-- There was a sickening sweetness to the Queen-to-be’s smile,               a kind that would rot your teeth. A venom seemed to lace her               words, a sing song of mockery. She brought the cup to her lips,               and took a long sip. She never once broke eye contact.

              “ We’ll both be getting what we want. I will accept you as the King’s                woman. You can share his bed, have his children, be with him                whenever you please. But I’ll be Queen. My son will sit on the throne.                My name will be his.”