How Long Have You Known?
Today is the day. The day the crown will be lowered onto her head, where she will finally be Queen.
The dress she wears is a similar colour to the one she wore when she bumped into Zazzalil, only it’s longer and sparklier with no hood to hide under, and a cape dragging behind her. Her hair is too short to hold a fancy style, only the front is pulled back by two plaits, joining at the back for a half-up-half-down.
In less than an hour many people, not just from her Kingdom, will be gathered to watch the ceremony. The thought of it makes her excited, but also churns her stomach. They might hate her. They might throw her down and take over, like they did in her old Kingdom.
She can’t let that happen. She won’t let that happen.
Voices drift from the Throne Room into the church, Jemilla is starting to get a headache that isn’t from the perfume she was forced to put on. She’s heard terrible rumours about her, and as much as she loves to hear criticism, this felt a lot more personal. And as much as she tries to ignore it, when you are told something enough, you begin to believe it.
Even though she knows she will be a good leader, she still feels she needs to prove something, no thanks to Zazzalil’s behaviour back then.
The walking down the aisle is the easy bit. The choir sings a song she can’t understand, people stare her down, but it isn’t half as bad as she thought… Are they smiling at her?
She faces the priest, who nods. She looks down to the cushion where the crown jewels lay, bowing her head so he can slip the tiara onto her head. Once it’s secure, she lifts herself back up again, taking the jewels into her hands. She turns to the people who are now standing, lifting her chin confidently.
The priest starts reciting, Jemilla zones out for a moment, to think about the future. To reflect on her plans, goals… and Zazzalil. How she is going to deal with her. Firmer punishments, perhaps community service and a lot of it. Fining or throwing her in jail seems like a stretch, though.
Speaking of the devil, Jemilla catches Zazzalil’s eye. Without breaking contact she whispers something to Keeri and winks, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Jemilla feels a shiver run down her spine, and for someone usually so good at keeping her cool, her patience is draining.
“Queen Jemilla of Driftford.” The Priest concludes, the audience repeats it back with a round of applause. Jemilla can feel her heart swelling with happiness, the only thing that may throw her off are the slow claps and smirks of Zazzalil.
Parties are something Jemilla had missed once Molag died. There hadn’t been any since, no-one in the Palace ever offered throw one. Of course she had been to other Kingdom’s, and been to her fair share of Balls, danced with many people.
She stands at the top of the room, looking down on the bustling people, waltzing to the orchestra music. She wishes to be down there with them, but she has no-one to dance with. Well, no-one she wants to dance with. Plenty have offered, she turns them down, only one person subconsciously in mind.
Out of nowhere, the music stops. The room fills with loud voices, people parting down the centre. Right in the middle, stands Zazzalil. She walks down the ballroom, right on the path to a horrified Jemilla. What in god's name is she doing?
“Is this really the leader you want?” She starts, her words echoing off the tall walls. Jemilla can already feel panic crawling through her body, but she keeps a stoic face. “A leader who doesn’t do anything to make change?”
“Zazzalil…” Jemilla quivers, a sorry attempt to put a stop to this.
“Someone who… is afraid?”
“Zazzalil, I demand you to stop.” She raises her voice, striding forward.
“Afraid of conflict? Of a little fight?” Zazzalil smirks and tilts her head sassily. She is so cute. No! Focus!
“A fight? Is that what this is?” Her eyes fall on the belt around Zazzalil’s dress, the sword barely hidden. A sudden confidence surges through her bloodstream, her eyebrow raises. “Because we can fight, if that’s what you want.”
“Maybe I do. It’ll be like old times.” She says. “You know, where I used to beat you?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jemilla unclasps her cape, letting in fall to the floor, turning to the butler. “Fetch my sword.”
The room is eerily quiet, barely a whisper is heard. The butler returns quickly with the sword and hands it straight to Jemilla, who struts to Zazzalil, whose own sword is drawn. They stare each down, lunging in preparation. Jemilla strikes first.
The two immediately fall into rhythm, a dance they had perfected long ago. In which the only music they have is their weapons, clashing together deafeningly. Going back and forth, Jemilla can feel herself wearing out. Their fight is becoming one sided, and she can’t push away the feeling. Before she can register, she slips, letting out a yelp of pain as she hits the floor.
Zazzalil drops her arm to the side, dragging the blade along the floor. “You put up a good fight for a Princess.” She remarks.
Jemilla tucks her chin to her chest, blowing out her breath. She can’t win. She cannot win this, you have to keep going. Regrouping the strength she has left, she grips her sword tighter.
“I think you forget my mother was a war master.” Jemilla comments, gradually standing up. “And as much as I intend to keep peace, I think self defence is a good skill to have.”
Now it's Zazzalil’s turn to be shocked, Jemilla swinging at her, it’s a miracle she retaliates in time. Her mind is fogged by the past, and adrenaline pumps through her veins with every hit, rage for every time she was betrayed. With a grunt and a little force, Zazzalil is thrown to the floor, her sword knocked out of her hand. She is panting and flushed red from the exercise. It’s over, Jemilla won.
She holds her sword up to Zazzalil’s chest, however as she peers down, she spies something hanging from her neck. A gold chain, with a little golden heart. The same one she gave Zazzalil all those years ago. The anger clears her mind, allowing her true feelings to surface.
“You know, I don’t hate you.” Jemilla says, lowering her sword, holding out her free hand. Zazzalil warily takes it, hauling herself up. The intensity in their eyes matches the tension that surrounds them. “In fact… I’m in love with you.”
Don’t make me regret this.
“How long have you known?” She asks, her voice hushed, merely a whisper. They’re so close, their foreheads almost touch.
“I think,” Jemilla’s breath hitches, a smile making its way to her face. “I’ve always known.”
“Yeah?” She nods vigariously. “Me too,”
Jemilla would have burst into tears, instead pressing her lips to Zazzalil’s. The weapon is dropped to the floor with a crash, so that Jemilla can wrap her arms around her neck as Zazzalil slips her hands onto her waist. The room around them is forgotten, but it must be a strange sight to see, the queen and a commoner kissing in the middle of the ballroom.
“We should probably move,” Jemilla chuckles once she breaks away, Zazzalil beams. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the guests,”
“We can continue this later,” Zazzalil murmurs and Jemilla’s face burns red. Damn Zazz.
The rest of the party flies by and soon enough Jemilla is up in her bedroom, Zazzalil resting on her body, her head on her chest. Her weight is oddly grounding, a strange sense of protection. She isn’t in her dress anymore, wearing one of Jemilla’s nightgowns, a lot more comfortable. Jemilla twirls Zazzalil’s frizzy hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
“All these years of knowing you, and this is my first time up here.” Zazzalil comments, nestling further into Jemilla’s embrace.
“One of the very few rules I had, no guests allowed.” She replies with a snort. “But now I’m the Queen, and I make the rules.”
Zazzalil doesn’t respond, only a sigh followed by brief silence. “I, uh…. What was it like without me?”
“Lonely.” Jemilla says. “Really lonely. Like I was surrounded by people but no-one was quite the same.”
“Hmm, well now that you’ve got me, you’ll never be alone again.”
“Promise?” Jemilla tilts her head to look into Zazzalil’s eyes.
“Promise.”
Zazzalil kept her promise, and through both of their efforts, the Kingdom grew to become the most powerful in the land. They get married a few years later, adopting two children. With every new day, they wake up in each other's arms.
Jemilla’s never been happier.