Bloodied Crown
The dawn crested over the spires of the castle, casting light in the king's quarters. His newly-wed queen was already out of bed, washed, and dressed, all on her own. Her gown was embellished with black jewels at her bosom and at the bottom of her gown. The black jewels faded up into a crystalline white, and on her feet she wore tasteful heels that glittered much like the jewels on her dress and wrapped around her feet in just the right way. Carefully, she slid her black dagger between her breasts into their hand-sewn pocket in her corset.
"Dearest, what have you to do today that makes you leave the bed," the king inquired, still foggy with sleep. Without a word she turned from the mirror to her husband, her gray eyes piercing against her milky skin, now visible as her dark hair was pulled back in intricate braids her mother had taught her when she was little. She walked towards him steadily, her muscular figure held tall with poise.
Gently, she sat beside him on the bed they'd shared the night before, and caressed his face with her chilled hand. He shivered, entranced by his wife. His gaze was fixated on her eyes. Using this distraction, she carefully slid her dagger from her bosom, and dropped it beneath his throat.
"Dearest, your hands are like ice."
"That is not my hand."
Blood coiled down her hand like a snake, the red contrasting on her skin like blood in snow.
