The Queen of the World -Chapter 1

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The pounding of waves was a constant background noise on the small island, set in a truly inhospitible natural harbour.

Like every other morning since her exile began, it was also the melody the slowly dragged Alexandra from her slumber into the grey light of pre-dawn. Mindful of the thin wall that separated her from what remained of her family, Alexandra threw off the blankets and dressed quietly in the dim light, before turning to gently shake the slightly smaller form coccooned in the blankets.

Sayfiya grumbled sleepily and rolled over, snuggling deeper under the covers. “I will stab you and not even feel bad about it.”

For most people, such a threat from one of the world’s most successful assassins would send them scrambling for the door. Alexandra knew her lover well enough to tell the difference. “You were the one who said you wanted to watch the sunrise, and vet Pelegia’s contact before you let them near me."

One eye opened, glaring sleepily at Alexandra’s softly amused smile, before Sayfiya surrendered to the inevitable. “Damned by my own words. I’m awake, I promise...”

Alexandra stroked her hair gently. “I’ll get breakfast started. Don’t be too long.”

Only a year ago, breakfast would have consisted of at least six different options, shared between Alexandra, her sister Thalia and sister-in-law Agathe, her husband and son, and Sayfiya as they prepared for the coming day.

Now, breakfast was a simple meal of grains left to soak in water overnight, with a hint of spices and fruit for flavour. Lighting the hearthfire from a coal borrowed from the eternal flame of Hesta, goddess of the home and family, Alexandra hung the pot, giving thanks for her the first half of her life in her father’s army camp. She’d still had attendants, but during busy periods or in the aftermath of battle, everyone had to pitch in to some extent.

That had resulted in picking up some basic life skills, if not to the extent that other women grew up learning. Had she been raised a pampered princess all her life, Alexandra would have been utterly useless in this place.

Well, more useless than she already felt, anyway. She hadn’t been able to save her husband, or stop Thalia and Agathe from sacrificing themselves to save her, and she’d utterly failed in preventing the coup that had sent her into exile in the first place.

Perhaps the last had involved some level of personal choice. A civil war would have devastated her empire and cost far too many lives, mercenary strike forces against a diminished army and a population that had enjoyed years of peace. A fragile peace built on agreements and alliances rather than bloody conquest, but peace nonetheless.

Besides, rebellions took time and resources to build. Time that Alexandra hadn’t possessed when the coup was announced, and resources that she was working on regaining access to. The loss of so many of her remaining family hadn’t helped, either.

Alexandra wasn’t a stranger to the necessity of shelving grief until she had time to deal with it, but the losses still cut deep. Ramessu had been a close and lifelong friend, even if they’d never loved each other romantically. Thalia and Agathe had been fixtures of her life for as long as Alexandra could remember, a steady and constant presence in a world that was constantly changing. The thought of one day being without them had never even crossed her mind.

Even if she only admitted it to herself, Alexandra had needed time to mourn before she could commit herself to the task of re-gaining her throne.

Part of Alexandra wondered, as she stirred the pot, if she might not be happier on this island, however remote it was, surrounded by loved ones and far away from politics and people trying to kill her. To rule was a heavier burdan than most gave it credit for, every decision needing to be carefully weighed for who and how it would impact, and how those impacts could be mitigated for the least harm. In a palace, Alexandra could never be seen as less than perfect, outside of the small circle of those she trusted with her life, and even then, she had to set a good example. Without her handmaidens, her sisters in all ways that mattered, Alexandra would have run mad long ago.

But that was a dream.

As long as Alexandra lived, as long as Milche existed as a potential blood-heir to Dorion and the Alexandrian Empire, their enemies could not afford to leave them alone. Duty weighed heavy upon her, but so did the desire to safeguard her family and her people.

There could be no question that Dorion was worse off under Uncle Kerdos and his puppeteer council. As much as she loved him, her father’s brother had all the higher reasoning of a child, and while a different council could have compensated for his lack, the one he had was too busy grappling each other for power to do more than a mediocre job of ruling. Oh, the everyday tasks of running things that could be handed off to competent local governors or scribes, those were continuing as normal, but little problems were piling up, and would soon escalate to bigger problems.

Discontented grumblings had reached even to Alexandra’s remote island, no mean feat, and according to reports send back by Sayfiya’s students, were only growing louder. Alexandra hoped that the traitorous councillors found the frequent assassination attempts as irksome and time-consuming as she had. Speaking of whom...

Alexandra smiled as strong arms slid around her from behind. “I still say that you should just let me send my students after them.”

The possibility of ordering the entire council assassinated was a very tempting thought that Alexandra tried not to dwell upon more than she could help. She had been wracked with nightmares after ordering Roshanna and Alexis’s deaths, even though they were the ones who had made it a choice between her or them. Their deaths had been a necessity, but that didn't stop Alexandra from regretting them.

To have power over life or death was a heavy burden, as it should be, and it weighed enough during routine matters like sentencing a criminal to death or sending the army to help villages affected by flooding or mudslides, or to hunt down bandits, knowing that some of them might not return.

Alexandra never wanted to become someone who solved all of her problems with murder.

She covered Sayfiya’s hands with one of her own. “I’m playing the long game, my heart. That requires that we have some vaguely competent people left alive to keep the place running by the time we return.”

The patter of small feet put an end to that kind of conversation as Milche came into view, wrapping his arms around their legs. “Are we going somewhere?”

Pelagia’s contact would be bearing messages from those kings and princes who had signed treaties of friendship and aid with Alexandra. More importantly, even setting aside the ones that Alexandra viewed as genuine friends, many of those rulers or future rulers were married to Alexandra’s former handmaidens, who kept in steady contact with carefully-coded information about what was really going on beneath the pretty words of political discource. One way or another, Alexandra would soon have knowledge of who her allies were... and were not.

She smiled down at her son, too young to know the weight of the dynasty that would some day fall on his shoulders. “Not yet, my dear, but soon.”

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