Twa From A Tree: III: Queen O' Fairies

"Please, Your Majesty, I didn't do it, I swear!"

"Tell that to the headsman. Take him away!"

The guards dragged Sir Vindalf, Elfin Knight and devout member of the Knights Llafnteg, out of the throne room; and out of the Royal Palace, in the direction of the City Square, and Queen Mab smiled with sadistic glee as she thought of how slow and painful his death would be.

She couldn't quite remember why in Faerieland she'd had him sentenced to death, but she was content that she'd ordered it. He likely deserved it anyway. She'd already had multiple Knights Llafnteg executed, for conspiracy against her, disobedience, questioning her authority, and last, and worst of all; insulting her beauty. All of these accusations, she thought, were, and are, perfectly reasonable and justified. All that I say is, naturally, true. If they cannot stand the truth, then they must go.

She wondered how the slaves down in the corn fields were doing, and whether or not the wooden eyes she'd given them worked. You never could tell with humans. She'd been told that one thousand more babies had been stolen, and replaced with changelings. Humans were so easily used. Put on a pretty face for them, and promise them wealth, health, happiness, and love, and you could bend them any way you wanted. She loved humans so much.

Elves love humans. That is, they love them like how a starving man loves a succulent meal. That humans fell so easily for glamour Mab found quite amusing. That humans loved elves and wanted them to uplift them and improve their lives she found endlessly funny, as, to her, humans loving elves and seeking uplifted lives was rather like geese loving humans and actively seeking to be slaughtered, roasted, and eaten on Christmas Day.

Each of the most powerful of elves considers him or herself to be a miniature god of sorts, which was why Mab knew herself to be the infallible ruler of Faerieland, whose thoughts, feelings, and opinions were ironclad, and hence immutable and unquestionable.

Recalling what she'd had for lunch that day, she picked the remains of a small digit from between her teeth, and made a mental note not to have the fattest stolen babes sent to the palace kitchens from now on.

Elves value the emotions and feelings of humans in the same way that a wine enthusiast values a rare vintage. They savour them. Each feeling had a different flavour and strength. Happiness was sweet and creamy, sadness was salty, hatred was bitter, like a lemon, love was sweet-sour, and love was, to an elf, one of the greatest, strongest, and most delicious human emotions to consume.

Elves, to put it bluntly, see humans the same way that a coal miner would see a monster made entirely out of coal. In other words, a walking pile of natural resources.

Mab had had a knight sent out just the other day, to go to the surface to seek a lover for her. Mortal lovers are of great need to a Faerie Queen, as their love is what's required to keep a Queen young and beautiful. Without a mortal lover, Faerie Queens have a tendency to age and die rather rapidly. Mab was frequently concerned about her age. Her name was, after all, the Welsh word for "youth". She was pondering whether or not taking over the human world was advisable, when a royal guard entered the chamber.

"Your Highness," he intoned.

"Yes?"

"We have a new lover for you. He has been placed in the chamber of Fwaddlech accordingly."

"Excellent job, Valalf. Perhaps we'll pardon your brother, rather than executing him. Perhaps." She grinned, with a smile like a thousand knife-blades. She rose from the throne, and strode regally out of the double doors, and down the corridor, moving in the direction of the Chamber of Fwaddlech. This was going to be a wonderfully stimulating experience.