Lydia bit her bottom lip, then inched forward, trying not to make it obvious that between her legs was throbbing with raw pain.
"Walk with me."
She said, and Wimma thought she had heard wrong.
"Walk with me; I have an explanation for what you have heard."
"Have you lost your mind?!
Wimma wanted to strangle this incompetent brat in front of her but held herself back by balling her hand into a fist.
She was rather calmer than expected, but that was a good thing.
"I did not betray you…us…our friendship. My voice will be heard, and so will whatever I have to say if we discuss it here, so walk with me."
She said, then stretched out one of her hands. Wimma gazed at it for a moment but didn't take it.
Lydia lowered her hand, and it fell limply to her side. She turned around and began to make her way through the halls to a more secluded place.
Lydia led the way to the tower ledge.
When she thought she had heard Wimma stop walking, she would pause and then turn around, only to see her glaring at her scornfully.
The tower ledge had narrow walkways at high elevations. Some parts, especially less-fortified areas, were exposed to the open air.
Without any railing, running along a very high wall.
When Lydia reached the tower ledge, she paused, then gazed at the view from here.
"What a lovely view."
She said with a weary smile.
"Back at the village in Nehoviah, my children used to climb mountains, as high as this place…." She laughed painfully.
"I would struggle to drag them down, but children always being children, they would run back up, laughing and giggling."
Wimma suddenly stood beside her, her hands crossed behind her back.
"And my husband…"
Lydia continued with tears clouding her vision.
"He was a good man."
She added before turning to face Wimma.
"Your Grace, you have no idea what it feels like to go on living with the thought that I may never see my family again.
You don't know what it is to yearn for the touch of one's dead husband, crying myself to sleep every night…."
"Is that why you fucked my husband?"
Wimma wasn't a fool; all these delusional words Lydia had been saying meant nothing to her, and Lydia understood that.
"You have to understand that I meant no harm; his highness summoned me, and I…"
Slam!
The sound of the slap echoed through the battlement terrace, sharp and startling against the open air.
Lydia wore a deadly countenance. Her hand trembled against her now-swollen cheek as she slowly tilted her head to gaze at the queen.
"You disgust me," Wimma spat, each word trembling with venom.
"You were brought into this house as nothing more than a mere commoner seeking shelter, and yet you dare chase after my husband?"
Her voice cracked, then she took a step closer, the hem of her embroidered gown sweeping across the stone floor.
"Answer me," she hissed.
"What gave you the audacity? Who told you my kindness was permission?"
Her eyes narrowed, burning with a fierce, wounded pride as she waited for an excuse, any excuse, to unleash even more rage.
"Permission?"
Lydia lets out a low, scornful laugh as the delicate mask she had worn for months slipped from her face.
The softness vanished, replaced by something cold, something brazen.
Wimma's brows snapped together, her fury pausing for a heartbeat as she registered the change.
"You want permission?" Lydia asked repeatedly, stepping forward just slightly, her chin lifting. "Huh?"
Her eyes finally rose to meet Wimma.
Wimma stiffened.
"Answer me, Wimma!
"Watch your tongue."
Wimma snapped.
"I have been watching my tongue!"
Lydia shot back, the words bursting out like a dam finally breaking. "
"You've been too indulged in yourself to ever notice!"
"You think it's that easy?"
She went on, her chest heaving, her eyes no longer meek but burning.
"Smiling for you. Bowing for you. Pretending I care the slightest bit about your feelings."
She lets out an amused laugh.
"Well, I don't."
Wimma inched closer, so close Lydia could feel the faint warmth of her breath against her cheek.
"I will give you a chance to right your wrongs," she whispered, her voice soft but sharpened like a blade.
"You will leave this castle before dawn… and you will never show your face here again."
Lydia snorted, then raised her gaze, her penetrative eyes scrutinizing the depth of Wimma's eyes.
Wimma was expecting a plea, perhaps a final apology.
Instead, Lydia's whisper slid in like ice.
"But I have already given you a chance… to say your last prayers."
Wimma's lips parted to speak, but before she could say a word.
Lydia's fingers shot out, and she clamped her hand around Wimma's wrist, nails digging into her soft flesh. Her breath hitched.
Wimma's eyes snapped down to the hand gripping her.
"W…what are you…"
Lydia didn't let her finish.
With a sharp gasp and a burst of strength born from rage and desperation, she yanked her forward, twisting her arm.
Wimma tumbled, her balance breaking, feet skidding against the slick stone.
"Let go!" She shrieked, clawing at Lydia's hand. She tugged and pulled, but her frail body was no match for Lydia's strength.
"Did you know I had to watch my husband die?"
Lydia breathed against her ears; Wimma was quivering, her eyes dropped down, and what she saw was an abyss of death staring back at her.
"Your husband, the king, had his men kill my husband before my very eyes! I watched him die!
"I am sorry."
Wimma said with a shaky voice, fear clouding her eyes.
Lydia broke down, sobbing softly, her grip loosened on Wimma's wrist; this was an opportunity…
Gathering all her strength, Wimma pulled and yanked her wrist, trying to get it out of Lydia's grip, but that was a mistake.
Lydia had seen it coming; in fact, she had known that Wimma didn't mean the words she had just said—she wasn't sorry.
Drawing in a trembling breath, she planted her hand on Wimma's back, and with one violent motion, pushed her over the edge of the open tower ledge.
Wimma's eyes went wide, her body vanishing into the cold, terrifying drop below.
Suddenly she lost her voice; she couldn't scream. Why should she?
No one was coming to her aid; this was how she was going to die, pushed down by a woman who was under her mercy.
As she fell, suddenly the world became nothing but rushing wind and the thunder of her own heartbeat.
The air roared behind her, tearing at her gown and whipping her hair wildly around her face.
Her hands shot out instinctively, fingers spread wide as though she could grasp the empty sky itself.
Her mouth opened in a soundless cry, the force of the fall stealing the breath from her lungs.
The stone walls of the castle blurred past her periphery, shadows and torchlight stretching into streaks as she dropped.
Her eyes, wide with horror, reflected the dark arc of the terrace high above where Lydia stood, glancing down at her with a wicked smirk.
They say that before you die, your life flashes before your very eyes.
Well, they couldn't have said it better.
As Wimma fell, the wind screaming past her ears, her eyes remained wide open, frozen in a mixture of terror and disbelief.
But within her mind, time slowed into something strange… something almost gentle.
In the span of mere seconds, endless images erupted behind her gaze.
A blur of childhood memories: her mother's voice singing in the old garden, the scent of lavender drifting in the air.
Her first coronation gown, heavy and glittering under the chandelier; her wedding night; her moans echoed in her mind.
The faces of nobles who bowed, smiled, and schemed.
The betrayal of friends.
The triumphs she claimed, the mistakes she hid.
The orders she gave without remorse, and finally her husband's betrayal.
The fall seemed to tear open every locked door in her memory, spilling them into the empty air with her.
Each image struck her harder than the wind, rushing in rapid, unstoppable bursts.
She saw everything she had been.
Everything she wished she hadn't done.
Everything she never had the chance to change.
All of it was blazing through her mind as she plummeted down.
When gravity finally seized her fully, the world stopped pretending to be slow.
In a single, brutal heartbeat, her body crashed onto the ground, the fall ending with a dull, jarring thud that echoed through the courtyard below.
Her head struck the gravel first, stones skittering and snapping beneath the force, scattering outward, her skull cracking.
A thin cloud of dust puffed up around her like a final shroud.
Her body followed, collapsing in an awkward, lifeless sprawl, her gown billowing for a moment before settling over the dirt and stone.
Beneath her head, blood began to trickle down, slowly at first, then it began to gush out, pooling on the ground.
Her eyes weren't closed.
They stared upward wide open, unblinking, those crystal-blue irises catching the faint shimmer of the moonlight.
She died with her eyes open.
Those eyes, once sharp enough to command a kingdom, now reflected nothing but the empty night sky.