Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #11 February 2015 | Page 40

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not.” She watched him squirm with
discomfort.
Frisa jumped in to save him. “I hope that prince Christopher is well. Is he ready to succeed his father?”
He had, unintentionally, pushed her button. The rage
built inside her again. She jumped to her feet and
vented her anger. The servants, returning with silver
trays of tea and assorted biscuits, felt her wrath. The air
in the room shimmered with the waves of hatred that
flowed from her. The trays went flying and the servants screamed as they were scalded by the hot tea and
assaulted by the black fury that tore at their bodies and
lashed at their minds. The raven screamed and the cat
awoke with a start and shrieked as its fur stood erect.
The wizards gripped their staffs and muttered words
of magic so that the waves dissipated before they hit
them.
Finally, the shimmering subsided and the Queen sat
down. The servants crawled off and closed the doors
on the wreckage. Freda looked at the wizards. “Prince
Paul is very well. Thank you for asking.” She hoped that
they hadn’t observed her black form while the rage was
upon her.
Frisa swallowed hard. “Perhaps we can forego tea, your
Majesty, and get right to business?”
“Perhaps that would be best.” Her honey voice was
back.
“There are matters afoot in the multiverse that threaten
us all,” Frisa began.
She cut him off. “I care noth [