Her Majesty // Mikaelson

36 History

Image is not mine. The freckles and bright eyes reminded me of Merida though. Song is History by One Direction (sorry if your a hater, just don't listen to the song and keep your trap shut, thanks!!)

I plop the next dish into the right side of the sink, setting it up strategically so all of them would stack and drain. The TV played in the background as I worked. The chatter and laughter had died down significantly. Hope had already went home with Freya and Hayley. Ashley and Francis had disappeared somewhere. And all that was left was Bastian, Elijah, Kol, Klaus, and Rebekah. Right, and Simon of course.

I'd strayed away from the conversation. To be frank, I didn't particularly jump at the thought of making small talk with Klaus so recently after he made it clear I was not his family. Sure, I knew that, and I have my own family so I didn't need his.

Plus, Elijah seemed to still be suspicious of our shift in mannerisms towards each other. I knew it wasn't from sleeping with each other. It was the secrets accidentally spilt. We were both the types of people to kill the ones who knew secrets like that. If he was anyone else, I would've no doubt already stood over their burning corpse. And if I had been someone else, so would he. The only reason both of us are still alive is because of history.

And of course, he can't kill me without the sword. And I can't kill him without white oak. Which, he doesn't realize I have.

I'd like to keep it that way, because as soon as any of them think I have a stake, I'll be burned to a crisp myself.

I angrily rinse the next plate and put it into the right side of the sink too. Hot water and soap was up to my elbows, and I could see the red Mark of Cain on my skin, shiny from wetness. I shove all manner of thoughts from my head, focusing on the task at hand. It might surprise some, but I didn't mind cleaning the dishes.

After all, by age eight I was cleaning up after the entire Scottish army. I crash the next glass plate too hard into the sink, and it shatters the ones already in there. I curse under my breath, as the glass slices my palm. I watch as the wound heals itself immediately. Whatever blood that was spilt mixed with the soapy water.

"What did that glass ever do to you?" A voice asks and I jump, turning around, water droplets scattering across the kitchen tiles as I do. Simon stood there, smirking at me. I roll my eyes, going back to the dishes. "Rebekah sent me here to find out what in the world you could possibly be doing?" He asks.

"Rebekah sent you? How impersonal." I reply.

"Would you have preferred I came of my own accord?"

"No, that would've made you desperate." I reply casually and Simon gasps like he'd been shot in the heart. I roll my eyes, not turning around to look at him. I return to the dishes.

"It is something of a sin to do the dishes at your own party. Have the maid do it."

"Joseph is not a maid. He's a butler." I correct him. "And he's a person, even if his tongue was cut off and he's compelled to be here."

"Look at that, the Evil Queen has a soft spot for servants. It's like only yesterday we were in Sicily all over again."

"They call it Italy now, lass." I reply. "And I'm not Evil." Behind me I hear him laugh.

"You're right. Evil is subjective to opinion. You're vindictive, dangerous, borderline bipolar, and homicidal." Simon goes in. I set down the fork in my hand, and turn around to look at the Italian asshole.