Deck of Cards

by Johnson, ID

  He had already spent some of those jewels, however, and he was hoping that his other investments would pay off. He had sent a messenger to his distant cousin Leopold, King of Gradenia, a savage and ruthless group of rogues to his north, hoping to peak his interest and perhaps win his assistance with the refute of Caleb’s infiltrating army. Philip knew that Leo had personal issues with Caleb, though he wasn’t sure exactly why, and he hoped to prey upon that hatred and use it to his advantage.

  But it had been almost two weeks and he had heard nothing. His messenger returned with little more than shrugging shoulders. He hated being ignored. Thinking about this situation angered him all over again. He got up and began to get dressed, ready to head back to the war room and come up with some solutions.

  Rose’s voice behind him was a reminder that he was not alone. He had forgotten for a few moments that the slut was even in the room. “Are you leaving?” she asked groggily. He didn’t bother to answer her, as he finished pulling his tunic over his head and pulled on his boots. As he walked toward the door, he heard her say, “Call on me anytime, Your Majesty.” Her comments only annoyed him further and he stomped off in the direction of his war room in an even worse mood than before. “At least,” he mumbled aloud, “a mute wouldn’t make such asinine comments!”

  ***

  It was getting late in the afternoon when Katey ascended the stairs for the second time. Part of her considered darkness an asset since it was always easier for her to go undetected when it was dark. But she did not like being alone in the castle, or anywhere for that matter, by herself after nightfall so she did not plan for her trip to take long. She was expected to dine with the king that evening and so she knew she must be back in time.

  As she grew nearer to the top of the staircase, she began to hear a song coming from the room behind the oak door. He was singing, softly and faintly but singing nonetheless. She paused for a second, recognizing the tune. It was an old ballad about lost love, one her mother used to sing from time to time. It stirred faint memories and, for a moment, she lost herself in emotion, remembering her sweet mother and longing for her embrace.

  Katey shook her head, clearing those thoughts and returning to her current mission. The bloodstains still trailed down the stairs and as she approached the door, she noticed a larger puddle. For a moment, she could not stop staring at the crimson stain. It reminded her of a similar pool of blood, one she would never be able to erase from her memory. She pushed those thoughts aside, however, as she was on a mission. Yet, she continued to shudder, thinking of what they must have done to the poor young man on the other side of that door. That’s how she thought of him, just a poor young man, when she considered what it must be like to be torn from your family, held captive, summarily beaten frequently, starved, and denied access to any comfort whatsoever. It didn’t really matter your title or lineage in that circumstance. Pain was pain regardless of station.

  That is why she had left. She had to collect some items to slide through the little slot in the door.

  This time, he didn’t seem to hear her approach. She paused for a second outside the bloody door, not sure what to do. Finally, she decided to try knocking. She tapped gently against the splintering old oak door and waited for an acknowledgement.

  The singing suddenly stopped. Matthew wasn’t sure if he had heard something or not. He was sure he had heard someone on the stairs earlier, just before he passed out, but no one had ever entered. He paused, waiting to see if there was another knock, which there eventually was, and so he finally whispered, “Is someone there?”

  This was another tricky situation for Katey. Obviously, she could not verbally respond so she decided to slide the first gift through the door. It was a book, the thinnest one she could find in the library. She wasn’t quite sure if it would fit and it took a little bit of effort but she was able to slide it through. She didn’t want to drop it, however, because she wasn’t sure how much blood there might be on the other side of the door, so she held it in place, hoping Matthew would take it.

  Seeing the book sticking through the door and yet hearing nothing, Matthew wasn’t quite sure how to react. He glanced around the room, as if looking for someone to acknowledge that what he was seeing was real. Since there was no such confirmation to be found, he slowly got up from the bed and took the two steps to the door. Taking the book in his hand and pulling it through he said, “Pardon? Who is there?”

  Katey did not answer of course. Instead, she took the clean strips of cloth she had brought with her and slid them through the slot. She thought he might want to use them as bandages.

  Matthew took the cloth as well. “Thank you,” he said cautiously. “Who, who’s there?”

  Again, there was no answer, just another gift. This time it was food! Thin cuts of meat, some cheese, even a thinly sliced apple, each slid through the door as efficiently as possible. Matthew was tempted to shove each piece directly into his mouth but, since he was not sure who was giving him the food, he hesitated to do so and instead carefully sat it down on the strips of cloth. “Unbelievable,” he mumbled to himself. “Thank you! Thank you so much. Please, tell me your name!”

  Katey knew it was getting late and as much as she would have liked to stay and make sure Matthew was okay and would recover from his wounds, she could not. She quickly turned and retreated back down the stairs. She heard him beckoning for her to speak but she ignored his pleas and hurried on her way to prepare for the evening meal.

  Matthew was dumbfounded. It was as if an angel delivered him manna from heaven. He attempted to peer through the hole in the door to see who had brought these items but he or she was gone. Though he had not seen the person delivering the gifts, he felt fairly confident it was not someone who wanted to murder him so he woofed the food down as quickly as possible. He had not eaten anything but mush in so long, he had practically forgotten what real food tasted like. He knew he would pay for it later. The book was poetry and though he had never truly enjoyed reading verse, he was so thankful to have something to do, it wouldn’t have mattered what the material was. He made quick use of the cloths, wiping up the dry blood from his face and wrapping the other around his head, which was still dripping a bit. He saved the rest of them for next time; certain that there would be a next time, and stuffed them in one of the holes of the mattress. He hated to get them dirty but it was much better than having them discovered.

  He could not figure out who this visitor could have been. Perhaps it was one of his previous attackers feeling regret about almost killing him. Or perhaps it was one of the wretches assigned to bring his slop, hoping to improve his conditions a bit. Whomever it was, he deserved a metal and if Matthew ever escaped this dire situation he vowed to find this person and justly reward his kindness.

  For the first time in six months, Matthew felt like a person again.

  ***

  Philip spent much of dinner sulking, angry about the turn of events at Tower of Glendor and pissed off that none of his subordinates seemed to have any clue how to stop an attacking army. Apparently, all they could do was invade other kingdoms.

  Honestly, that wasn’t exactly true either. Many of the tactics they had used to gain access to Zurconia were underhanded and shifty. They had also used up a lot of their resources in the last couple of years waging war against a fairly defenseless people. Arteria, on the other hand, was a land full of warriors. It was fairly common knowledge amongst the gentry that Caleb took battle preparation extremely seriously. Though Arteria was rarely tested in battle, there was a reason for that; other armies knew it was practically suicidal to attack an army consisting of soldiers who volunteered to dedicate their lives to defend their homeland. Arteria was much like Sparta in that men were honored to be warriors. Families felt a great deal of pride in seeing their sons selected to fight with the king. Unlike many neighboring kingdoms, which used mercenaries or makeshift infantry, Arteria paid its own citizens very well to defend the land and, when called upon to do so by
the king, invade whatever nations may stand against them.

  Princess Katey sat next to him, picking at her food like a damn bird. Every time Philip so much as looked at her, she glanced away as if his eyes were physically burning hers. At first, he had attempted polite conversation, “How are you? How was your day? Did you do anything interesting?” Blah, blah, blah. Of course, she had said nothing, as was always the case, so he had eventually given up. Joan had answered in her stead. She was fine. She had had a great day. She had spent most of the day reading and working on an embroidery piece, etc. He didn’t really care anyway. The more time he spent in her presence, the more he began to loathe her. And the more he wanted to drag her screaming into his bedchamber and teach her to say his name.

  Katey was not exactly enjoying the meal either. She wasn’t used to the food as it was prepared at Blackthorn. Everything was drier and more well-done, practically burned, than she would have liked. Philip spent much of the meal ranting to his most trusted military advisor, Charles, about what was going on in the area known as Glendor. Though Philip began the conversation attempting to be secretive, it did not last. Once again, no one seemed to consider that, just because Katey did not speak, that did not mean that she couldn’t understand what was being said. Joan was just the help so it didn’t really didn’t seem to matter to them that she was present. In Philip’s opinion, she was probably too ignorant to understand what the nobility was speaking about anyway.

  There were a few pieces of critical information gained by Philips loose-lipped approach to talking about war at the table. If his Uncle Edward had been present, he would have put a stop to it immediately. But he was not joining them. He had hurt his wrist earlier in the day. Katey had a sneaking suspicion his injury may have been related to the beating of King Matthew but she couldn’t know for sure. Nevertheless, his absence allowed Philip to spew comments about the impending doom about to befall Clovington, with Caleb’s army advancing daily. This was critical information for Katey to know, as it could possibly affect her own life, and she was glad to learn precisely what was happening.

  Philip’s inability to keep his information to himself may also have had something to do with the copious amounts of wine he had ingested with his meal. Katey had noticed he was fond of the drink but tonight’s display was even more profound than usual. As the diners began to finish, Philip began to grow quieter and his gaze became more amorous. Katey grew more and more nervous. Though she could not say a man had never laid a hand on her, she had some how managed to stay a virgin, despite the frequent advances and attacks she had endured over the years. Upon meeting Philip for the first time, she began to settle on the idea that he would, eventually, be her husband in every sense of the word. Because of her prior experiences, the idea of having any man touch her was unsettling to say the least and though she was attracted to Philip, she was also terrified of him for so many reasons. There had been a few times recently when he had placed his hand on hers and she felt herself physically shutter. He always seemed extremely agitated at her response and, rather than removing his hand and making her feel more comfortable as most gentleman would do, he would simply grasp her fingers harder, sometimes squeezing to the point of pain. If this was any indicator of what he would be like in the bedroom, Katey was right to be fearful.

  Philip reached over and gently stroked the side of Katey’s face with his finger. His knuckle was tough and callused and she flinched a bit at first. Taking a deep breath she resolved herself to stay still. She was, after all, about to marry this man so she had better try her best not to make him angry.

  “I think it’s time to proceed with the nuptials, Love,” he said his fingers now curling around her hair and gently tugging at the ringlets that had escaped her crowning braid. “Perhaps we should hold the ceremony later this week, say, Sunday?” He paused, as if she would answer. Of course she did not, but her eyes grew larger. He leaned closer and she could smell the strong scent of wine on his breath. “I’m looking forward to teaching you how to scream my name,” he whispered so sharply Katey felt little flicks of saliva peppering her ear. He rubbed his nose up and down the side of her face, his hand slipping down her arm, to her side. She braced herself as she felt sorted emotions well up insider of her. She understood the response of fear and repulse but she was not quite sure why she also felt a bit of excitement. She glanced at Joan, a pleading expression on her face, hoping that she would be able to read her thoughts, as she usually could, and say the words that Katey would say herself if only she were capable.

  “Sunday! That’s just four days away!” Joan exclaimed, leaning across Katey, closer to the king. He responded as both ladies had hoped he would and pulled himself off of his betrothed. Across the table, Charles, sat back in his chair, his chalice half-full, a smirk on his face, which indicated he took pleasure in watching Philip claim what was rightfully his. Joan continued, “We have so much to do!” She began to push her chair back, pulling Katey by the arm. “Let us go begin the preparations. Come, Your Highness,” Katey’s chair scooted back and she almost tumbled out, still reeling from Philip’s comment. Her knees felt weak and she wasn’t sure she could make it out of the room without stumbling.

  Irritated, Philip, pulled himself up from the table. “Now?” he asked. “You need to go start your preparations now at this late hour?”

  Katey seemed a bit frozen, wanting to retreat but fearful of unleashing Philip’s wrath. She waited for Joan to say something—anything—to calm him down. “Yes, yes, Your Majesty, “ the lady-in-waiting began, “So much goes into making sure the day goes exactly as planned.” Then she added, “May we have your permission to leave the table, Your Majesty?”

  Philip slumped down in his chair. The alcohol and the frustration from news of the loss that day was mounting and he was seriously considering whisking the princess back to his abode to take her as his wife this very instant. It was generally not done that way amongst royals, but at this point he did not care. He should have wed her years ago, should be bedding her nightly if he so chose, why not complete the transaction now and finish with the technicalities later? She was practically his wife already, in all but practice.

  Katey could see Philip contemplating whether or not to give them leave. She saw his forehead furrow, saw his eyebrows come together either in deep thought or anger or both. He began to stroke his jawline and she took advantage of this pause as one last attempt to save herself. The only thing she could think to do was to courtesy, low and deliberately, intending to display for him and everyone else that she understood she was his property, that she appreciated his station and his power, and that she really wished to be dismissed.

  Philip abruptly came to his feet. He swayed a bit, the liquor catching up with him. “Fine,” he spat. “That’s fine. Go ahead and run off to your chamber.” He swatted at her with his left hand, the one closes to the table and promptly knocked his goblet of wine over. A pool of bright burgundy began to spread across the white tablecloth. Momentarily, Katey stared at it, reminded of a pool of blood—the one at the top of the stairs, the one on a stark white dress. Philip brought her crashing back to reality, however, when he picked up the container and threw it across the room. It smashed into the mirror above the fireplace mantel, sending slivers of glass flying across the room.

  Charles pushed his chair back from the table, not sure what to do. He had found a bit of humor in the situation until this point. Philip desperately wanted to take this woman to bed who clearly found him either repulsive or terrifying, or both. Now, however, all comedy was lost. “Your Highness,” he began, reaching out to Philip to steady or calm him.

  Philip pushed his counselor away. “No, no, it’s fine. Go! Go!”

  Katey began to back towards the door, Joan’s hand on her arm when Philip came flying across the room at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and demanding she look him in the face. “Just remember,” he said, his lips grazing the flesh on her cheek, “I am the king—Your king. And I will have you when
and where I want to, however I want to. Make no mistake about that, Love, you belong to me!”

  Charles was there now, pulling Philip back, “Your Majesty, Philip, come on, Sir.”

  As Charles pleaded with his leader to release the frightened girl, he finally did so. Joan’s arms were now gently pulling Katey towards the exit. “He’s drunk,” Charles said over Philip’s shoulder as the king rubbed his hands on his face, still visibly angry but coming back to his senses a bit. “He’s, he’s not himself right now,” Charles attempted to explain.

  Katey nodded at Charles as the women backed out of the room. She had always thought of Charles as a bit of a prick but now she saw him in a different light. He had no obligation to try to save her and yet he had come to her aid. Joan had her by the arm as they quickly made their way back to their bedchamber. Katey had not gone far when she began to sob. She found some solace in Joan’s arms but she knew that the night would bring more nightmares; Philip’s actions had dredged up more memories she had been trying to stifle for years. Along with that bone-white face and beckoning hand, she would also feel the fingers of her other assailants, the ones who had took advantage of her inability to scream and preyed on her flesh much the way that Philip would someday very, very soon.

  Chapter 3

  Perhaps it was because he had eaten more that day than in the last month, but Matthew slept extremely well that night. Most mornings, he found himself reflecting on the visions that had haunted his intermittent sleep, trying to assure himself that he was safe, though that was difficult under the circumstances. He dreamt of Maggie nightly and, generally, those dreams started off as wonderful reenactments of memories he still held most fondly. Moments together watching the sunrise, sharing a laugh over the dinner table, making love to his beautiful bride. They often became twisted horror stories, ending with his mangled wife lying on the floor as he screamed, holding her precious head in his hands, begging her to come back to him. But she never did.