One hundred and forty-nine steps, four turns, and one flight of stairs I have descended since leaving my room.
I walk the unknown halls of a foreign castle, and the sound of my feet in shoes is also alien to my ears.
They are new to me; I never had shoes in the tower. I can barely remember what they were like before I was locked away. It is joyous in a way.
I have a maid to my left and one to my right. They have not once left my side.
What a strange sight we must be. If only I had eyes…
One hundred and eighty-one steps…
My evil maids are not so cruel in the eye of the public. They are kind, friendly, and even respectful if I dare say. They are entirely different people, but this all is a facade, a show.
Every King and Queen is respected. I will be the first one who isn’t. It is horrible to think I will be Queen to people who hate me and wish me dead. But the fact is I do not want to be their Queen. If it is my choice, I would flee far away.
I have no doubt these women will not change; I can feel the tight grip of Ava to my right and Catherine on my left.
Ava has long and slender fingers, musician’s fingers, while Catherine’s are small and pudgy, what I have often heard people call cook hands. Ava is tall and thin. Catherine is shorter and slightly overweight, yet not chubby.
I could tell their features when they bathed me, their bodies coming in contact with mine despite how much they disliked doing so. The slightest brush has given me so much information, even their words have told me a little of how their nose and mouth are.
I yearn to know more visually. I want to feel their faces, but I dare not ask. They will not grant me such permission either.
I remember feeling my mother’s face; she is the only woman who allowed it. She seemed so beautiful. She had such full lips, a small and dainty nose, and really big and round eyes. My mother used to tell me I looked a lot like her but with my father’s hair.
I wonder if her words are true still…
Every time a brush is run through my hair I am reminded of her words. And I am always left pondering them. I hope I still have her beauty.
Two hundred and five steps mean that I am one step closer to the Dragon King.
I am tired, and my body feels heavy. How much more terrible will I feel by the end of the night? Especially with all this walking.
We turn sharply, and my steps are silenced on a carpeted floor. I still have a wedding to attend, and events of this morning has proved to be exhausting.
My skin is still burning from the bath. The only relief I have is the warm air touching my exposed thighs, but they rub together as I walk, so the relief is limited. What is worse is the suffocating feeling as the tight corset clings to my torso – my midriff is soaked with sweat already.
The dress is unlike any others I have worn before, though I do not have a long list to compare them to. I don’t remember much of what I wore as a child when my mother was alive.
The dress feels light and airy, and the back of the dress is ruffled and frilly yet feels silky. The only fat my corset has to push around is my breasts. It squeezes them so much that I feel if I bend over, they will fall free for anyone’s view. I do not wish for that, so I walk rigidly, my stiff knee boots seem to help a little.
Two hundred and eleven steps, all the closer to my doom.
The hair ends tickle my open back, making me shiver. I am used to my hair being down, but they insisted on a high ponytail. It is as tight as my corset when they pulled and tugged roughly to do so.
I still can’t believe how much my hair reminded me of the dress I wore - light and airy. The difference between my hair before and after is that they have washed and brushed it, and now it almost feels magical. It is much softer than before.
I’m not sure I am keen on the idea of having such a painful experience every morning just to prepare for the day. My eyes have watered plenty of times just for this preparation. The maids don’t seem keen on preparing me either. They kept complaining while applying my makeup. A lot.
Two hundred and twenty steps and we stop.
Catherine lets go of my hand and walks forward, her movement muffled by the carpet. I hear her reach for the handle followed by the creak of the door opening wide.
As soon as the door opens, I am gifted with an array of different smells. My stomach lurches, clenching in hunger at the smell of freshly baked bread and other goods in the dining hall. I can almost taste the food, items I have never tasted before or if I have, they were moldy and stale.
The bread here will be warm and soft. I can almost imagine pulling a piece off and placing it in my mouth. Feeling it melt on my tongue, tasting divine.
When is the last time I ate anything fresh?
I’ve occasionally smelled such wonderful aromas when I was in the tower. Those came from the main castle when they had to cook for the parties. They teased my stomach more than once throughout my stay in the tower, the torture silent.
My temporary paradise of imagination is ruined when I hear the King’s voice growl as a screeching chair pushes hard against the stone floor signaling he is now standing. “I thought I told you maids that I don’t want any guests during breakfast.”
Ava pushes me forward by the small of my back as she walks me into the room. “Rhys ordered us differently, orders that came after yours. He deemed for you to dine with the soon-to-be Queen, My Lord.”
“Rhys said that? That bastard’s audacity…” he snaps and slams his hands on the table which causes the plates and dishes to rattle. I flinch at his anger and begin to envision his Dragon again, this time with a darkened aura and evil eyes. “Send her back to her room,” he orders.
“We can’t do that, My Lord,” Ava states.
“You can’t or won’t?” the King asks sharply.
“I can’t and I won’t,” Ava replies smoothly.
“Why, because Rhys ordered you to? Am I not your King, or do you think Rhys is your King? Which is it?” he screams.
“Rhys knows what is best for you. Everyone is looking out for you, worrying about your well-being, My Lord,” Ava explains.
Why is she arguing with him? Why is this man named Rhys overruling him? Isn’t he their King? Do they want to die?
“Then explain how this helps me, maid?” The King stretches out the word maid as an insult.
“He said best to be familiar now before the wedding,” she replies, somehow managing to keep her confidence, her voice never once wavering.
The King becomes quiet before he ‘tsks,’ and I hear him sitting down in his chair, which creaks with his weight. His silenced tongue makes me think he is pondering what to do with me or how to be rid of me and my maids.
“Seat her, then leave us. I will not argue with you halfwits any longer,” he says annoyed but seems to accept what has occurred – if only a little.
“Yes, My Lord.” I am guided forward until she stops but only to pull a chair out from under the table for me. I hear her move dishes around along with silverware, and I begin to wonder if she is setting a plate for me.
My hand clumsily finds the back of the chair, and I make my way slowly to its side, feeling it out. I do not want to ask for Ava’s help; I don’t want her mockery or her treating me like a child anymore. It is bad enough she is placing food onto my plate, the same way you do for a child.
I think back to how the maids have treated me thus far, and I can’t help but imagine my life with them for the next ten years will be cruel. I am thankful for the breakfast, I can’t wait for Ava and Catherine to be gone so that I can dine with the King alone.
I wonder who is worse - my maids or the Dragon King?
Well, I will find out, won’t I?
“And, maid…” the King says.
“Yes?” Ava stops in her tracks.
“Don’t you ever listen to Rhys over me… I am your King. Never forget.” He gives a subtle warning which sounds ominous.
“Understood,” she replies.
“Now go,” he hisses and throws something past my head toward her. It hits the floor and makes a clatter. I think he just threw a knife or fork at her.
I now see that this breakfast will go well. I may die.
Catherine must have been the first one out; she probably stood by the door. I hear the hurried footsteps of Ava before she slips out, the door closing quietly behind her. The Dragon King and I are now alone.
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