I was to be his third betrothal in less than a year. The official word was that each princess became ill, though everyone whispered. There were vile rumors cycling through the kingdoms. Yet no other King feared for his daughter more than his lust for power. Being betrothed to Prince Gabriel was an honor above all else, even one's life. High King Leon was the most powerful King in all the land, from sea to sea. He allowed lesser kings out of his lack of desire to personally rule every part of his vast kingdom. Giving crooks the powerful title of "king" kept them from banding together against him. High King most enjoyed a healthy village competition. He would offer gold and his most prized concubines; prized for their cleanliness, son bearing, and skills of a shameful matter. The competition was typically who could grow and gather the most crops in a season, or birth the most cattle.
Cattle. I was being sold as cattle. According to my father, a woman is only good for gain. Whether fain by betrothal into power, or bearing children. I wasn't even of use to my mother. She resented me. After difficulty bearing children for a year, she finally began expecting. Unfortunately, her body didn't carry them long and they were all girls. I was the first to survive the early birth. My nursemaid said that's why my hazel eyes are so big, my early birth. My mother on more than one occasion informed me that because of me her blood would never hold power. The king only lays with his concubines now, hoping for a successor. That is until I was asked to marry the High Prince.
I look in my wardrobe wondering if I should try to look beautiful, or if beauty is why the prince's former brides are now with God. My theory is the prince has a lust for ultimate power. The power of God to decide who lives, and who dies. I would rather die as royally as possible I decide. My finest silks are packed, and my favorite red dress is the one I shall meet him in. It's a two day carriage ride. My only companion is my dog. She's a lovely animal, and has protected me these past five years.
See my father, the king of the plains, has a nasty temper. Many of his concubines have been beaten beyond recognition. For my twelfth birthday, I was permitted to go to the Grand Market and pick a few gifts. I considered meaningless puppets for entertainment, or a talented slave girl to braid my hair in exotic fashions or make me impressive with her sewing skills. I found however, as I looked into the eyes of the child I saw a reflection. I saw the same pained eyes that I saw in my mirror everyday. I knew I would never be free, and neither would she. It was then I heard an odd whimper. We had all manner of beasts in the kingdoms. We had dragons that stole sheep in the night, dogs to hunt with, birds that filled our cloudy day with color, but I had never seen such a curious animal.It was a hunting dog, but just a pup. He stood out from his energetic siblings, in fact my memory swears he rolled his eyes but I'll write that off as girlish fancy. He was quiet, calm and met my gaze with intensity. His eyes were a deep blue, and very noticeable compared to his black fluff. Funny how such an adorable creature could look so proud. I wanted him. The seller protested my want for the hunting beast. He threw around the words worthless and weak. He even kicked the creature to prove his words, claiming that the animal should whimper or recoil. Instead the knee high dog walked right back to his spot and sat, never losing my eyes. Instinctively, my face turned into an expression of disgust but I still expressed my desire for the dog. I only paid half out of pity from the seller claiming the dog will serve no one. The seller assumed my facial expression was that for a perceived faulty beast only good for his dazzling eyes, but I was revolted by the type of man who hurts those he deems below him.
I named him Storm for his eyes reminded me of that eerie calm that descends before the storm. When father heard of my gift choice of a worthless hunting dog, he seemed indifferent, but his indifference can disguise his inner fury. I sat on my bed stroking the tangled fur on my Storm, whispering to my pet that I would see to it that no one ever kicked him again and live to see the light of day. Father came walking in to see my gift.
"Isn't it lovely, father?" I said in an attempt to invoke sympathy and amusement, seemingly asking his permission. He liked feeling above everyone, stroking his ego seemed to keep me from the more severe lashings.
"Yes, lovely." His eyes met mine and fear struck my core. His green eyes were betraying a different kind of evil, a hunger almost. He took slow advancing steps towards me.
"Is there anything I can do for you? A shirt that needs my mending, perhaps fresh bed linens?" I was stammering for something to distract him from the unnerving look in his eyes.
"Not tonight my dear. Tonight my needs are beyond simple mending or washing." He sat at the foot of my bed.
"You are a woman now my sweet, and as such you are now ready to help me with...adult matters."
He inched closer within arms reach. My grip on Storm tightened as my entire body tensed. He put his hands on my shoulders and forced his lips onto mine. I bit down as hard as I could until I tasted his blood. He recoiled in pain. I decided right then that I would rather die than allow him to take me as a harlet would. He was stunned for a moment because I had never stood up to him before. His surprise didn't last very long, and he moved towards me again. As he reached this time Storm jumped between us. Before I had time to blink, my father was cradling one of his hands as blood poured from the place where his left thumb should've been. He had a remarkable look of fear in his eyes as he made a hasty retreat. Storm was standing on my bed now, and despite his fluffy stuffed toy appearance, he was a frightful sight. After he seemed satisfied that my father wasn't coming back, he turned to me with a grin. Well, about as grin as a dog could get. He let his floppy ears lower and began to wiggle his nub of a tail left and right. He tackled me with a warm snuggle, and my heart melted. The joy I felt after that moment still remains unrivaled. I finally had love, a protector, and my father never bothered me beyond idle threats. He has since never left my side, still growling when my father is in the room.
Storm's reactions base my opinions of everyone. If he growls upon a fellow nobel kissing my hand, or a guest entering the sitting room, I instantly don't trust them. I'm grateful to have him in my carriage now. His presence giving me comfort. His reaction to the Prince will guide my actions. I'm still concerned about who the prince may be, but nothing can weather my Storm.
-Heather
Let me know if you want me to continue the story, or if you like it just the way it is.
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