The first Wednesday in November has arrived. I’m happy to share with you this week’s flash fiction and grateful and amazed at how quickly this year is slipping away.
Steps echoing, Constance paced the corridor with hands behind her back. She shifted her grip with each step against the folds of her full skirt. The bridge guard’s pressed the button as she approached, allowing her entry.
She stepped into the buzz of conversation Dillon Rutherford watching her entry. Her husband. Pure evil. Her stomach twisted as he appraised her. His approving grin was a leer.
Behind Dillon was the view of a planet. His ships wove about them as the formation shifted.
Dillon crooked a finger summoning her. She moved to him, inclining her head. Her right hand slipped into his, and she squelched the tremble his touch aroused. “Just in time,” he whispered turning her toward the screen.
A channel opened and Minister Gerald Shea appeared on the screen, seat in chambers with his aids about him. Constance unfocused her eyes.
“Your time is up,” Dillon said. Constance pressed her left arm firmly against her back.
Gerald shkok his head, a blur of movement to her eyes. “I cannot meet you demands.”
“Then your world will die. Your people will die.”
Constance drew a breath her eyes widening. “Not while those loyal Wendkoth remain.” Turning her hand, she grabbed the hidden blade and swung at Dillon’s throat.
Dillon’s hand closed about hers, the force knocking the knife from her grip. “Betrayal was expected.” Leaning close, he raised his knife to her neck.
“Father,” she breathed glancing toward Gerald. He’d stood and gaped at her. How had she failed?
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