. "Silver... is there any chance that you are... a lover of men?"
Silver froze. His eyes bulged in stark, white-lashed disbelief. "Huh? *What?*" The laugh died in his throat, replaced by an expression of raw, absolute shock. "Your Majesty! Whatever could have possessed you to ask such a bizarre, twisted question?"
"Don't answer a question with a question," she hissed, her eyes narrowing as she hunted for a flinch.
"Of course I'm not!" he cried out, his voice echoing against the high ramparts. "What is wrong with that strange head of yours?"
"If you scream at me one more time," she muttered, her hand hovering near her quiver, "I will drive every remaining arrow into your gullet."
Silver bowed instantly, a frantic apology. "My apologies, Your Majesty."
She returned to her interrogation, leaning in closer. "Well, why did you refuse to look at the maid then? I have heard that men find enjoyment in such... sights. So... explain it to me. Why did you turn your head?"
"Sights?"
Silver exploded into a fit of raucous, genuine laughter. "I have no idea what filth is being whispered into your ears, but I assure you, Your Majesty, I am a devoted admirer of the female form. In fact, had I been born a woman, I would have fallen in love with a woman—why on earth would I fall for a man when all the beauty in this wretched world is represented by women?"
Evangeline sighed, though the jagged shards of her suspicion hadn't entirely dissolved. "Fine, fine. I'm convinced. But that still doesn't explain why you didn't cast even a fleeting glance her way."
Silver reached out, snatching her hand with a flourish of practiced bravado, and pressed a lingering, theatrical kiss to her knuckles. "Being in the presence of my radiant Queen makes every other woman in existence look like a common pebble in my sight."
"It seems you've mastered the art of wordplay as thoroughly as your acrobatics," she remarked dryly.
"I am always thus, my Queen," he replied, his voice dropping an octave. "But do you know who is different today?"
"Who?"
"You."
"Me?"
Silver's expression sharpened. "You were the very portrait of mercy today, it seems. The maid's head remains quite firmly attached to her shoulders."
A sharp, arrogant smile cut across her lips. "I found myself in a forgiving mood." She added, with a chilling indifference, "I simply chose the path of kindness."
"Kindness," he repeated, the word tasting of pure, unadulterated sarcasm. "Truly."
She caught the jagged edge in his voice, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Do you dare to question my judgment?"
"Never, Your Majesty," he answered, dropping into a deep, sweeping bow while the ghost of a mocking smile danced across his face. "How could I ever be so bold?"
She lunged forward, closing the distance until she was inches from him. She stared into him with a fixity so intense it withered his grin, forcing his mask of madness to crumble into a face of cold, stark sobriety.
She slammed her palm against his chest and began to shove. Silver offered no resistance; he kept his eyes locked onto hers, retreating with a playful, rhythmic gait until his heels brushed the jagged edge of the stone rampart.
Behind him lay nothing but the abyssal maw of the night, filled with the whistling teeth of the wind.
"Tell me, fool," she whispered, searching his gaze for a flicker of hesitation. "Do you trust me?"
"More than anything else in this rotting world, my Queen," he answered, his voice stripped of its usual mockery, steady and hollow.
She wanted to gut that loyalty—to see if the unwavering devotion he had carried for her in the past was still a roaring fire or merely cold ash. She spoke with a terrifying, absolute confidence. "Then prove it. Jump. Fling yourself from this roof, and I shall come to save you. I am not commanding you; the choice is yours. Jump, or stay."
The idea of Evangeline saving anyone was a joke so dark it was almost impossible to swallow. She didn't even trust herself.
Silver didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink. "Jump? Well... as you wish, my Queen."
He stepped onto the precipice, balancing for a fleeting, ethereal second like a bird on a wire, then let his body tip backward into the void. "I shall be waiting, Your Majesty!"
She watched him plummet, the cold smile on her lips widening as she noted the total absence of terror in his eyes. He fell as if his life were a worthless coin he was delighted to gamble for her amusement. On the contrary, he threw a mocking grin back at her as his cap flew off into the dark and the wind tore through his long, loose hair, his silhouette swallowed by the screaming air.