Lowie told me to kill my husband.
Not directly. Not with her words either. But I knew that she believed I would be better off with him dead.
I had thought of it too.
Once.
But that would never happen again.
I loved Haron, and that would never change.
...right?
Especially not after I have been to the dungeon. Not after what had happened between us.
What I have allowed to happen.
… right?
(Diary Entry.)
______________________
______________________
BEFORE ENTRY
The trumpet boomed throughout the night.
Ismena froze and her handmaidens stopped painting her nails, as the sound dragged in the air, till it faded.
Still.
Everyone stayed still.
Then the trumpets boomed again. This time, Ismena jumped off her bed, rushed to the balcony and swiped aside the curtains with frantic hands.
In the distance, there were torches- the fire swaying to the rhythm of the wind. The chants of warriors returning from battle filled the air.
Bold. Loud. Victorious.
The strength of their boots against the ground made it tremble, the clanking of their weapons consumed the music of the wind.
Ismena gulped, her heart turning cold.
"Your Majesty, the King has returned!" A guard announced to her breathlessly as he rushed in, just as her husband's face came into view.
Tall and commanding in his iron armour, with his golden crown upon his head, and his red cloak behind him. He was seated upon the black stallion of war and held his sword, stained with blood, high in the air.
Of course, he would come back alive. Why did she think it would be different this time? Why did she think that this time a night creature would finally finish him?
Her breath hitched as his gaze found her, right there on that balcony, looking down at him. Every part of her went still. Her grip around the iron railings tightened so much that her hands went numb.
He pulled the reins of his horse and stopped. The warriors behind him follow suit. Then, without looking away from her, he got off his horse and extended his hand to the side.
A captive was pushed roughly into his grasp.
"Please! Spare me!" Desperation, dread, chains clanking in the air and a tongue struggling with a foreign language. "I am the only one my daughter has—"
SLASH!
The King's sword came down in a single brutal motion.
The captive's head rolled, his blood splashing on the cobblestone and the King's armour.
Something in Ismena flinched, but externally, she remained stoic.
The King raised his sword in the air again, the blade now dripping with fresh blood, his gaze never leaving hers.
Ismena allowed a smile to play on her lips, as she pulled her numb hands away from the railings. She reached into the basket that her handmaiden held out to her, grabbed a handful of flowers and threw them into the air, allowing them to rain down on the warriors, her husband… the blood.
It was only then that he smiled, turned to his warriors and declared a victorious chant.
"VICTORY TO RAGMA!"
"VICTORY TO RAGMA!!!" They chanted back, their voices consuming the air with thick baritones.
With the smile still on her lips, Ismena turned back to her room, the happiness vanishing once the curtains were down again.
Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks but she gritted her teeth, dashed orders to her handmaidens and hurried to the bathing chamber instead. Stripped off her dress and sank into the warm, bath basin.
He was back. He was alive. As usual.
But something about this time felt… wrong.
Strange.
She could just feel it.
By the Sun goddess, would it have been better if he had died?