“Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

I stare up from beneath my lashes at the man in front of me. Even on my knees, he barely stands taller. I let him feel every modicum of my disdain, my lack of fear in his paltry presence.

I smile sweetly up at him as I say, “Please go fuck yourself.”

His face mottles a deep purplish red; a man who clearly believed a woman’s best feature was her demure servitude of the men in her life, Sir Edgonton didn’t seem to appreciate my lack of deference.

“Guards. Bring her to the dungeon.”

The guards handled me with all the grace of a frenzied animal. Their grubby hands grabbed me roughly, relishing in my pain. I refused to give them the satisfaction of a cry.

"Enjoy, dearie," the largest guard drawled at me, as they forced me into the straw-lined cell. I could hear their echoing laughs as they strode back up the steps, leaving me alone in my new lodgings. Turning slowly on the spot, I took in the small cot, with it's moth eaten blankets and singular pillow, the pail in the far corner for uses I decided not to think about until I absolutely had to.

Sighing, I flung myself down on the cot, letting myself give in to a few moments of self-wallowing pity. I let my eyes flutter shut, and found myself dreaming instantly of several days before the shit show I currently found myself in.

***

"What shall we do, your grace?" Benoit had served me since I was a young girl, and his council was one I relied on heavily. But in the end, these decisions were mine, and mine alone.

"Move the troops out east," I pointed on the map, moving the small figurines around where I envisioned them. "We'll circle up behind and attack from there."

Benoit nodded sagely, rolled the map up, and left the throne room with a succinct bow, presumably off to execute my wishes. The rest of my war council followed quickly, their own bows more flourished, theatrical; peacocks preening before their peers.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to hold the migraine building in my temples at bay. Hopefully only a few more days of this, and I could refocus my attention on the trade and education reforms Benoit and I had been trying to push through before the rebellion had begun.

I should be more offended, I found myself thinking; the rebellion's entire basis was that I was unfit to rule, after all. The logic and supporting facts for this crusade were, in no particular order: I was a girl. I was only 25. I was female. I had no experience ruling. I wasn't a man. And several more creative iterations to say, in essence, I could not rule because I didn't have a dick.

That was all.

The nobles at the head of it had even presented the idea to me as if it would be a special treat. "You can even still be queen, if you wish," Sir Edgonton had said. "You'll marry the next king, and that would of course mean you would be queen again, as well as giving some credibility to the new claim. This would allow you to have more time to focus on your charities and other pasttimes."

Credibility, because the claim was entirely baseless, and they knew it. I had told them in no uncertain terms that I had no intention of relinquishing my crown, and though they had pouted and fussed, I had not expected it to escalate to this degree.

My first mistake had not been arresting them then and there for treason.

My second mistake was underestimating them.

Three days later, and their surprise attack in the dead of night had left thousands dead. Innocent villages, burned to the ground. Their own countrymen, slaughtered at their hand. And I, captured by the very people who had plotted and schemed and murdered to take my crown.