by M. A. Roth
My face must have shown my joy as my mother’s nostrils flare. “You need to clean up. I pity him, really I do.”
I jump out of bed, not allowing her insults to dampen my happy day. This is the best day of my life. I open my armoire with renewed strength. What am I going to wear? I need something new and spectacular. The hairs rise on my arms and neck, my mother hasn’t left, instead she stands watching me. Panic takes over. She knows, she knows I killed the girl, my mind races. Will she tell Nierra and destroy everything? My only chance at love.
“The servants will arrive shortly. They have a dress for you that I want you to wear. I have told them what way do to your hair.”
I eye her suspiciously but she turns and leaves, giving me no clue of what my dress may look like. I twist my hands as I wait for the servants to arrive. It seems like forever and my emotions won’t settle, they jump from pure happiness to terror. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he thinks I am ugly? I go to my new mirror and look at myself. My skin is snow white, not a mark or blemish on it. My brown eyes look brighter; my hand runs down my waist-length blonde hair. Color pours into my cheeks as my finger touches my bottom lip and my eyes fall to the floor. Am I pretty? I don’t know. My hands have healed over the last few days no marks are left, there is no evidence of my destruction.
The door opens and the servants arrive. They move around the room with stoic faces, stealing glances at me. It is another reminder of what I have done. Then my dress is laid out across my bed, and my mind stalls as my heart flutters.
“Grey!” I squeal; it is the worst color on me. The servants stop what they are doing, their eyes now downcast. How could she? Tears well up in my eyes as I examine the hideous dress. It has three layers making it puffy and the large bow that is stitched over the chest and on the back just makes it a hideous creation. I will look like a fool. I push the tears away, what choice do I have?
“Well come on, get me ready you fools,” I roar. The servants move and start by carrying in a large tub of water. From there I am scrubbed, pulled at, dressed, prodded with clips in my head. The end result is horrible as I stand in front of the mirror three hours later. The dress is worse on. The grey drains the color from my face, leaving me looking ill. My eyes look too dull. My hair is clipped to my head severely, painfully. My face looks stretched and the white powder that covers it makes me look like a freshly made-up corpse. Ready to be laid out for all to see. I look ghastly.
“They’re waiting for you.” I look away from my reflection to the nervous servant who holds my door open. I take a deep breath and follow him through the castle in silence, until we stop at the dining room doors. The servant opens them for me and I enter.
My parents and Nierra sit at the table that could hold up to forty people. They rise as I enter. My eyes flicker to my father. He’s drunk and laughter spills from his mouth. He slaps the table, shaking the contents in everyone’s goblets. I can see Nierra tense and my mother smirks. I stop walking, my body frozen in humiliation.
“You look like the dead,” my father roars and his laughter continues. My shame burns my flesh. Nierra clears his throat very loudly and my father’s laughter dies. What I see in Nierra’s eyes makes me want to cry. He is angry, not at me for looking ugly but at my father for laughing. He looks at me then and smiles, while pulling out the chair beside him for me. I return the smile, my stomach fluttering as I take slow steps towards him.
“Thank you,” I whisper shyly and sit down, meeting my mother’s cold stare. My father reaches across the table, slapping Nierra hard on the back. He doesn’t flinch at the gesture but I notice his jaw tightens.
“Nierra, how is your training? I do hope it is benefiting you greatly.” My mother smiles at Nierra as she holds her goblet of wine by the stem, twirling it between her thumb and index finger. Her eyes assess his frame greedily and my heart slams against my chest. She looks stunning, her long blond hair flows down her back and covers her bare shoulders. The red dress she wears plunges at the front showing plenty of cleavage. My eyes shoot to my father to see if he notices his wife’s antics, but he is too busy stuffing his face with food. Juice from the chicken runs down his chin. I look away, embarrassed.
“The training is great. Thank you both for the facilities that are in place for us.”
My mother tips her head, smiling, while she sips slowly from her goblet. Silence falls on the table as my mother watches me with a hidden smile that makes me squirm. My head is aching from the severity of my hair style and my hands itch to massage my scalp but I keep them joined together, resting on my lap.
The silence is broken as my mother takes a deep breath and her hand flutters in Nierra’s direction. “The future King of Saskia.” She beams, then her head swings to me, her eyes scanning me. “And the future Queen.” Disgust is what I see in her eyes. I look at my lap, mortified that Nierra is witnessing my humiliation. A strong hand squeezes mine and I find myself staring into the most beautiful, kind green eyes I have ever seen.
“I think Bellona will make a fine Queen.” A slow smile grows on my face and my mother’s words come back to me about looking ugly when I smile. My hand shoots to my mouth to hide it, but I continue to smile behind my hand. Nierra breaks eye contact, his face held tight. My hand and smile fall and I return to looking at my lap.
“It’s such a beautiful day outside. I would like your permission to take your daughter for a walk in the gardens.” I look up holding my breath, while waiting for my father’s answer.
“Good riddance,” he says through large bites of food. “More wine,” he roars, which is completely unnecessary as a servant stands only three feet behind him.
“Bellona is tired,” my mother says and panic takes over me.
“No. No, I would love to see the gardens.”
Mother’s nose flares. “But you need your rest.”
I want to cry, this is so unfair and her look of steel suggests I should shut up, so I do.
“Go. Go on.” It is my father who allows it. He has never done anything kind but right now I want to hug him, but of course I don’t. I jump up and my mother gives me a tight smile. I will pay for this later, but right now I get to spend time with Nierra.
My heart is frantic, my steps careful. I twist my hands nervously, as we walk. I steal glances at Nierra from under my eyelashes. He catches me a few times and smiles. My cheeks blaze with colour. I know I look white; no color will penetrate the heavy white powder that coats my face.
“I haven’t seen you at the training ground recently?” His words freeze me.
“I would never… go there... never.”
He laughs, actually laughs, while throwing his head back; the sound has my stomach erupting with butterflies. He looks at me now while still smiling. “It is okay. I actually like that you come to see me train. To be honest I missed you.”
“Missed me?” I was stuttering now, but he continues to smile, his green eyes lighting up. A smile grows on my own face with happiness; my hand shoots up to cover it. Nierra looks at me with confusion, his hand gently touching mine and removing it from my face.
“Don’t cover your smile Bellona, it’s so beautiful.” I can’t look at him now. This is a joke that my mother must have put him up to. I pull my hand angrily out of his and watch as a look of disbelief crosses his face.
“You don’t believe me when I say you’re beautiful.” His words are so sincere I want so badly to believe him, but I am afraid.
I shake my head, unable to trust my voice, and his disbelief deepens.
“Are you telling me that no one has ever told you, that you are beautiful?”
“No,” I whisper.
Sadness fills his eyes and then he smiles softly. “I think you are. Beautiful Bellona.” My heart soars as he takes my hand and this time I don’t stop him as we continue walking. He talks about himself, his training, his best friend Morrick. Books he likes to read and his favourite horse. I know all of this already, I have watched him for years. But it feels di
fferent having him tell me. I feel like I am floating, feeling happy, oh so very happy. I smile and even laugh, the sound so foreign to my ears.
“You should laugh more, it suits you.” We have stopped walking and the look Nierra is giving me has my heart pounding. I have never been kissed and wonder if he is going to kiss me. A roar of thunder shakes the ground and the skies open. I scream and Nierra grabs my hand pulling me with him, we are in the middle of the garden. I start laughing. I am drenched and so is he. It doesn’t matter and the rain is warm, so we stop running and start to laugh. Nierra’s face grows serious and then he is an inch from me, my own laughter dies and I lick my lips, closing my eyes. His hands gently touch my hair and slowly remove the clips, taking his time with each one. Its torture standing still as his eyes bore into mine. My wet hair tumbles down my back when all of it is free, and his hands cup my face. I have to blink to keep the rain out of my eyes.
“You are so beautiful, Bellona.” I take in a sharp breath at the intensity of his eyes and then his lips touch mine and my world explodes. It is too much, too perfect, too kind. Tears mix with rain, filling in the gaps between our kisses.
“Why do you cry?” He still holds my face, his forehead against mine.
“I am crying in case this isn’t real.” My hand rests against his heart, feeling the heavy thumps. “In case you’re not real.” My eyes burn into his.
“Can you feel how fast my heart is beating?”
I nod. I can, it is beating so fast under my open palm. I did that? I caused this reaction in him. His hand covers mine that rests over his heart. “That is real, Bellona, that is real.” And then he kisses me again, not gently but with passion and a hunger that overwhelms my senses.
***
We return to the castle laughing and drenched, but my mother stands waiting, her icy eyes cut off my laughter and I take my hand from Nierra’s. He bows towards my mother but I can see he doesn’t like her, his posture lacks respect.
“This is how you bring my daughter back to me.”
“Mother please,” I beg, wishing she would just stop.
“My queen,” Nierra speaks, but my mother cuts him off.
“She is not a hand maiden that is available for a quick tumble.”
My face blazes with humiliation, she will scare him off.
“You’re right, she isn’t a hand maiden. She is a princess and I hold her in the highest regard and would never do anything to dishonour Bellona.”
My mother harrumphs then turns to me. “We must get you dried.”
I look at Nierra and give him a small smile. “I had a lovely time.”
“Me too,” he replies while smiling back.
“Bellona, now,” my mother warns.
I say a soft goodbye and follow my mother, but I sneak a glance back at Nierra who stands watching me as water drips onto the floor. He looks conflicted, almost sad. When we turn the corner I can no longer see him. My heart deflates and tears burn my eyes. Now I will pay for my moment of happiness.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BEATING
The night my mother had taken me back to my room, after I had left Nierra, I was sure I would suffer greatly. But she only left me in my room, with a command for me to get dried and go to bed. The whole night I tossed and turned, waiting for her revenge, but it never came. I spent the next two days with my father, studying history and all about the mortal world; my father was obsessed with knowledge and wanted me to know everything, but I hated being cooped up in the library with him. The more he drank, the more questions he asked, and the more he asked, the more I got wrong. It never took much for his temper to flair and right now I was trembling with fear waiting for the blow.
The doors open and my mother walks in. She never took part in my lessons. On seeing her my heart plummets and when she smiles coldly at me, I know that now I will pay the price, now I will be punished. And for what? For being happy.
“Paulus, we need to have a word about Bellona.” I flinch at my name.
“Spit it out, woman,” my father slurs, his temper already rising.
“Mother, please,” I beg quietly as my heart starts to hammer and I fight the tears that threaten to spill.
“She lay with that boy Nierra.”
Color drains from my face as my father swings towards me, his face red with anger and alcohol.
“No. No, I swear.”
“Are you calling me. The queen. A liar?” My mother sounds outraged.
I know this is a trick question; either answer would result in the same thing. Tears fall as I shake my head.
“You see,” my mother squeals in triumph.
Ever so quietly my father speaks; his two words that freeze me with terror. “Leave us.”
“Very well.” Those are my mother’s final two words as she leaves me in my father’s hands. The sound of the door closing will stay with me forever. It is the sound of doom, the promise of suffering to come. The first blow sends me to the ground. My ears ring from the impact, no sound, I feel dazed as if my head is filled with cotton wool. Blood surges from my split lip, dripping onto the snow white marble floor. I can see my father’s reflection in the floor as he draws his foot back, his face in a snarl. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, but no matter what I do I could never be ready for the pain that explodes down my spine. I scream in agony, while trying to crawl away as a large foot slams down on my thigh. I hear and feel the break. An animal somewhere is dying, squealing hysterically, the sound is shattering but is soon cuts off as my stomach empties onto my hands, it is then I realise that the sound was coming from me. I take blow after blow. My face was one place my father never hit, but today he is too far gone. My jaw caves in and I scream but that causes more pain. “Help me.” My words are unintelligible. Drool pours from my mouth. Even if someone hears me, they would never intervene. But for the first time in my life I know I might die and I welcome it with open arms. It is like waiting to embrace an old friend, but death doesn’t come and neither does darkness, but he finally stops. I lie face down with nearly no vision as blood and drool pour from my mouth, and scarlet tears stream down my swollen and broken face. I can’t move my legs or my left arm, they are broken, and my right is the only functioning one. The fingers twitch with every shooting pain.
“Help me,” I whisper, the words tumbling from my lips, coated in blood, coated in pain.
“More wine,” my father roars and the doors open. The servant pause. I can barely see him through swollen eyes. My fingers twitch. “Help,” I choke out, but he walks to my father and pours him wine. His steps are steady, but when he reaches the door, he looks at me and nods before the door slams. The longer I lie there, the more pain I am in. The doors open again. My mother stands there with three maidens, and for the first time in my life I see a flicker of guilt, but it flees her eyes as she turns to my father.
“Her face, what have you done to her face?” She sounds angry.
What about the rest of me? I think.
My father shrugs, drinking deeply. “I lost my temper.” That is it, his explanation.
“Take her to her room,” she tells the three maidens and leaves. As they approach, I try to speak to tell them not to move me, I want to beg them to leave me. “No... NO!” No more pain. My words cause more blood to leave my lips. One girl comes into view. Tears stream down her face, her hand gently pats my clotted hair.
“Bring me poppi,” is all she tells one of the maidens that leaves as she continues stroking my hair, swallowing her sobs. “It will be okay, the poppi will take the pain away.” Her friend squeezes her shoulder and she reaches back, patting her friend’s hand. What that must feel like, to have someone to squeeze your shoulder because you are upset. Red tears continue to stream from my eyes.
The maiden is crying and covers her mouth to hold in her sobs. The pity in her eyes makes me close mine, this kindness I can’t accept. I let the pain flood me and take over all of my senses. It is then I realise that I had somehow made my body
go numb. But the poppi is soon filling my mouth and darkness fills my mind.
My mother’s humming comes between spells of pain and spells of sleep; she is such a beautiful singer. At that moment I don’t wish for the pain to stop, I only wish she would never stop singing to me.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE PARTY
The white dress hangs from the mirror, my hands reach out to stroke it, but a firm slap across my knuckles makes me pull my hands away. My mother gives me a disapproving look. “You have no patience or manners, Bellona.” She tuts.
I glance at the three maids but they all keep their heads bowed, not seeing my burning face.
“I remember wearing this dress on my birthday.” My mother runs her hand along the snow white lace as I had wanted to, she smiles. “I was the most beautiful woman ever to be seen, all of Saskia gasped when I arrived.”
I find myself smiling too, wondering if that is the reception I will receive also. My mother’s smile falls as she glances at me. “But you, I’m not sure.” Before I can respond she beckons the maids “Get her ready.” My mother sits on the armchair beside the fire as the maids help me into the dress. It takes a long time to button the back of it as the buttons run from my neck the whole way to the ground but the end result has me smiling at my reflection. The dress fits me perfectly, emphasizing all my curves, yet I am covered completely. The lace rises up to the neck line, tucks in tightly at the waist and trails to the ground, the lace sleeves just stop at my knuckles. The dress is truly magnificent. My hair is left loose around my face. My brown eyes stand out from the soft gray shadow that has been placed around them, my cheeks pink from the tint and also my lips. I am stunned with the end result. As the maids help me into the heels they complement me on how beautiful I look, and for the first time I feel it. When I’m finally ready I turn to my mother, still smiling, waiting for her approval. “Don’t smile, Bellona, it makes you look ugly.” At that she turns and the maids and I follow, my heart feels deflated with her words. I don’t smile as we make our way to the grand hall, I don’t smile as everyone applauds, I only nod politely and I don’t smile as the music starts or when a glass of wine is placed in my hand. I don’t smile as people compliment me on how well I look, I just thank them.