Two years later

"Your Majesty," the sweep of his bow didn't hide the tremors running from his hair down to his boots.

A shame, Maya thought with a small sigh. He was almost handsome, with his deep brown eyes and rugged jawline. Cowardice was a poor look on anyone.

Today, the pool in the centre of the room reflected only clear blue skies and small wisps of white cloud, but sometimes Maya was certain she could still see a stubborn red tinge in the water's depths. A lingering reminder of the bloodbath that had secured their liberation. Since then, everything in the room had been scrubbed clean or replaced: the white marble was as unblemished as fresh fallen snow, the drapes concealed no marks of crimson in their emerald depths. She had made other improvements too, replacing her uncle's banners, brining in the assembly chairs and raising the throne onto a dais. She had turned the room into a theatre and centred herself on stage, the star of the show.

It was from the bottom of the dais that the almost-handsome messenger was trembling. Silently.

What was he waiting for? An invitation to complete the task he'd just been let into the room to carry out?

Maya rolled her eyes. "Speak. I don't have all day."

The trembling increased. "Your Majesty, I bring news from Whistledawn. The people are asking for longer to pay their taxes. The harvest has been poor. Many are-"

She cut him off with a lazy wave of her arm.

Maya leant towards him. "The people of Whistledawn are broke because they've squandered what little money they do have in the alehouses. The harvests are poor because they spend too long drinking ale and not enough time in their fields." She sat back with a sigh. "These things are not my fault."

There were murmurs from across the throne room. People fidgeted in their chairs, leant across rows to speak to their neighbours.

"But the rains - they washed away half of our-" This time the wave of her hand was anything but lazy; it was a sharp slice. The sort of movement that could remove heads from their bodies if she was wielding a sword. All sounds ceased.

Maya let the silence stretch for a moment, relishing the stillness of the room. She tapped her fingers against the arm of her golden throne.

"Am I to suppose these rains miraculously bypassed the neighbouring villages?" She raised an eyebrow, pleased now that she had endured having them plucked and shaped the previous evening. "For they have managed to raise their taxes."

"I... We... The people... They're dying."

"Because they didn't grow their own food." Maya was growing bored. "Those taxes are used for the benefit of the entire kingdom. Do the people of Whistledawn feel themselves above contribution to the central treasury? Do they not want the capital to provide soldiers to keep them safe from attack, or aid in times of need?"

"But this is a time of need!"

The messenger's outburst prompted gasps around the room. No one questioned the queen, and she was certainly never to be interrupted.

Maya took a deep breath. Her hands itched towards the pendant hung around her neck - the gliding star which guided her every choice - but she resisted. The appearance of strength was more important than strength itself.

"You are mistaken. This is a time of slovenliness. A time of greed. If Whistledawn do not pay the full price of their taxation this year, what do you think will happen the next? That they will turn gratitude into hard work to repay back what they owe? Or see it as an opportunity to slack off further. To spend even more time in alehouses and less time in the fields, knowing the crown will step in to relieve them of their burdens. And what would their neighbours think? They who have toiled to meet the tithe and pay their taxes? Would they continue to work as hard, or would they follow in Whistledawn's footsteps and take a break? Where would it stop?

"We have had peace in this kingdom for only two years. Before another two years have passed you would see us return to chaos. To lawlessness. To a realm where no one understands the value of work, and expects the crown to provide for them from some mythical money tree."

Maya paused to let her words sink in. She knew this could not be allowed to go unchallenged.

"Please, Your Majesty. We can pay half. We just need time to raise the rest. A few more months..."

"In the dead season when nothing grows and the frost sprites reclaim the farmland? I think that unlikely. You say you can only pay half? Perhaps I should allow you to leave with only half of your body. Perhaps then you would understand how meaningless a gesture half of anything truly is."

She didn't move, but the messenger crumpled before her as if she was already wielding the knife.

"Please!" he sobbed. His almost-handsome face now a mess of tears and snot. A sudden sour stench and a pale yellow puddle forming beneath him suggested his bladder had just given up. Maya's nose wrinkled. She hoped his bowels proved stronger. "Have mercy."

There was that word. The one that set off a tingling sensation all across Maya's body, as though electric shocks were being applied to her skin. Mercy. This was her uncle's doing. His curse from beyond the grave. He had come back to taunt her once more. To make her pay for his death, for meting out the punishment he had so justly deserved.

Who was this messenger to demand mercy from her, the bringer of justice, the star-born saviour of this realm? He had no idea what mercy looked like. What it took. What it cost.

She rose from her throne, her sable cloak rippling behind her. Her left hand smoothed the costly emerald silk of her dress, subtly stroking the ornate dagger concealed within the folds of her skirt. Mercy indeed.

At her movement two guards stepped forward from the wings. Sensing that he was surrounded, the man attempted to retreat. Pointless. The doors were shut, bolted, two giant guards on either side. He wouldn't get within an arms width of the bolt before they skewered him on the end of a spear. Perhaps he knew that. Perhaps he thought it would be a swifter death.

"You ask for mercy," Maya said, pretending not to notice his retreat. "I ask for the food and funds due to this realm. It is not a difficult request. Taxes haven't been raised since I took the throne."

"For which we thank you, gracious Majesty," a voice called out from the row of seats. Maya nodded in acknowledgement, trying not to betray her iteration at being interrupted. Why couldn't they stay quiet?

"It's not, therefore, as though this year's payment is unexpected, or unreasonable, wouldn't you agree?"

"But the floods..."

Maya felt her eyebrow twitch. It was time to wrap this up. "You say you can only pay half. I say a fifty percent payment can only be paid by a village half the size of Whistledawn." She paused, letting her words settle, allowing her audience to guess what she was going to do next.

"My esteemed guards will return with you to the village. They will take what grain and funds you have managed to produce. If it is only fifty percent of the tithe, as you suggest, I will show mercy." Another pause, this one accompanied by a small gasp from the audience.

"I will give you one lunar cycle to find the rest. When the new moon dawns, if Whistledawn has still paid only half of their allotted amount, then the villagers will have to reduce to the same percentage."

"Move?" The messenger stammered. "Leave our homes? Where would we go? You must know we can't find the foods or the funds in that time, especially if you take everything we have away first."

"Oh no. Not move. I won't have wastrels filling other, hardworking villages and towns across the kingdom. If you cannot contribute to this realm within the reasonable bounds expected of you, I will see to it that you cease to inhabit it at all."