The Telematrix, Part 8
The king’s hair was twice its usual length, hanging in greasy clumps over his glistening cheeks and forehead. By Telematrice’s best estimation, her father had not slept in quite some time, and the physical effects were more than beginning to show.
The word “father” had a strange sound to it, even when pronounced inaudibly in her own head. In truth, she didn’t really have one; certainly not in the usual sense of the word. Here she stood, even at age seven, looking up at this disgusting excuse of a man, and she learned the meaning of loathing. She absolutely hated him, for what he had put her through, even in absence, and for the unceremonious discarding of 93 of her sisters … everything he had so far done in the name of selfish ambition.
There could be no excuse for his actions, and as he walked casually before the four of them, his sweaty hands clasped authoritatively behind his back, his eyes darting quickly from face to face in simultaneous judgment and appraisal, she knew that she would someday kill him.
“As you have been made aware, the rest of the Telematrix has been hidden or scattered by our enemy in the east,” he began. “The situation is absurdly unacceptable.”
A knock at the door interrupted him.
“What is it?” he bellowed.
The door opened and one of the guards walked in, holding the disembodied head of Tronya Soy, his fingers gripping her head by the hair. The eyes had been left open in what could only be described as an expression of agony and it was clear she had died with a shriek on her lips.
In that moment, Telematrice vowed that only the circumstances of her father’s death would be allowed to change, but never the outcome.
“I wanted to inform you that your orders have been executed.”
King Reginald was furious. “Get that thing out of here! If I wanted to see that filth, I would have asked you for it!”
The guard hurried out of the room.
The king turned to the young women one more time. “If you would like to avoid the same fate as that woman, you will all do exactly as I say.”