The Emperor’s New Clothes

I burned you last night

            I turned you into ashes; I carried your still warm body into the large fireplace in the main hall and shoved your carcass in. The vomiting sound of gasoline being poured, the soft whisper of a match being struck, and the sound of air being consumed by the hungry fire. I put you on your side so I wouldn’t see your face, but the flame insisted. Your body tumbled belly up and there were your eyes.

            The eyes that used to be so gray, so striking. You would seduce me just by giving me a glance with your powerful gray eyes. Your pupils were always so soft, so comforting, yet boasted power, strength, told me that I wasn’t just another face in the crowd, I was not just another girl, I was somebody important.

            Your once gray eyes now reflected the yellow and red of your death. It had been so easy; all I had to do was wait until you and the servants went off to bed…yes, off to bed but never to return.

            I looked away, but not fast enough to watch your clothes burn off your body.

I had done that once. I had stripped you bare and made love to you next to this fireplace. I hoped that you would make me more than a concubine, that you would make me your wife. I gave myself to you and you gave nothing in return

Nothing, except for the child that resides in me.

I remember that the smell of your flesh was sickening; it smelled like a dead animal being roasted over the open flame. That’s how our ancestors cooked, with the animals that they killed with their own hands on long wooden splits over a fire. I’m sure they reveled in the smell. The smell of burning meat meant that they would live another day. The smell was primitive and savage. It couldn’t smell like you did.

            It smelled like death

You always had sweet smell on you, the finest colognes from exotic locations. You made sure to smell good for everybody, except for me. You didn’t care what I thought of your odor. I was the only one who noticed it.

            The drugged guards won’t remember anything; they’ll be killed, of course. Two trained guards for our child. An interesting wager, but you were always one to gamble against the odds weren’t you?

            The smoke would rise and the villagers would probably think it’s just another one of your roasts, staying up late, wine in your cup, me by your side.

I can still remember your faint stirrings when I approached your bed. You seemed to expect my coming. Even while you slept. You always knew when I came in the room, even with your back turned. You always seemed to have your backed turned, it wasn’t difficult to stick a knife between the shoulder blades.

            I could still hear you, even with my back turned. The sizzling of fat, like a plate to be served to the ancestors. You seemed to whisper to me, trying to reassure me that it was going to be alright, everything would turn out for the better

            Nobody would guess that I was so trained with a blade. How large was your library? Thousands of books, no doubt. One missing on the art of the blade wouldn’t be noticed

            I could feel the warmth on my back, the cold wind on my front. The biting air on my face fought with the heat on my legs. I shivered and sweated. A small wind blew through the cavern, rustling papers, and all was still.

That’s how it was usually, your hot breath against the back of my neck as you slept, the cold winter air that seemed to creep into the sheets and grasp me wherever you were not.

I walked down the hall. The only sound, my heartbeat. The only spirit, my own. There were faces everywhere. Art looking down on me, shaming me. No, living under you forever would be greater shame. There was nothing wrong with what I had done.

It works so well. I’ll blame the assassination on one of the ancient groups. He wasn’t a strong leader, and rebels assassinate weak rulers all the time. No blame would be passed to me. Why would the emperor’s personal lover kill the man who gave her such power?

I felt the flames die down behind me.

And my son would be the emperor’s only heir.

The face I used to love so dearly is now just mere black clinging to the sides of the chimney, the round face that smiled and danced and sentenced people to execution. The face that shook his head when I asked for marriage.  The face that the people looked up to. The face of a man who I used to love.