by Phal, F.
"You are the furthest thing from cowardice, Marik. But the kingdom
needs a king now more than ever." I take your large hands within my grasp and bring them to my lips. "You cannot think to leave us to fend for ourselves, my king." The tears come of their own accord. “We would not survive.” I allow the fear combating in chest to come through. Falling into your embrace I cling to you like a child. “I will not survive.”
"Nothing will happen to me." You frame my face." I will return to you, my own." You drop a kiss on my lips your thumbs brush away my tears but not the ache, not this nauseating feeling of dread within my soul.
"Marik, I beg you do not go." I pull away from you, and wrap my arms around
myself, you make to approach me but I step back. "Trust in what I say, something dark and horrible awaits you beneath the high mountains of Noria. Send your army, half of Noria’s army if you must, but you must stay. Rule the kingdom from your throne." My heartaches, oh how my heartaches.
"I tried ruling my kingdom from a throne and now I will fight if I must to keep it."
"You are not a knight! Just a foolish boy with the stubborn will to get himself
killed!" In a panic I hurl at you things I do not mean.
"And you, my beautiful whore, are out of place." You’re stalking me now, every bit of you menacing and I retreat.
"Do not touch me!" My order falls on deaf ears as you push me down. The bed breaks my fall and immediately I scramble to escape you.
"You are hardly in any place to order me about." Your hand clamps around my ankle and you brusquely tug to bring me to you. My struggles are put to an instant halt beneath your hulking frame. My arms are drawn above my head, my wrists bound by your unyielding grip as you settle your weight on my thighs.
"Is this how you will take me tonight, Marik?" I pant, meeting your fearsome gaze.
"If I must."
You deprive me of your tenderness in your ravishment. Your kisses hard, your touch cold, you tear at my clothing and still I fail to respond. My gaze averted, focused on anything but the cruelty in your eyes, I pray that it will be over soon.
"Fuck." So undignified for you to be so crass, the word is whispered angrily against my cheek and in mere seconds I am relieved of your weight. "I will not suffer you my touch. I will seek my pleasure with someone far more willing.” You’re gone before I can protest. The resounding crash of the door behind you leaves me aching. I lay in your bed, my tears silent, only for me and my unborn child.
***
I wanted to tell you, give you reason to stay. But you left with the yawning rays of dawn. No whispered goodbyes, no kisses to keep. Simply this gaping emptiness in the wake of your departure. The palace felt it, your wives felt it, even your people felt it and yet none of them felt it more than I.
Endless hours turned into endless days awaiting your arrival, awaiting word of your victory. But none came as nights grew longer and days shorter. Despair crept like a plague through my being, and each day that passed the gleaming blade of the bejeweled dagger looked ever tempting.
"I will not be held responsible for your foolishness.” Kivar, sweet, insufferable Kivar, his clip tone pulls me from self-imposed misery.
"Has word come?" I set my paint brush down to look upon him with hope and when he shakes his head the wound in my chest bleeds a little more.
"How are you feeling?"
"I could be better." I rest my hand along the slight bump of my abdomen.
What an uproar it had caused when the court had finally come to the realization. How furious Krea had been when she’d seen my delicate condition and how protectively Somia had come to my aid when she demanded I abort it.
Kivar has been a constant form of comfort. Odd that he seemed even more protective of me in your absence. He, along with Somia have rallied to my side in the face of the resentment from nearly everyone in the palace.
"How is the child?" he walks behind me, his eyes fixed on the portrait I have drawn, one in the hundreds of you.
"Growing."
"Yes, well come inside, the air grows cold." I accept his help in guiding me to back to palace.
Dinners, I ate with your second wife, who prompted me to call her Somia. In our mutual anguish of missing you, we’ve formed a tentative friendship. We spoke, but never of you. We spoke of her home in Sry, of my art, of everything and nothing, but never of you. She treated me with the respect not many concubines received from her, maybe because I was your favorite. Within her company I was an equal, we laughed and teased as if we were long lost friends, as if I have known her all of my life. Her malice was non-existent when I spoke of my child. She only smiled and regarded me with something akin to envy but never malice.
***
I come awake with a gasp, my hand flies to my abdomen. Something isn’t right. Another gasp escapes me, my heart crashes against my ribcage upon the initial blast to the palace walls. I’m instantly out of bed, racing towards my chamber door.
Chaos greets me. Screams, cries of despair pours from every direction. The inhabitants of the palace are in a panic as they scramble to escape the havoc. I hold tightly to the frame of the door as another tremor hits.
"Lealin!" Kivar races towards me. He hastens me along as he wraps a hooded cloak around me.
"What is happening?" I scream over the cacophony, but he does not answer. We’re running like life depends on it. My heart races painfully in my chest but I grit my teeth and keep up with Kivar’s long strides.
We stop suddenly and we hide in a small alcove. He keeps me behind him, my back to the wall he turns and puts a finger to his lips. I nod anxiously. We listen to their approaching footfalls, their booted feet trudging through the debris. Fear like ice cold water sloshes through my veins rendering immobile. I can’t breathe and with aching desperation I try to combat the haziness of my vision. The blood is rushing to my head and I know I’m going to faint.
"Not now.” Kivar whispers harshly. I pray to the deity to give me reprieve and sigh with relief when it passes.
We wait for an eternity after their receding steps before emerging from our hiding spot and racing in the opposite direction of where the rebels had gone. It was an endless maze, an endless turn of stairs and dark corners when we finally made our way to the servant quarters. We were almost free, nearly at the entrance when Kivar’s unyielding grip slackens.
They’d found us and subdued Kivar. Through the bevy of rebels he screamed for me to keep going, turn and run and leave him to this unknown fate. But I couldn’t and that was my ultimate downfall.
Something sharp and wet darted through the layer of the cloak and poked the backside of my left arm, numbness raced through my core and as I felt my body tumble forward I tried so hard to fall on my side and prayed that my child would survive.
***
There are fingers sifting through my hair, whispering gradually downward to brush at my cheek. I wake from the darkness of slumber, bleary eyed to find that you have not miraculous returned to me. He looks upon me with those watery blue eyes, his touch upon my skin, one of familiarity. My flesh burns in protest, revolted at the thought that this man would dare touch my person. In my attempt to withdraw, he lashes out to keep me in place, the hold of my arm in his grasp nearly painful.
“Do not look at me so.” He chastises, a skeletal finger sweeps across my brow. “Nothing but happiness should ever mar this face.” He grasps my chin and I look upon him with disgust, refusing to show a modicum of respect. “And I shall be the one to make you happy. In time you will come to accept the reality.”
“What reality?”
He fails to respond but rather stands to take the goblet by the bedside. “Here,” he invites, once more at my side. “You must be thirsty. Drink.” He bids, holding the goblet out for me. At my refusal, he hedges forward with a smirk. “Come now, little one, you must be parched.” Yes my throat ached terribly, pleading to be quenched I succumb.
With bound wrists I am unable to take the go
blet from him, so I accept when he holds it out for me to drink. The coolness of the water is balm to aridness of my mouth and for a small, fleeting moment I am grateful for it. But sanity quickly returns and with it my ire and ever growing concern for the child in my womb. My eyes stray to my abdomen and I am comforted in the small bump protruding from the sheets. I ache to feel it. My fingers itch to settle on the bump that has become so familiar these last four months. But alas, my arms are shackled by iron chains to the dark posters of the bed.
“What have you done, Lord Valancette?” I finally gain courage to ask.
“What should have been done years ago…I only righted a wrong.”
“What wrong? Where are the others? The palace…”
“Do not worry yourself over them. They do not deserve it.”
“They were my family! What have you done to, Marik?” The tears fall, and my head spun.
“I am your family now.”
He must have put something in the water. My vision blurs, dizziness overcomes me all at once and too soon I find myself in darkness.
I am alone when I awake. The hour is lost upon me as the only source of lights comes from the candelabras at the walls. I raise my head in an attempt to assess the room I am in but in doing so I exacerbate the pounding at my temples. I am still bound, shackled to the bed. There are innumerable questions battering at my mind, the main of which wonders what has happened to not only you, my king, but those who’ve been charged to protect us. What’s happened to Kivar? Somia? Salyn?
“Even in a time of war, you are still wanted by your enemies.” was that Krea’s voice? She came away from the shadows and approached me.
Her face when not contorted in scowl seemed almost pretty to look at, but at the moment she scowls down at me, her eyes so cold and malicious.
“You know,” she whispers, as though allowing me in on a great secret.” I can carve that abomination from your womb and happily watch as you bleed to death.” She brandishes her dagger, the blade catching the light just so emphasizes her deadly point.
“You wouldn’t…“
“What is it exactly about you that make’s men act like idiots, hmm?” She draws closer. “Could it be your face?” the dagger licks across my cheek with lightening precision, drawing blood, but not deep enough to mar, but it hurts all the same.
“Or maybe these lips?” She takes my jaw within her hand and draws the dagger across my lips. “I could make them redder.” She presses down, the pressure biting into my flesh and I knew she would’ve gone through with the threat had it not been for Lord Valancette’s intrusion.
“It would behoove you to drop that dagger and step away from her, Krea.” He says with warning, coming just within my eyesight.
It takes her a moment in which I believe she would ignore the command and finish what she’d wanted to do for so very long now. But she takes a step back, taking her dagger with her. I release the sigh I wasn’t aware I was holding.
“She is not deserving of your affections, my king.”
“Careful my sweet, speak no ill of my consort or I might just overlook the favor you have done me and kill you.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Leave us.” She hesitates for but a minute but turns on her heel and leaves with a huff.
“How are you feeling?”
“Where is, Marik?” I countered.
“Dead.” he looks to the trey at my bedside. “You have not eaten.”
“You’re Lying! What have you done to him!” his oleaginous smile sends a chill down my spine.
“How can I possibly lie when his wife helped me carry out the deed? A simple swipe of her dagger across his throat.”
“Krea loves Marik…she would never kill him, never!”
“With the right incentives, even you can be brought to kill a loved one.” He was evil when he smiled. He leans forward to kiss my forehead. “You must eat, my sweet, if only to preserve strength for the child you carry.” he left me to my agony.
You are not dead. You are far too stubborn to allow yourself to be murdered in such a way. Too wise to allow such stupidity to befall you, my king. You are not dead. Please, my love let it not be so. There is so much I need to tell you, so much we need to share. Fate can be not be so cruel. To give me this gift, this precious life in me, only to take you away so prematurely. You are not dead.
I weep only because my heart aches, my soul despairs because you are not here, at this moment, beside me. My body is wracked with sobs because…because…because…the pain is too much to bear.
My coughs are loud, the ache forms into bile and spills from mouth on the bed, I see blood as I continue to cough, I don’t care, I don’t care! The acid burns my throat, tickles my nose and tastes horrible against my tongue, someone has come, trying to restrain me, trying to coerce me to seize my loud coughs, but I hear nothing, see no one.
Please Marik, let it not be so! How can I survive without you? How long will I go on before anguish causes me to kill myself? For what is life if I do not have you to share it with? Our child will be lost, so lost without you…
***
There is naught else left but this gaping wound inside the very core of me. Numbness envelops me, cocoons me from emotions I no longer wish to feel. Our child lives, grows and breaths through me. This child, the sole reason I allow myself to remain alive. I could’ve killed myself countless of times, with the chains I am bound with, but I will not, I cannot. This child will live and rule one day in your stead, the true heir to Noria. I will raise it to be everything you were. It will be a magnificent ruler, for the blood of kings’ courses through its veins.
The months have passed, I have learned very little, I have seen no one I know, but I know the palace of Noria still stands. Lord Valancette has usurped your throne and those who opposed him were either killed or put into slavery, made to rebuild. I have learned that he means to make me his consort. The idea is laughable, but I will sit by his side, wed him if I must, and be a complacent wife if only to keep my child safe. I willfully whore myself to this snake, the idea not at all foreign to me. I no longer live for myself Marik. My joy has left with you, but a love remains for our child, our child gives me hope, gives me the will to go on.
He has burnt everything that was ever given to me by you, he has clothed me in dark satins and silk, colors to match my eyes, colors to complement my burnished complexion. Your name is banned from my lips and anyone else’s around the palace. I mourn Kivar for I know naught if he lives, Somia also. My days and nights are spent in this room, always within his company, Lucian as he has asked to be called.
Always he acts the perfect suitor, as if he is courting me. He wants to please me and when I say something to upset him, he is cruel and precise with his punishments. Once, because I had angered him by uttering your name, he threatened to have our child sold into slavery when it was born. That was the day I came to a decision to protect our child at all cost.
My collar, my beautiful golden red collar is gone, that, above all the rest I dreaded parting with, it was special to me, almost like a wedding band. I cried when he tossed it into the flames, he had expected me to thank him, as if he had done me a great favor, but I hated him more, so much more. My fingers mindlessly run over the empty space now, I miss it.
“We are ready for you.” Did I forget to mention, today is my wedding day? I rise and follow, the yards of garish emerald satin wraps around me as I walk. The halls, once so vibrant with court life and chatter, are now silent and tomb-like. There is no laughter, no happiness. Everyone, everything is somber, lifeless, kept in line by Lucian’s guards.
Followers of the new reign lined the throne room, spectators to the wedding of a whore and a usurper. Lucian donned the colors of Noria, in the flowing robes, the golden crown on his head looks out of place. He looks at me now with those evil blue eyes, beckoning me to approach him.
“Before we commence, there is something I must do.” I look at him expectantly, wondering what e
xactly he is talking about.
I did not wait long to have my answer. He sits me down on the divan and terror resonates when two guards head our way. It dawns on me too late what he intends to do. He curtails my attempt to flee as by presses my head to his chest.
“It must be done,” he whispers harshly, lifting my garments and exposing my naked thighs for all to see. It will hurt for but a second.” He lies. My screams echo throughout the silent room, my eyes wide as he mercilessly brands his insignia on the inner most part of my trembling thigh. The stench of my burning flesh makes me want to retch.
I don’t remember much after that. I was escorted to his chambers after, washed and shaved, scented with honeyed fig and made to kneel on the floor to await his arrival, naked. The insignia ached, but did not throb, the poultice they had applied dulling the pain.
He came in, silent and menacing, I did not bow my head as was fitting, but matched his stare with my own emotionless one. I will not cower before this man.