Chapter Text
She conquered the kingdom with minimal bloodshed, no civilians and certainly no children.
It happened on a night that began like any other, quiet until the charging of knights and horses created the unignorable cacophony of battle. Though the shock came not when the battle started, but when it ended. When all was said and done, it was expected for friends to have been lost in the chaos, fires started for the sake of strategy that only killed innocents. Yet the only bodies to be found were of armored warriors, and most outside the protected halls of the inner court.
The only exceptions were the previous King and his nobles. They were not spared.
The next morning, Atlas could trace the long line of dried blood from the throne, through the hall, across the courtyard, and outside the gate. It was clear the old King had gone kicking and screaming. Perhaps she had dragged him by the hair like he once did a young girl on the way to his chambers, or perhaps he had been cut gravely enough that it was a different kind of agony.
Whichever way, cowards and rapists always got their comeuppance, Atlas supposed.
Atlas was also, privately, quite sure the only reason their new Lord Queen did not put the King's head on a spike was to not scare the poor, delicate concubines like him. As much as he may have liked to see the old King humiliated.
The only real trouble came later. After the banners of House Cliffgate rose, it did not take long for Atlas and the other concubines to notice the lack of attention their Lord Queen gave them. The utter lack. Not one visit in months. Food, shelter, and guards provided, as is traditional, but nothing else. They were not stopped from roaming the palace grounds, nor were they given a strict curfew or rules outside of what was proprietary. Atlas could not make sense of it. The old King had enjoyed a diverse selection of people, with a number of men like Atlas in between the myriad of women and others; using some as playthings, some as prizes, and others as worse. She had her pick of the litter if she wanted it – or she could even have new ones if she wished. She could, if she wanted, have chopped all their heads off for the crime of having slept with the previous King.
But their new Queen did not so much as look at even a single one of them. She did not claim new concubines either. She did not touch a hair on anyone's head.
It did not take long for Atlas to understand.
The halls were quiet, usual for this hour, the silence broken only by the gentle laughs of the group of fellow concubines Atlas walked with. The castle grounds were beautiful this time of year, and they had all decided that while their Queen was out on campaign, it was safe to wander. They hadn't had the opportunity or bravery to do it in some time.
However, the giggles and chatter paused abruptly, then. They had reached the throne room, and as grand and imposing as it was, today it was empty save for one figure. No guards, no large entrance, and no expectations of a warm welcome, simply a lone woman on the throne.
Karlach Cliffgate was intimidatingly gorgeous while lounging with the blood of her felled enemies still dripping from her armor.
Her arrivals, still covered in viscera, happened somewhat often. Typically, the Lord Queen would call for a feast to celebrate her win. The announcement would be made loudly and reach all ends of the castle. She would walk in covered in the evidence of battle – not infrequently injured, and only accepting healing after eating at least one course of her meal – and she would have all her nobles in the court, including knights and concubines should they wish (though had yet to take her up on the offer) celebrate until morning. She was not normally without fanfare. Or quite so solemn. Or alone.
Yet still, it was moments like this where Atlas morbidly noticed the difference in color between the red of her tiefling skin and the red of blood. He could see the dark tint of the blood reflect brightly the sunlight in the room; while her skin, ever so slightly lighter in shade, reflected more softly despite the hard lines of her face. The hard lines which today were drawn tight, with shadows falling over her expression.
The way she wore the blood was so different from how the old King wore it – cocky and reveling in the disgust of others. It was different from how even Atlas wore it – his own skin contrasting with it nearly aggressively whenever any spilled, his pale half-elven complexion highlighting every drop. It did not help that his often pastel white clothes would also show the contrast brightly. They were chosen for him by the old King for that reason after all.
The current Queen, though, sat entirely still, staring downwards in thought while her arms and legs spread out across the plush seat. She looked like a statue most carefully crafted and painted to be viscerally real. Her armor, originally a bright gold in color and with detailed metalwork design all across it, was now dark and stained after so many battles. Today it seemed even darker.
Atlas didn't feel his own approach. By the time he stood in front of his Queen the other concubines were long gone, having run off likely in fear. Lord Queen Cliffgate, however, did not move. She also did not move when Atlas began to place a knee beside hers on the throne, straddling her lap easily despite his smaller frame.
“You should leave,” she grunted out simply, bluntly, without making eye contact.
“But I won't,” was Atlas’ reply.
He kept his voice soft, unsure if anything could trigger genuine anger. But, when she said nothing else, he raised a palm to cup her face.
The blood was surprisingly easy to wipe away. Atlas thought perhaps it was due to the composition of whichever enemy she'd slain, their blood staying liquid as a reaction to how she ran unnaturally hot (as Atlas now discovered it), keeping the gore on her fresh for longer. Perhaps it had been a fiend or other hellish creature. But he did not dwell on it long, tamping down his own curiosity for knowledge. Instead he focused on removing the specks and splotches carefully from her face and chest. After a moment he resorted to using his sleeves, his hands only managing to spread the red gore around after the first few wipes. His shirt was of course ruined immediately, the expensive textile work marred with viscera.
At least now they shared it, the blood and the guilt.
Atlas knew his Queen to be kind, although the way she expressed it was strange for a royal, it was not so strange for the average person. Taking a castle in one night without significant casualties is impressive. Ignoring concubines may be improper, but it is a much kinder alternative to searching for gratification from them while conquering. Throwing a banquet after a battle is a celebration of violence and death, undoubtedly, but it is also life-affirming and generous to those of their kingdom. Coming home from a battle should be a celebration. The fact that it was not now could only mean a few things, and Atlas was quite confident he knew which.
It was something akin to regret, or conscience - not failure -, after a long and necessary battle. Atlas was sure of it – and he was ready to take on that guilt as his own as well. His duties included comforting, after all, and if he decided to do it now between the red of unfamiliar blood, who was to stop him?
The Queen, perhaps.
Leaning forward, Atlas whispered to her, “thank you, for protecting us.”
The kiss he placed on her lips then was chaste, but the sound of it echoed softly through the hall. Her eyes raised finally to his, her expression smoother around the edges than before.
“You don't need to do this.”
Atlas smiled slightly at his Queen, the spark of something he maybe should not say shining in his eyes.
“If I needed to do this,” he began to reply, unable to help himself, “you would probably have to behead all the other concubines for the disrespect.”
Her face changed to shock. Nothing extreme, but for a concubine Atlas knew it was out of line at best. But before he could retract it and make it clear his badly placed humor, his Queen cracked a smile and a single laugh.
“I will not be doing that,” she said.
“Good,” Atlas replied simply, smiling in return.