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I am as disgusted by my countrymen as I am by this king who watches me like he’s enjoying my misery.
* * *
I was a stupid, selfish girl.
I realized I could get my way for nothing more than a smile when I was very young. I’d let my mother brush my hair and braid it, and dress me like a doll because I knew that I was pretty. That meant that the baker would give me sweets, and the tailor, ribbons, so long as I told my friends where I got them. Everyone wanted be like me, eat what I ate, wear what I wore. It was good business for them, and my life was easy. At least until I was about twelve or thirteen. Then the boys decided that since they wanted me, they were entitled to take me.
I could never go anywhere alone. There were always hands palming me, boys pinning me against walls and stealing kisses. I learned to pinch and throw punches and scream. They learned to cover my mouth, pull my hair, clasp my hands. I carried a knife and drew plenty of blood.
I went to my mother for help, but she’d just glare at me. “That’s the price of being the fairest, girl.”
I was fifteen when I saw my first cock. Boys had rubbed themselves against me for a while by then, but the mayor’s son, Rupert, actually whipped his hard member out and made me touch it. He threatened to do worse if I didn’t, so I complied. The very next day, I offered to do the same to the baker’s boy because I knew he’d brag about it, and I wanted Rupert to hear it.
My days were a mixture of fighting against boys and making them dance to my tune.Objectively, I can say I wasn’t a particularly good person.
When I came of age, Rupert formally asked my parents for my hand, and they accepted on my behalf, happy to give me away for a heavy bag of silver coin. I wasn’t even there. When I heard, I screamed. I yelled. I confessed he made me suck his piss-stained cock and threatened to knock my teeth out if I bit it, but none of those truths made a difference to either of my parents.
My mother didn’t like me. She hadn’t for some years. As I grew more beautiful, she grew more resentful of the looks, the attention I garnered. She certainly liked the fact that I’d make a decent match someday, but everything else about me was a slap in her face.My father always bowed to her will, letting her lead in this as in all things. So, I took my horse and ran.
I didn’t have any money or purpose, but I couldn’t bring myself to remain another night under their roof when my parents were so willing to sell me to that horrible boy simply because he was the son of the richest man in town and would pay them more than other suitors.
I was dozens of miles away when I remembered I had no money, and nowhere else to go. I turned around, arriving just as every house in the village was set ablaze.
I didn’t join them. I stayed on the hill, surveying the area in shock and fear. I watched as monsters in black called to their magic. Every villager I could see trembled, screamed, and fell, drained of life, of blood, so much so that their bodies looked like dry husks.
I didn’t hear the man approach until he was catching my waist and dragging me off my horse. I screamed. I kicked for dear life, knowing I was destined to become a corpse just like everyone I knew, just like my parent and my horrible fiancé.
I didn’t like my parents any more than they liked me. In all honesty, I didn’t much like anyone in that town, but they didn’t deserve what happened to them.I figured my village was the same as anywhere: petty people going about their daily tasks, doing what seemed best to be prosperous, at peace. Men hurting women, and women surviving as well as they could.
The man, wearing a black cloak, and a mask covering half of his face under his low hood, chuckled, his mouth twisting into a grin. A long sword grazed my skin, drawing a line of blood from my shoulder to my low neckline. “Now what have we here,” he said, his voice ice. “A pretty little village girl.”After a second, he added, “Very pretty.”
I thrashed against him when his blade easily sliced the ties holding my top together, and he found it hilarious. “Do yourself a favor, girl. Stay still when I fuck you, and I just might choose not to skewer you with my knife afterwards.”
I was sure he would use that knife the moment he was done, but I stayed still anyway. By then, I knew men well enough to realize he wouldn’t let go until he was satisfied.
I waited until he collapsed on top of me, then I moved as fast as I could, taking his knife and aiming for his face. He moved just in time, but I know the blade cut deep. As he screamed threats, I ran.
I ran as fast as I could. I wouldn’t have made it far if my horse hadn’t come to me. I left all the devastation behind, but I never forgot what Nyxar did to me, to my world.
Caldoryn is welcome to try to break me. I’ve survived the worst of what his men can do once. I’ll survive it again, if only to exact my revenge.
15
CALDORYN
I’m glad she has a spine. She wouldn’t survive this court long without it. Besides, she’d bore me to tears if she were a compliant, well-bred lady. I’ll take a shrew any day.
My court is gawking expectantly, delighted by the turn of events. A revel’s common enough here, but most don’t include assassination attempts, judgements, infiltrations. They’re aghast and delighted. The fact that my would-be murderer is so deliciously tempting merely serves to excite them further. The guests from Allea are no less enraptured, thriving on drama, like any bored highborn.
Rhea made things easier for me by standing out with her defiance. No one will question my punishment. Never mind the fact that I decided on it the moment I saw her in this room, hours before she stabbed my chest. There was no possibility of us ending up anywhere but here.
“As you admit to your crimes, there is no need for a vote from the council. You are guilty, and by the laws of Nyxar, you forfeit your lives.” Vess would have loved to end the matter there, but regretfully, he adds, “It is the king’s pleasure to decide what to do with them.”
My pleasure indeed.
I rise from the stone throne and descend the steps of the dais. The three women and one man surrounded by guards glare as I survey them.
“I hear you’re good with poisons, and though your skills have up to now been used for death, you will serve in the infirmary,” I tell the snarling friend of Rhea’s first. “Mayhaps treating the wounds innocents sustain during the conflict you support will open your eyes.” Fire lights her green eyes, but I move on before she says a word.
