Keziah

The maids swarmed about me like honey bees. With Uncle’s threats still hanging in the air, I was the center of a flurry of efficient hands. Fresh from the bath they labored to turn me into an appealing bride. They divided the work between them. One applied creams, serums, and rouge to my face. Another curled my hair around a heated rod of iron that smelled of burning. And Freckles trimmed and shined my nails, pulling my hands up and twisting each finger back and forth until she assured herself of their perfection.  

It was claustrophobic. I sat on a hard stool with only a thin towel to hide my nudity as the maids hovered so close I could feel their warm breath as they polished and shined every bit of me. I had dressed up a few times as a Lady of the Verbodine Earldom, trotted out by Uncle to show off when he needed to be seen as a caring guardian. But I had never been groomed, oiled, and shined like this. 

My body prepped. The maids moved on to dressing me like a doll. My limbs bent and shifted as they covered me in layers of white: underwear, shift, and a corset kindly tied looser than was usual to spare the fresh bruises. All that was left was the bridal gown. My fingertips skimmed lightly over its smooth white satin with ease. It had a simple, traditional design without any ridiculous ruffles or ribbons. Small pearl buttons down the back, a low v-cut collar, and the skirt cinched at the waist by the ritual wedding belt of multi-colored silk threads.  

The colorful threads represented one’s journey in the Great Weft; their past, present, and future history. The long end of the belt would be knotted with the groom’s at the culmination of the nuptials to bind our lives. It also meant I could not step away from my new husband's side. Literally bound to follow him until he undressed me for the first night. And if I did not walk step-by-step with him the belt would pull against the fresh bruises Uncle had made. 

He was a meticulous planner. 

When they finished picking, tucking, and adjusting every inch of me, Freckles pulled me over to the polished silver mirror in the corner of the room. It was only then that I could see what all the fuss had accomplished.  

I giggled. It burst out of me uncontrollably, I tried to clamp my hand over my mouth to stop, but I couldn’t hold back.  

I had never looked so pretty before. 

They performed a miracle with my hair. The usual frazzled mess transformed into shining chestnut locks pinned into elaborate layers of curls and small braids that framed my face. My skin looked peachy and fresh with pretty lips like flower petals. And a thin line of charcoal brightened my eyes.

The dress was too long and its matching high-heeled shoes too big, tailored for some other bride. But the corset molded my chest into small perfectly round breasts. The deep collar showed only a modest peek of cleavage accented by a single emerald pendant hung from a thin gold chain that settled in the center between them to draw the eye down.  

I was a grown woman.   

If I had been a normal noble daughter I would have long been dressed like this out in society and been considered on the older side of the marriage market. But nothing in my life under Uncle’s reign had been normal. He had kept me hidden, a last bargaining chip he could pull out to further his machinations. 

Facing myself in the mirror, I realized I had been hiding under Uncle’s shadow for my own reasons as well. I had been treated like a child with no duties at Verbodine and no one but Uncle to answer to.

I had been a shadow in the halls of Verbodine. Attention was a curse. To protect myself I wore simple baggy clothes in dull colors trying to blend in with serfs and stablehands–always hoping to be ignored and forgotten. The woman reflected in the mirror looked important and whole. 

Could it really be me? 

“Does it displease you, Milady?” 

I shook my head no, and tried to smile for them. I wanted to express my thanks for all the work they put into making this vision of me, but the giggles wouldn’t stop. If they did I would cry and ruin it all. So I giggled at the ridiculousness of transforming into a woman for the first time so I could be traded like a pretty pony.  

“Then it is time to make your way to the temple.” 

The giggling stopped.  

If I dragged my feet any longer Uncle would only come back and find a new way to humiliate me. I waved my hand forward to let the maids know I was ready. Uncle said to be silent until I was married. I wasn’t sure if giggling counted, but the maids could certainly tattle to him if I asked them to lead the way.  

As I had been taught in my dreaded etiquette classes, I pinched the skirt in my hands lifting it a few inches to keep from tripping on the extra length, and followed Freckles out the door. 

Sir Erewald waited in the hall. One of Uncle’s knights, he did the heavy lifting and dirty deeds. Erewald leered at me as he kicked off the wall to block my way. 

It was the look that usually sent me running in the opposite direction. The heat in his gaze from thinking those thoughts. It left a chill trail of dread in its wake. 

I first noticed those gazes around the time I turned thirteen. I had grown two inches taller that summer. The boys I grew up with playing harmless games like tag, changed into large hands to avoid being caught for new reasons. Their deepening voices said things that were hard to forget and left me feeling itchy in my skin. Sir Erewald was high up on my list of hands to avoid. 

“The little mouse is a lady after all,” he said crossing his arms across his chest like he had all the time in the world to stand in my way.

I chose to stare at a spot on his tabard. It could have been from a drip of ale, the stale stench of it wafted off his breath. Or, a bit of grease from meat he had eaten and wiped with no regard for standards on my family's colors. 

The Verbodine Earldom used to mean something. Its colors and coat of arms were worn with pride by worthy people who made history for good deeds. Under Uncle’s reign, it was left disrespected by the likes of Sir Erewald.  

“Are you ignoring me, little mouse? Or have you been silenced again?”  

He laughed as if he had made a joke, and laughed even harder when I tried looking him in the eye with all the defiance I could muster. 

“Come along then, lady mouse, the lords are waiting for you.” 

He dismissed the maids with a wave of a hand. It was his turn to make sure I made it to the temple without causing a scene. He strode off down the hall and like a good mouse I followed a few steps behind. 

He stopped without warning partway down the stairs. We were almost eye-to-eye when he turned to speak quietly in the privacy of the empty stairwell. “It’s too bad the ugly little lordling will have your first night.” He quirked his mouth into a cocky half-smile. “Let me know if you ever want to feel what being with a real man is like.” 

I shivered and looked away. Erewald couldn’t touch me without facing Uncle’s wrath. It was one of the only ways Uncle had kept me safe. I had a vague impression of the intimacies of the first night and no desire to share it with Erewald, the Marquis, or anyone else. 

He cackled, so proud of himself he strutted the rest of the way down the stairs. I carefully followed him tensing my toes to keep the too-big-for-me shoes from slipping off my feet. 

The long curving trail of steps opened up into the great hall. Preparations were underway for the after-wedding feast. The high buttressed ceiling echoed the many voices and hurried steps of the servants as they completed their tasks. 

Erewald had enough sense to know when to fake being a chivalrous knight so he stayed quiet for the rest of the short walk. 

Stepping out of the hall into the fresh air of the open bailey did not improve my mood. The sky was muted with a thick cover of low clouds that looked as if they would fall to earth and smother us all. The dim afternoon light blended the colors into monochrome shades of gray stone and brown dirt. 

Not that there was anything spectacular to see here. 

The fortress, built in a past age with the barest of comforts, had seen few updates and less upkeep. The bailey was only a small patch of dirt between the keep and the temple. The tower to the north had collapsed over the outer wall long enough that its tumbled stone had grown moss. And somewhere out of view, I could smell a stable in desperate need of mucking.  

This will not be my home. 

I peered into the darkness beyond the open arched doorway of the temple. In the eyes of the law, I would be a different person when I stepped out than I was standing here. Unimpressive in stature and design, the temple appeared to have been built as an afterthought. It suited this marriage well.  

Uncle stepped out of the temple's inner shadow with a cheery smile and a hand held out for me. It might have looked like an invitation to someone else, but I knew it was an order to surrender myself.  

I will fly far far away. 

I will be patient. I will endure, forget, and survive. 

This will not be my home.