[465] Seventh Queen- Prolouge

Hello! I'm new to writing in general. This is my first serious work. Looking for honest feedback, on prose, character depth, would you want to keep reading, blah blah, anything really. Also to note, this is a political fantasy with a littleee bit of romance. Small blurb for anyone interested:

“SHE IS THE ONLY QUEEN, THE LAST QUEEN.”

Everett has been exiled and sacrificed to The Great Forgotten God, during the 10th year of her reign as queen.

This is her story, and how she retrieves her throne from a wasted kingdom, not just by herself.

Contrary to popular belief, she is not the last queen.

* * *

It has been 5 days.

5 more days remain, and on the 10th day, Everett knows she will leave her damned bird cage.

Perhaps it is because of the golden tint. It is how the bars shine when Apollo graces the skies with his presence, that causes her to believe she is the queen. But a queen’s biggest strength is her people, and unfortunately for Everett, she finds that her power has been distinguished.

The bars clank with a ringing sound.

Ramon looks on towards the grey prison corridor. His spear, an enchanted spear, leans on the railing. Silver badges decorate his armour with pride. He is looking at her now, inadequate change in the expression he has sported in the past 5 days.

The expression is full of worried pity. The pity that one might have for a blood-related member in a distraught situation. Everett knows that she hates pity.

No other mortal stands beside. Of course, because all the guards have been executed. Executed and eliminated by her very own hands which are now locked together. The chains joining the cuffs on her hand shuffle all the while. Her dear brother shushes her with a face as if he is constipated, and then opts to briefly strike the spear on her calloused hands. The ebony-haired Everett is shocked. Her brother has changed.

The sound of boots resonates on the floor. A man. Everett can not see his face as much as she tries. Ramon walks away, towards the other end of her golden cage to converse with the guest.

The Queen listens from the shadows of imprisonment.

Whispers travel through hushed wind. Much to Everett’s disappointment, no words reach her ears. Her hand, again, goes around the rods tighter and tighter, her heart beats louder and louder.

Her brother walks backwards, until he comes into her line of vision. There is a stagger in his walk, a widening of his eyes.

Somehow, Everett knows what will come out of his mouth before he even says it. And when the words tumble out, they warp around The Queen, an easy shadow.

“The Executor is calling.”

* * *