revisionist tale.
Mar. 7th, 2011 10:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starlightsaoirseanother revisionist tale, from fairy tale fictions last year. warning: it's long. other warnings include past non-con, attempted non-con, consensual but not explicit sex, probably some language, and fairy tale stock character types behaving badly.
some formatting issues. i'll fix them, i promise. fixed, i think.
My name is Amira, and I am seventeen years old. I am gracious enough to accept when people tell me I am beautiful, and modest enough to know others are more beautiful still. My father is advisor to the king; my mother died when I was born. My father and I, his only child, live in the castle. The king’s son began courting me several months ago. I have all I need to secure my happily ever after.
These were the thoughts on my mind as I drew my cloak around me and headed down the servants’ stairs to meet my lover.
Jayin worked for the king. He was head of his stables, in charge of the caretaking of all the animals the king owned. That was actually how I had come to meet him. I spent most of my free time near the stables, particularly riding and caring for my own horse. Jayin had become my friend years before, spending time with me in the stables and riding with me when he could spare the time from his duties.
We had been lovers for over a year.
When we had first begun to meet as lovers, I fancied that we might one day get married—after all, Jayin did well enough to support me, and at sixteen, I could not see how my father could object to a match based on love. I had underestimated my father’s ambition. Any hopes of ever marrying the man I loved vanished as soon as my father started to shove me at the king’s son. Jayin, a handful of years older than I and twice as wise, never held the same illusions that I did about our future, but his love for me was no less for his realism. And so at least twice a week I slipped out of my room—which had been across the castle from my father’s since I was seven years old—and made my way through the servants’ pathways and out to the houses beyond the stables and into Jayin’s arms, where I would remain until the first grey glimmer of dawn.
It was so easy, before Prince Malik decided he wanted to announce to all and sundry that he was courting me. Which was, in fact, news—to me. My father had thought it a splendid idea when Prince Malik had asked, and so it was agreed, and so it was decreed.
Now I had to take care at what hour I left my rooms—yes, now rooms, plural, as in suite of, in yet another part of the castle, much closer to the prince’s suite—and at what hour I returned and who might see me along the way; before, it mattered little to the servants whose bed the daughter of the king’s advisor warmed at night, but now that I was being courted by a prince, it would be the same as bedding one while married to another—and gossip in this court was a wicked monster.
This night, it was midnight when I left my rooms. All but the lowest of the kitchen staff would be nearly to bed by now, and I would still have several hours to spend with my Jayin before I would have to return—at least an hour before sun-up now, lest one of the morning kitchen boys see me slip in the back door, or one of the laundry girls catch me on the stairs. The halls were cold, as most of the fires had been extinguished for the night, but my cloak was warm. I kept to the shadows as I walked quickly toward the unassuming door that led to a narrow, steep staircase; this would take me down to the kitchens. Thankfully, that night I met no one, and soon was outside.
Under the moonlight, I lowered the hood from my head. The night’s air was brisk and I could taste the winter’s chill on the edge of the autumn breeze. The wind tugged teasingly on my clothes, wrapping them tight around my body then whipping away, lifting my cloak and my skirts with it, a promise of things to come as it drew me closer to my beloved. My step quickened, and soon I saw the lamp waiting in the front window, and I was home.
I woke late in my own bed, alone, the next morning, somewhat sore, and still very satisfied. My body hummed happily as I shifted beneath the sheets, nowhere to be and reluctant to rise.
A timid knock sounded from my door, followed by an awkward beat of waiting before the door opened inward. There stood my new maid, Giolla, to whom I was still not accustomed; she was a young, pretty, curvy little thing, and timid as all hell, as if I were going to bite her every morning for doing her job—which was apparently, at the moment, bringing me breakfast. Oh, yes, another perk of being courted by the prince—your own personal handmaiden.
“Morning, Miss,” Giolla said genially, if softly.
I stretched. “Good morning, Giolla. And please stop that ‘miss’ nonsense, all right?” She flushed, as if she had done something wrong, and began to stammer an apology. Well, piss. I cut her off. “Would you have breakfast with me?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Miss—“
“—It's Amira, not ‘Miss’ anything—”
“—It would be very improper—“
“—I’m terribly lonely.” Her brown eyes flicked to mine, making contact for the first time—hitherto, she’d been busying herself with fussing about with the tray or looking somewhere over my shoulder. I offered a small smile. “Please?”
“All right.”
At my insistence, Giolla settled on my bed with me as I bundled in my sleep-warmed covers, and we began to share the food that, I learned, the prince had requested be sent to me each morning. There were strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, with fresh cream, all so sensual, and cakes and sweets, along with more savory food—really, altogether more than the both of us could eat together. To top it all off, in the center of the tray was a small vase with a single white rose, still only a bud.
“Oh, the symbolism!” I snorted indelicately, pulling the rose from its vase and setting them both aside. “Fool. And the poor gardener, having to hunt this morning to find a white rose that was just budding.”
Giolla eyed me askance. “You don’t approve of the prince’s, ah, gift?”
“I think he’s a git for having others do his wooing, and doubly so for thinking the cleverness of his innuendo is going to make the innocent little girl blush over her breakfast.”
Giolla looked a little shocked, but then a sly smile spread across her bow-shaped lips. “So I’ll take that to mean that the little love bite there on your neck isn’t from the prince then, is it?”
I paled, hand flying involuntarily to my throat, certain that my secret would be all over the castle by midday, until Giolla let loose a girlish giggle. Oh, dear. I’d never been one of the girls growing up in the castle—I’d had very little in the way of proper socialization, actually—but it seemed now I was most definitely being drawn into the circle of girlhood. And hopefully that meant that for now, my secret was safe.
“I’m glad of that, though, Amira,” she said, suddenly serious.
“What, that I’m not spreading my legs for the prince?” I mocked, and she flinched. My heart sank, and not just because I had hurt her.
“You haven’t spent much time around the prince, have you?”
“No, only at the balls, when he’s charming anything with legs.”
“Take care when you’re alone with him. Just...take care.” Her eyes, gorgeous, dark chocolate eyes, rimmed with thick dark lashes, were wide, serious, and frightened—for me or for herself, or for someone else, I did not know. Following that, she would say no more, and refused anymore of the feast that remained. When I pushed, she simply bid me good day and left, taking the tray, rose and all, with her.
An interesting and appalling development. I’d known Malik when we were children. We played in the garden together when we were very small. He pulled my hair and I kicked him in the shins and life was fairly balanced. He’d gone to his aging uncle’s kingdom when we were older, to act as “just-in-case” heir until his uncle’s young wife bore a child and that child was of some years. He had only recently returned. Though I had seen him intermittently at balls held at this or his uncle’s kingdom, when I as my father’s daughter must go to be shown off, I had no idea that he had gained habits and a character that were so mismatched with the sunny, playful boy in my memory.
This knowledge cast a pall over the walk in the woods we were to take that afternoon.
Prince Malik found me by the stables that afternoon following the second meal of the day. A meal which Giolla hadn’t even brought to me; one of the girls who worked in the kitchen brought it, with no explanation as to why Giolla was unavailable. After picking half-heartedly at my food, I’d gone to the stables to be near the horses, the only creatures in the kingdom that always made sense. The fact that Jayin was working with some of the stable lads on repairing fencing across the field, his shirt cast aside as he labored in the sun, was icing.
I noticed the hair on my arms and the back of my neck pricking uncomfortably before I noticed Malik standing behind me. I turned and saw he carried another white rosebud in his hand. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back my smirk and my remark.
“There you are, my lady,” Malik announced, as if he had discovered something truly rare and fine. I arched an eyebrow at him. “I thought you would be in your room.”
“I’m rarely there.”
“I see.” He took my arm and steered me away from the stables, though I snuck one last fleeting look over my shoulder at Jayin’s sun-tanned and well-toned back. That man’s body could set any woman’s heart fluttering. My eyes could have rolled back into my eyes if I thought too long about the previous night. I absently adjusted the choker around my neck, which was strategically placed to cover the love bite Jayin had left. Silly man really needed to be more careful in future. “And where,” Malik continued, breaking into my daydreams, “might I look if I wanted to find you, if not your rooms?”
I hesitated, not wanting to divulge the locations of my true sanctuaries. “The library,” I told him finally. “Your father owns so many fascinating books. Countless books.”
“Ah, the library.” He shifted our arms so that my hand rested more properly in the crook of his; I wanted to take it back. We walked into the woods, a cloud of silence following. “I never have been much for reading,” he finally said.
Do you prefer to spend your time raping your father’s servants? I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood to keep from voicing that thought. When I had my tongue under control, I asked him graciously, “What do you prefer to do with your time?”
He preened. “Oh, I hunt, and fish, and help my father with whatever he may need. I dare say, though, that hunting is my favorite pastime.”
“How charming.” I hadn’t managed to bite my tongue quite soon enough.
We were silent once more, and the silence allowed me to notice how deep into the woods we were getting. We were keeping to a well-worn path, but I knew well where it led; it followed the creek to our right upstream to a deep pool, fed from above by a trickling waterfall, with a small clearing off to one side. It was an incredibly romantic setting, a very private place, one I had enjoyed before but had very little desire to explore with Malik, particularly in light of Giolla’s warning that morning.
I paused, and decided to take a risk.
I tripped on a tree root and tumbled off the path. I tumbled until my foot fell into a little hole, and my body collided hard with a thick tree trunk. It just so happened that my right arm was between my body and the tree trunk. A small sound of pain escaped my lips.
“Amira!” Prince Malik actually sounded concerned as he bounded after me.
“Are you all right?”
I allowed him to take my injured arm in gentle fingers, though I winced when he touched it. “I think it’s broken,” I whispered.
“You clumsy fool,” he admonished gently, tapping my nose with his finger. I nearly flinched. “Let’s get you back to the castle and let the doctor there get a look at it.”
I let him guide me back onto the path, and even allowed his hand protectively in the small of my back the rest of the way out of the woods. My arm ached, but I knew it wasn’t broken. I doubted it was even very deeply bruised.
After I visited the doctor’s, I was going to wait in my room for Giolla. And we were definitely going to have a talk.
I ambushed her at dinner. I pulled her into my room and locked the door. It was only then I noticed how wild-eyed she looked, and it couldn’t have all been because I’d just frightened the daylights out of her.
She set the tray on a low table and whirled to face me, grabbing my shoulders. “Are you okay? Alaric came through earlier saying you’d returned from walking with Malik and you were hurt, and I was so afraid that he’d...”
I gripped her forearms. “Giolla, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. I decided being alone with him away from the castle was a bad idea and so I got out of it. All that happened is I bruised the bone in my arm a bit.” I gently worked free from her grip and guided her to sit on one of my couches with me. “But now I need you to tell me more of what you wouldn’t tell me this morning, and exactly what I’m up against.”
Giolla shook her head. “Oh, no, Amira, really, I can’t—“
“Giolla, please. I need to know.”
She paused. “Do you have anything to drink?” I knew she didn’t mean water. I retrieved a bottle of strong whiskey from the cabinet next to my bed and brought it to her. She took a large swig from it without bothering to pour it into a glass.
“I was fourteen when I started working here at the castle. I mostly did housekeeping things around the public areas, but the king saw me and liked me and so I started to be responsible for cleaning his rooms and, when he was here, Malik’s as well. There was to be a ball, and Malik came home for it. That was the first time I’d met him, and he seemed so handsome and kind and charming. He paid attention to me, and was kind to me, and gave me little presents. But the night of the ball... He came into his room earlier than I anticipated he would to get ready, and I was still there cleaning up. I started to leave, saying I could come back later, but he told me to stay. He sat in a chair and watched while I cleaned.”
Another swig from the bottle, and Giolla closed her eyes. I took her hand and she gripped mine, hard. “When I finished, I bid him good evening and turned to leave, but he grabbed me and pulled me back. He teased me about not going to the ball, but said he could...show me a good time then and there. I tried to get away from him and out the door, but he hit me across the face. He...” Giolla trailed off. “He beat me. And he raped me. And then he beat me some more. And then that bastard told me to clean up his rooms again afterward, while he went off to the ball.”
I hugged her tight, a tight lump in my throat nearly choking me and a weight of nausea lodged in my stomach. “And I’m not the only one,” Giolla’s voice broke into my ear. She tried to bite back her sobs. “Ariella, she was out of work for two weeks after he had done with her, she was hurt so bad. And Martina, he got her pregnant, and her family turned her out, didn’t even care she didn’t have a say in the matter. Lea can’t wear anything that shows any of her back ever again, because she’s all covered in scars now. And Ava was set to be married, but after he got a hold of her, her man didn’t want her anymore. I doubt there’s a girl working in this castle he hasn’t hurt in some way.”
I shook as I held Giolla and let her cry. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared of Malik, afraid of what he had done, and why he had chosen me—and what he had in mind for me.
That night I returned to Jayin’s. I didn’t normally go so frequently, but I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him. I couldn’t even stand to wait until midnight, but thankfully I made it without incident. The lamp was in the window, as always. Jayin seemed confused when he opened the door at my knock and found me, two nights in a row, until he saw my face. Wordlessly, he drew me inside.
Only minutes later, I was curled snugly in his lap, held securely in his arms. I wept as I told him everything I had learned, about Prince Malik, how he forced himself on Giolla, and on her friends, and the spirits only know how many other poor girls. And not just the sex, but the violence and brutality he had shown. My heart broke for those girls, who had no one to protect them; a fear was also growing deep inside me for myself, for who did I have to protect me? This, surely, was to be my fate as well, except I was expected to marry it.
Jayin, kindhearted soul, stroked my hair and soothed me, rubbed my back, dropped light kisses on my hair and forehead. He gently stroked my injured arm, pressing more sweet kisses along it. His strong arms held me tightly, and I believed I was safe, if only for the moment. Finally I calmed, my crying reduced to a smear of salt on my reddened face and the occasional hiccup. Jayin lightly caressed my hips.
“Come,” he murmured against my lips before kissing me softly. “Come to bed and let me love you. Then we will see what we can do to protect you.”
I allowed Jayin to lead me to his bed and to thoroughly love my body. I was too shaken to do much more than cling to him when I could and to quake beneath him with the sensations he brought me when I could not. It was quite some time later that we curled round each other, sated and calm, centered and refocused.
It was then that we dressed and Jayin took me to his mother’s house. Amma Manasa was the wisest woman I knew, and many in the kingdom sought her advice and her insights through the cards for many matters. In addition, she was a master at witchcraft; for this, too, she was much sought after by the people in the kingdom. When I was younger, when Jayin and I were still only friends, Amma Manasa had taught me simple tricks of her craft: how to read the cards to find answers, transforming my hair ribbons into butterflies, or using simple glamours to change my copper hair to blonde. When I was older, she had advised me of more serious matters in the craft, how to use it to heal, how to use it to protect, and how to never use it to harm. She called me her arien, which, as best as Jayin could tell me, meant little witch or little enchantress. Though I had left off of my training in her craft shortly after Jayin and I became lovers, I still visited Amma Manasa with some frequency; she was the only mother I had ever known.
This night, when I come into her home, she already knew something was wrong; there was a cup of tea in her hands for me when she opened the door. Jayin waited outside, splitting firewood for his mother, while I told her everything. She did not look surprised by any of it.
“You know, arien, this is not unusual behavior for our monarchs,” she told me gently, taking my hand in hers.
“Raping women isn’t unusual behavior?” My fist clenched within her soft grip.
“Malik, perhaps he is not so much different than his father.” Amma Manasa gave me a meaningful look.
“You mean the king goes around raping women too?”
“I am not sure about lately, I have heard rumors of impotence. But when he was Malik’s age? The king was no saint, arien.” The faraway look in her eyes told me all I needed to know about the king and the tendencies he apparently shared with his son. I squeezed her hands.
“I’m sorry, Amma Manasa.”
She pulled her hand free and waved it through the air, as if to wave away my words. “Nonsense, my child. You have nothing to apologize for. However, this prince. You seem to be in an...unfortunate situation with him. And I am certain your father is of no help.”
“My father would just as soon see me in the prince’s bed, whether I were willing or no.”
“Do not worry, my child. You will come see me, three times each week. I will teach you. You will be strong. This prince is not your fate.” She handed me my tea cup, which was rapidly cooling. “Now drink up.”
I did as she asked, and hoped she was right.
Over the next several weeks, I did exactly as Amma Manasa asked. I attended to my normal responsibilities in the castle—I went to my music lessons, I went to my tutoring lessons, I was there looking pretty when my father thought I ought to be—but I had told him there was an old lady who lived in the servants’ village who was ill that I wanted to care for. He smiled, praised my compassion and kindness, and sent me off with his good will. And so three times every week, I went to Amma Manasa’s house and learned her craft from her. I learned the intricacies of protection spells, to guard against physical and magical attacks; I learned how to prepare potions to garner all sorts of effects; I learned how to tell the difference in the herbs used in the various potions and why just a hair too much of one could be the difference in a successful potion and death. I learned about offensive spells, in case I should ever need to defend myself beyond a protective shield. I was making huge progress, and Amma Manasa was very proud.
I also took the time to see Jayin often. He was very busy preparing for the coming winter, repairing damaged stables and sheds, negotiating for grain and feed for the animals, and so on, but he made time for me for at least an hour or two following my sessions with his mother. Usually we made love during that time, but a lot of the time we just spent in each other’s company. Often, I had dinner with him before returning to the castle for the night.
I spent very little time with Prince Malik. He was not discontented, however; he seemed so taken with this charitable angel persona he saw as I was caring for this ailing old woman in the village. He always found cause to praise me, found excuses to be closer than propriety dictated to me, found reason to touch my hand or arm or face, and generally found ways to make me uncomfortable. However, I was learning so much in working with Amma Manasa that I was almost too busy and too focused to let that affect me, beyond providing motivation.
The day came, as I knew it would, that my engagement to Prince Malik was announced. This time, at least, I knew in advance. I wore a gorgeous dress and a simple silver circlet on my head when I was presented to the people of the kingdom as the prince’s intended. I caught sight of Jayin in the crowd, a stoic face amidst cheering, and could have wept.
That night, I tarried longer than usual in the servants’ village with Jayin. I was sprawled in his bed, still naked from our lovemaking, and paging through a book his mother had lent me, detailing the steps for many very complicated spells and potions, many of them I was certain I could never complete. Jayin, on the other hand, was kissing down my spine and attempting to refocus my attention on something else, if I was going to stay there late anyway.
I almost broke his nose when I flew to sit up properly.
“By the spirits, woman,” he growled crossly, rubbing his face. I waved my hand, bidding him to be silent. The spell I was reading was a transformation spell, but unlike any I had seen before. If the caster could hold it, this spell would transform a person from human into their spirit animal—the animal of their soul. Unlike other transformation spells I had seen, it did not have a time limit, nor did I see any way of reversing it. This spell would leave you in the form of your spirit animal for the rest of your life. Thoughtfully, I bookmarked the page, then kissed Jayin and began to get dressed.
I yawned widely as I left my room the next morning. Between Amma Manasa’s instruction and the hours spent with Jayin the night before, I was still tired. My now-routine sharing of my breakfast with Giolla, even when she brought coffee along with those silly white rosebuds and whatever senses-pleasing food had been arranged for, had failed to give me any energy. Lazily, I stretched. Giolla had warned me that the prince was starting to become annoyed that he could never find me in the castle, so with a mug of hot, sweet coffee in my hands, I headed toward the library.
There was no one else in the great room lined with books. I was not surprised. This court did not possess many intellectuals. I milled about, half-reading the titles along book spines, until I came to a collection of fairy stories that I had read often when I was a child. Pulling it from the shelf, I turned and headed for a comfortable couch. I had been there less than an hour when the door opened, revealing Prince Malik. I forced a smile.
“There are you are, my dove,” he cooed, crossing the room in long strides. I remained seated, but he dropped himself to his knees before me, taking one of my hands in his to kiss its back. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m doing well, and yourself?”
“Delighted to have found you. I thought we might spend the day together.”
Damn. “If you like. May I finish my coffee before you whisk me away?”
He chuckled and rose from the floor, dropping to sit next to me on the couch. “Of course, pet. Take all the time you need.” As we sat and I ever so slowly sipped my coffee (refilled once already by a quickly whispered spell), I noticed how terribly close he was sitting. Our thighs pressed against one another along their whole length. Even through my voluminous skirts, I felt it and was uneasy. One of his hands reached up to tug on a ringlet of hair, tumbled over my shoulder. “You are very beautiful, Amira.”
I blushed and ducked my head appropriately. “Thank you, Prince.” I took a slow, deliberate sip of my coffee.
Malik smoothed the errant ringlet back over my shoulder, his fingertips playing against my exposed neck as he did so. I could not contain my sudden shiver. Malik’s eyes shone, for perhaps he took my shiver as sign of arousal, or perhaps he enjoyed the disgust and fear he was stirring in me. A smile I could only describe as predatory came over his face. His hand tightened on the back of my neck.
“Beautiful Amira,” he sighed, turning slightly on the couch to face me. “We are engaged to be married, and yet I have never tasted your lips. Would you allow me your first kiss?”
First kiss, my ass, I thought, even as I blushed, shook my head, attempting to demur. “Oh, no, Prince,” I murmured. “Not yet.”
“Your modesty is very charming, little dove, but just one little kiss, hm? I’ll be gentle,” he teased.
To be honest, cold chills went down my spine at the thought of allowing him to touch me, let alone to kiss me, but I could see well that I risked angering him if I refused further. Looking away from him, I nodded.
Malik placed a hand on either side of my face, one cupping my cheek, the other farther back, tangling his fingers into my hair. He pulled me to him with some consideration. His lips met mine softly, pressing once, twice, three times, before his tongue swept across my lips. I would have pulled back—indeed, I tried—but he held me so tightly. His tongue was in my mouth, then, wrapping around my own, and if I were stiff and reluctant and awkward the prince probably assumed it was due to inexperience. After an eternity he pulled away, his hands still holding tightly to my face.
“There now,” he whispered, kissing my forehead gently. “Your first kiss has been a proper one.”
My first kiss had been on my sixteenth birthday, in the stables while I was brushing my horse after a ride, and it had been a sweet, bumbling sort of thing; though Jayin’s hands had curled around my waist, I never felt as if I could not pull away—nor did I want to.
Unable to say a word, I simply blushed and averted my eyes, trying to turn my face away.
“Come now, none of that. For your first kiss must soon be followed by your second.” He kissed me again, one hand still tangled in my hair and pulling it slightly; the other hand moved from my cheek to my shoulder, and I hated the feel of him against the bare skin of my collarbone as he trailed his fingertips along it. When he had kissed me for a reasonable amount of time, I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back gently.
My action only served to anger him, however. “What’s this, my own bride pushing me away? I’ll have none of that.”
After that, I sort of wished I had just sat there and accepted his kisses.
The hand in my hair pulled roughly and he pushed me, until I was on my back on the couch; it mattered not how much I struggled, for he was far stronger. He lay on top of me, kissing me roughly, and his free hand groped for my breast through the stiff material of my dress. I struggled beneath him, trying to gain leverage enough to shove him off of me, but all that did was excite him further; I could feel evidence of that pressing against my belly with every movement. He bit my neck, my collarbone, the exposed skin above my breasts. His hands pinched and grabbed at my flesh through my gown, trying to pull up my skirts without giving me freedom to move. In this, at least, he was not successful, managing to expose only a little of my legs.
The whole while, he was whispering, murmuring dirty, disgusting words into my ear, insults, desires, the things he would do to me, things he would have me do. My blood ran cold as I tried to shut it out of my mind.
Malik had succeeded in freeing my breasts from the confines of my gown and had set about abusing them with his hands and mouth, one hand over my own mouth to muffle my cries, when voices in the hall outside the library forced him to stop. He yanked me from the couch and shoved me behind a bookcase, ordering me to set my clothing to rights. I obeyed with shaking hands, then fled before he could stop me.
I stood naked in front of a full-length mirror in my room that night. Bruises marred my body, from my legs to my hips to my breasts, which were almost nothing but bruises and bite marks. Bruises from his biting and sucking my flesh stood out starkly on the pale skin of my neck as well. My arms were dark with bruises from his holding me down.
I was disgusted by my own body.
That night I made up my mind.
My visits to Amma Manasa increased to four times a week, for I was working very hard, now toward a specific goal. I had not told Jayin what my end goal was to be, though Amma Manasa and I agreed it was the best way to resolve the situation—for, if I ran, Malik would follow, and anyone who helped me would die.
Poor Jayin—I delayed going to see him after Malik had attacked me, for fear my body with its marks would disgust him as it had disgusted me. He cornered me one evening as I was leaving his mother’s, brought me home with him, and learned the whole of the story. He kissed every mark, loving my body and me in a way I still did not understand. There was murder in his eyes, but he knew he could not act on it.
Our relationship took on a tinge of desperation after that.
Though I tried my best when in the castle to avoid Malik, it is rather hard to avoid one’s betrothed for long. There were rehearsals and dress fittings and dance lessons, all manner of things I would sooner have left alone, that forced me to interact with him and put on the brave face of a maiden in love with her handsome prince. I tried, at least, to only be with him in the presence of others. When we were alone, he had the tendency to shove me against walls, his hands groping whatever of my body they could grab, and kissing me until I bruised. I had taken to wearing fuller dresses with higher necks to thwart his efforts as much as I could.
I also locked my door at night.
Eventually, it was the day before the wedding, and the night I was to carry out my plan. People had come from all the surrounding kingdoms for the joyous occasion, and there was to be a great feast that evening. Giolla had come to help me dress, and I was glad I had locked the door, for I heard pacing outside it the entire time we were preparing me for the evening.
The feast itself passed in a blur. The food was good, but I was so nervous I could hardly keep any of it down. There was much dancing, and though Malik was loath to give me up, etiquette dictated that I be allowed to dance with those from neighboring kingdoms. It was only when I was dancing with him that I felt a bruising grip on my hip and had a stream of vulgar words fed into my ear. My father stood proudly next to the king; if his chest puffed up anymore, the buttons of his coat would tear away. I could not look at him.
Following the feast and its festivities, Malik insisted on escorting me to my room. There was no way around it. I must agree. He seemed in no hurry to get to my room; rather, we took an ambling, meandering path, through the gardens and the long way around, all the while with my arm clasped against his side. We finally reached my door, and he tried the knob.
“It’s locked,” he accused. He looked as if he had known this would be the case.
“So it is,” I replied evenly.
“Open it,” he commanded.
“No.”
His fury showed on his face for half an instant before he flung me against the door, forcing the breath from me. There in the hallway, where anyone chancing by might have seen, he pulled my skirt up to my waist, his fingers playing against my womanhood. “That’s no way to treat your husband, little dove,” he mocked, his free hand taking me by the throat. I only whimpered.
His finger thrust roughly inside me, and I cried out; I was dry, and that was terribly painful. He continued thrusting his finger as he spoke into my ear. “Tomorrow night there’ll be no hiding from me, little one. Tomorrow night, you’re mine.”
He pulled back suddenly, my skirt falling back into place. There was blood on his finger from his roughness; perhaps he mistook it for virginity. Either way, he was pleased. “Have pleasant rest, little dove.” He left me shaking against my door.
When he was out of sight, I drew the key from my cleavage and let myself in, locking the door behind me. I had much to do and not long left, now. I changed quickly from the beautiful formal gown into my well-worn riding clothes. I placed a spell book against my chest, held in place by my jacket. Finally, I wrapped myself in an old patched cloak that Giolla had brought me the day before; my own green cloak might be recognized, I feared, and that was the last thing I needed this night.
With a glance in the mirror, I saw a girl who looked far surer of herself than I felt. I took a deep breath and left my room, locking it behind me.
The kitchens were quiet. I was grateful. I slipped quickly out the back door and onto the road into the village.
I was halfway to Jayin’s when I noticed someone following me, a fair distance behind. Whether it was Malik or someone he had put on guard made no difference; I quickened my step and soon was at my beloved’s door.
He opened it, and I drew him out immediately. “Come,” I told him, kissing him gently. “To Amma Manasa’s house.” He followed me, and the shadowy figure far behind us followed as well.
Amma Manasa was ready. Her house smelled of herbs burned to increase focus and concentration and to ward off evil intent. I shivered as I passed inside. I drew out my book and showed my spell, finally, to Jayin.
His eyes showed me nothing. “You’ll be going away forever, then.”
“There is nothing else to do, my love.
He held me tightly. “You know there’s at least one man from the castle who followed you here.”
“Then I must move quickly.”
Let the tales they would tell say what they would. Let them tell of a witch who transformed the lovely princess into a beast, or of the beautiful maiden stolen away on the eve of her wedding. Let them even say that the prince was seduced by a wicked sorceress with the second form of a beast. Let the prince mourn my death to his people, let my father go to hell, and let this whole damned world continue in its patterns. I won’t be a part of it any longer. I will make my own way.
“I’m ready.”
My beloved hugged me fiercely for the last time, his lips locked in a soul-searing kiss against mine. A tear slipped from my eye, and he abruptly pulled back, though his hands still tangled in my hair. “I love you, Amira,” he whispered in a ragged voice. I kissed his forehead softly.
I stepped away from him and began the spell. It took all of my concentration to hold it, as there were many elements involved. Amma Manasa chanted with me, lending her years of wisdom and experience to my own young skill and strength. I was beginning to fear that I had failed, that I was not strong enough, that I would have to go back to the castle and drive a knife through my chest in order to keep from marrying a monster, for nothing at all was happening. Jayin joined the chanting. I closed my eyes, and felt my body melting, reshaping, reforming. The world spun wildly around me, but I kept my eyes closed.
When the world stilled, I opened my eyes, and I caught sight of myself in one of Amma Manasa’s many mirrors.
I was beautiful. I was a large panther, with great paws, with great claws. My coat was a deep charcoal, nearly black, dappled with purple and mahogany. For the first time in my life, I felt vain.
My Jayin was kneeling in front of me. The poor man, I hated to leave him. I nuzzled my soft muzzle against his neck, then walked by him, rubbing the length of my body along him, marking him with my scent: mine mine mine. One last nuzzle. His strong hands ran over my body and through my fur, and even in this form it excited me. I pulled away reluctantly.
I faced Amma Manasa. She spoke a blessing over me, a powerful protection spell. I gently nuzzled against her hand, silently thanking her for everything. She understood.
“Go now, arien. Go now, and be safe, and be happy. You will always be welcome here should you choose to return.”
She opened the door, and I padded out, my body slinky and confident in its new shape. One last look over my shoulder, my sharp feline eyes meeting Jayin’s steady grey, and I was gone, into the night, melting into the ink-black darkness of which I was now a part.
My name is Amira, and I am seventeen years old. I am gracious enough to accept when people tell me I am beautiful, and modest enough to know others are more beautiful still. My father is advisor to the king; my mother died when I was born. My father and I, his only child, live in the castle. The king’s son began courting me several months ago. I have all I need to secure my happily ever after.
These were the thoughts on my mind as I drew my cloak around me and headed down the servants’ stairs to meet my lover.
Jayin worked for the king. He was head of his stables, in charge of the caretaking of all the animals the king owned. That was actually how I had come to meet him. I spent most of my free time near the stables, particularly riding and caring for my own horse. Jayin had become my friend years before, spending time with me in the stables and riding with me when he could spare the time from his duties.
We had been lovers for over a year.
When we had first begun to meet as lovers, I fancied that we might one day get married—after all, Jayin did well enough to support me, and at sixteen, I could not see how my father could object to a match based on love. I had underestimated my father’s ambition. Any hopes of ever marrying the man I loved vanished as soon as my father started to shove me at the king’s son. Jayin, a handful of years older than I and twice as wise, never held the same illusions that I did about our future, but his love for me was no less for his realism. And so at least twice a week I slipped out of my room—which had been across the castle from my father’s since I was seven years old—and made my way through the servants’ pathways and out to the houses beyond the stables and into Jayin’s arms, where I would remain until the first grey glimmer of dawn.
It was so easy, before Prince Malik decided he wanted to announce to all and sundry that he was courting me. Which was, in fact, news—to me. My father had thought it a splendid idea when Prince Malik had asked, and so it was agreed, and so it was decreed.
Now I had to take care at what hour I left my rooms—yes, now rooms, plural, as in suite of, in yet another part of the castle, much closer to the prince’s suite—and at what hour I returned and who might see me along the way; before, it mattered little to the servants whose bed the daughter of the king’s advisor warmed at night, but now that I was being courted by a prince, it would be the same as bedding one while married to another—and gossip in this court was a wicked monster.
This night, it was midnight when I left my rooms. All but the lowest of the kitchen staff would be nearly to bed by now, and I would still have several hours to spend with my Jayin before I would have to return—at least an hour before sun-up now, lest one of the morning kitchen boys see me slip in the back door, or one of the laundry girls catch me on the stairs. The halls were cold, as most of the fires had been extinguished for the night, but my cloak was warm. I kept to the shadows as I walked quickly toward the unassuming door that led to a narrow, steep staircase; this would take me down to the kitchens. Thankfully, that night I met no one, and soon was outside.
Under the moonlight, I lowered the hood from my head. The night’s air was brisk and I could taste the winter’s chill on the edge of the autumn breeze. The wind tugged teasingly on my clothes, wrapping them tight around my body then whipping away, lifting my cloak and my skirts with it, a promise of things to come as it drew me closer to my beloved. My step quickened, and soon I saw the lamp waiting in the front window, and I was home.
I woke late in my own bed, alone, the next morning, somewhat sore, and still very satisfied. My body hummed happily as I shifted beneath the sheets, nowhere to be and reluctant to rise.
A timid knock sounded from my door, followed by an awkward beat of waiting before the door opened inward. There stood my new maid, Giolla, to whom I was still not accustomed; she was a young, pretty, curvy little thing, and timid as all hell, as if I were going to bite her every morning for doing her job—which was apparently, at the moment, bringing me breakfast. Oh, yes, another perk of being courted by the prince—your own personal handmaiden.
“Morning, Miss,” Giolla said genially, if softly.
I stretched. “Good morning, Giolla. And please stop that ‘miss’ nonsense, all right?” She flushed, as if she had done something wrong, and began to stammer an apology. Well, piss. I cut her off. “Would you have breakfast with me?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Miss—“
“—It's Amira, not ‘Miss’ anything—”
“—It would be very improper—“
“—I’m terribly lonely.” Her brown eyes flicked to mine, making contact for the first time—hitherto, she’d been busying herself with fussing about with the tray or looking somewhere over my shoulder. I offered a small smile. “Please?”
“All right.”
At my insistence, Giolla settled on my bed with me as I bundled in my sleep-warmed covers, and we began to share the food that, I learned, the prince had requested be sent to me each morning. There were strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, with fresh cream, all so sensual, and cakes and sweets, along with more savory food—really, altogether more than the both of us could eat together. To top it all off, in the center of the tray was a small vase with a single white rose, still only a bud.
“Oh, the symbolism!” I snorted indelicately, pulling the rose from its vase and setting them both aside. “Fool. And the poor gardener, having to hunt this morning to find a white rose that was just budding.”
Giolla eyed me askance. “You don’t approve of the prince’s, ah, gift?”
“I think he’s a git for having others do his wooing, and doubly so for thinking the cleverness of his innuendo is going to make the innocent little girl blush over her breakfast.”
Giolla looked a little shocked, but then a sly smile spread across her bow-shaped lips. “So I’ll take that to mean that the little love bite there on your neck isn’t from the prince then, is it?”
I paled, hand flying involuntarily to my throat, certain that my secret would be all over the castle by midday, until Giolla let loose a girlish giggle. Oh, dear. I’d never been one of the girls growing up in the castle—I’d had very little in the way of proper socialization, actually—but it seemed now I was most definitely being drawn into the circle of girlhood. And hopefully that meant that for now, my secret was safe.
“I’m glad of that, though, Amira,” she said, suddenly serious.
“What, that I’m not spreading my legs for the prince?” I mocked, and she flinched. My heart sank, and not just because I had hurt her.
“You haven’t spent much time around the prince, have you?”
“No, only at the balls, when he’s charming anything with legs.”
“Take care when you’re alone with him. Just...take care.” Her eyes, gorgeous, dark chocolate eyes, rimmed with thick dark lashes, were wide, serious, and frightened—for me or for herself, or for someone else, I did not know. Following that, she would say no more, and refused anymore of the feast that remained. When I pushed, she simply bid me good day and left, taking the tray, rose and all, with her.
An interesting and appalling development. I’d known Malik when we were children. We played in the garden together when we were very small. He pulled my hair and I kicked him in the shins and life was fairly balanced. He’d gone to his aging uncle’s kingdom when we were older, to act as “just-in-case” heir until his uncle’s young wife bore a child and that child was of some years. He had only recently returned. Though I had seen him intermittently at balls held at this or his uncle’s kingdom, when I as my father’s daughter must go to be shown off, I had no idea that he had gained habits and a character that were so mismatched with the sunny, playful boy in my memory.
This knowledge cast a pall over the walk in the woods we were to take that afternoon.
Prince Malik found me by the stables that afternoon following the second meal of the day. A meal which Giolla hadn’t even brought to me; one of the girls who worked in the kitchen brought it, with no explanation as to why Giolla was unavailable. After picking half-heartedly at my food, I’d gone to the stables to be near the horses, the only creatures in the kingdom that always made sense. The fact that Jayin was working with some of the stable lads on repairing fencing across the field, his shirt cast aside as he labored in the sun, was icing.
I noticed the hair on my arms and the back of my neck pricking uncomfortably before I noticed Malik standing behind me. I turned and saw he carried another white rosebud in his hand. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back my smirk and my remark.
“There you are, my lady,” Malik announced, as if he had discovered something truly rare and fine. I arched an eyebrow at him. “I thought you would be in your room.”
“I’m rarely there.”
“I see.” He took my arm and steered me away from the stables, though I snuck one last fleeting look over my shoulder at Jayin’s sun-tanned and well-toned back. That man’s body could set any woman’s heart fluttering. My eyes could have rolled back into my eyes if I thought too long about the previous night. I absently adjusted the choker around my neck, which was strategically placed to cover the love bite Jayin had left. Silly man really needed to be more careful in future. “And where,” Malik continued, breaking into my daydreams, “might I look if I wanted to find you, if not your rooms?”
I hesitated, not wanting to divulge the locations of my true sanctuaries. “The library,” I told him finally. “Your father owns so many fascinating books. Countless books.”
“Ah, the library.” He shifted our arms so that my hand rested more properly in the crook of his; I wanted to take it back. We walked into the woods, a cloud of silence following. “I never have been much for reading,” he finally said.
Do you prefer to spend your time raping your father’s servants? I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood to keep from voicing that thought. When I had my tongue under control, I asked him graciously, “What do you prefer to do with your time?”
He preened. “Oh, I hunt, and fish, and help my father with whatever he may need. I dare say, though, that hunting is my favorite pastime.”
“How charming.” I hadn’t managed to bite my tongue quite soon enough.
We were silent once more, and the silence allowed me to notice how deep into the woods we were getting. We were keeping to a well-worn path, but I knew well where it led; it followed the creek to our right upstream to a deep pool, fed from above by a trickling waterfall, with a small clearing off to one side. It was an incredibly romantic setting, a very private place, one I had enjoyed before but had very little desire to explore with Malik, particularly in light of Giolla’s warning that morning.
I paused, and decided to take a risk.
I tripped on a tree root and tumbled off the path. I tumbled until my foot fell into a little hole, and my body collided hard with a thick tree trunk. It just so happened that my right arm was between my body and the tree trunk. A small sound of pain escaped my lips.
“Amira!” Prince Malik actually sounded concerned as he bounded after me.
“Are you all right?”
I allowed him to take my injured arm in gentle fingers, though I winced when he touched it. “I think it’s broken,” I whispered.
“You clumsy fool,” he admonished gently, tapping my nose with his finger. I nearly flinched. “Let’s get you back to the castle and let the doctor there get a look at it.”
I let him guide me back onto the path, and even allowed his hand protectively in the small of my back the rest of the way out of the woods. My arm ached, but I knew it wasn’t broken. I doubted it was even very deeply bruised.
After I visited the doctor’s, I was going to wait in my room for Giolla. And we were definitely going to have a talk.
I ambushed her at dinner. I pulled her into my room and locked the door. It was only then I noticed how wild-eyed she looked, and it couldn’t have all been because I’d just frightened the daylights out of her.
She set the tray on a low table and whirled to face me, grabbing my shoulders. “Are you okay? Alaric came through earlier saying you’d returned from walking with Malik and you were hurt, and I was so afraid that he’d...”
I gripped her forearms. “Giolla, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. I decided being alone with him away from the castle was a bad idea and so I got out of it. All that happened is I bruised the bone in my arm a bit.” I gently worked free from her grip and guided her to sit on one of my couches with me. “But now I need you to tell me more of what you wouldn’t tell me this morning, and exactly what I’m up against.”
Giolla shook her head. “Oh, no, Amira, really, I can’t—“
“Giolla, please. I need to know.”
She paused. “Do you have anything to drink?” I knew she didn’t mean water. I retrieved a bottle of strong whiskey from the cabinet next to my bed and brought it to her. She took a large swig from it without bothering to pour it into a glass.
“I was fourteen when I started working here at the castle. I mostly did housekeeping things around the public areas, but the king saw me and liked me and so I started to be responsible for cleaning his rooms and, when he was here, Malik’s as well. There was to be a ball, and Malik came home for it. That was the first time I’d met him, and he seemed so handsome and kind and charming. He paid attention to me, and was kind to me, and gave me little presents. But the night of the ball... He came into his room earlier than I anticipated he would to get ready, and I was still there cleaning up. I started to leave, saying I could come back later, but he told me to stay. He sat in a chair and watched while I cleaned.”
Another swig from the bottle, and Giolla closed her eyes. I took her hand and she gripped mine, hard. “When I finished, I bid him good evening and turned to leave, but he grabbed me and pulled me back. He teased me about not going to the ball, but said he could...show me a good time then and there. I tried to get away from him and out the door, but he hit me across the face. He...” Giolla trailed off. “He beat me. And he raped me. And then he beat me some more. And then that bastard told me to clean up his rooms again afterward, while he went off to the ball.”
I hugged her tight, a tight lump in my throat nearly choking me and a weight of nausea lodged in my stomach. “And I’m not the only one,” Giolla’s voice broke into my ear. She tried to bite back her sobs. “Ariella, she was out of work for two weeks after he had done with her, she was hurt so bad. And Martina, he got her pregnant, and her family turned her out, didn’t even care she didn’t have a say in the matter. Lea can’t wear anything that shows any of her back ever again, because she’s all covered in scars now. And Ava was set to be married, but after he got a hold of her, her man didn’t want her anymore. I doubt there’s a girl working in this castle he hasn’t hurt in some way.”
I shook as I held Giolla and let her cry. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared of Malik, afraid of what he had done, and why he had chosen me—and what he had in mind for me.
That night I returned to Jayin’s. I didn’t normally go so frequently, but I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him. I couldn’t even stand to wait until midnight, but thankfully I made it without incident. The lamp was in the window, as always. Jayin seemed confused when he opened the door at my knock and found me, two nights in a row, until he saw my face. Wordlessly, he drew me inside.
Only minutes later, I was curled snugly in his lap, held securely in his arms. I wept as I told him everything I had learned, about Prince Malik, how he forced himself on Giolla, and on her friends, and the spirits only know how many other poor girls. And not just the sex, but the violence and brutality he had shown. My heart broke for those girls, who had no one to protect them; a fear was also growing deep inside me for myself, for who did I have to protect me? This, surely, was to be my fate as well, except I was expected to marry it.
Jayin, kindhearted soul, stroked my hair and soothed me, rubbed my back, dropped light kisses on my hair and forehead. He gently stroked my injured arm, pressing more sweet kisses along it. His strong arms held me tightly, and I believed I was safe, if only for the moment. Finally I calmed, my crying reduced to a smear of salt on my reddened face and the occasional hiccup. Jayin lightly caressed my hips.
“Come,” he murmured against my lips before kissing me softly. “Come to bed and let me love you. Then we will see what we can do to protect you.”
I allowed Jayin to lead me to his bed and to thoroughly love my body. I was too shaken to do much more than cling to him when I could and to quake beneath him with the sensations he brought me when I could not. It was quite some time later that we curled round each other, sated and calm, centered and refocused.
It was then that we dressed and Jayin took me to his mother’s house. Amma Manasa was the wisest woman I knew, and many in the kingdom sought her advice and her insights through the cards for many matters. In addition, she was a master at witchcraft; for this, too, she was much sought after by the people in the kingdom. When I was younger, when Jayin and I were still only friends, Amma Manasa had taught me simple tricks of her craft: how to read the cards to find answers, transforming my hair ribbons into butterflies, or using simple glamours to change my copper hair to blonde. When I was older, she had advised me of more serious matters in the craft, how to use it to heal, how to use it to protect, and how to never use it to harm. She called me her arien, which, as best as Jayin could tell me, meant little witch or little enchantress. Though I had left off of my training in her craft shortly after Jayin and I became lovers, I still visited Amma Manasa with some frequency; she was the only mother I had ever known.
This night, when I come into her home, she already knew something was wrong; there was a cup of tea in her hands for me when she opened the door. Jayin waited outside, splitting firewood for his mother, while I told her everything. She did not look surprised by any of it.
“You know, arien, this is not unusual behavior for our monarchs,” she told me gently, taking my hand in hers.
“Raping women isn’t unusual behavior?” My fist clenched within her soft grip.
“Malik, perhaps he is not so much different than his father.” Amma Manasa gave me a meaningful look.
“You mean the king goes around raping women too?”
“I am not sure about lately, I have heard rumors of impotence. But when he was Malik’s age? The king was no saint, arien.” The faraway look in her eyes told me all I needed to know about the king and the tendencies he apparently shared with his son. I squeezed her hands.
“I’m sorry, Amma Manasa.”
She pulled her hand free and waved it through the air, as if to wave away my words. “Nonsense, my child. You have nothing to apologize for. However, this prince. You seem to be in an...unfortunate situation with him. And I am certain your father is of no help.”
“My father would just as soon see me in the prince’s bed, whether I were willing or no.”
“Do not worry, my child. You will come see me, three times each week. I will teach you. You will be strong. This prince is not your fate.” She handed me my tea cup, which was rapidly cooling. “Now drink up.”
I did as she asked, and hoped she was right.
Over the next several weeks, I did exactly as Amma Manasa asked. I attended to my normal responsibilities in the castle—I went to my music lessons, I went to my tutoring lessons, I was there looking pretty when my father thought I ought to be—but I had told him there was an old lady who lived in the servants’ village who was ill that I wanted to care for. He smiled, praised my compassion and kindness, and sent me off with his good will. And so three times every week, I went to Amma Manasa’s house and learned her craft from her. I learned the intricacies of protection spells, to guard against physical and magical attacks; I learned how to prepare potions to garner all sorts of effects; I learned how to tell the difference in the herbs used in the various potions and why just a hair too much of one could be the difference in a successful potion and death. I learned about offensive spells, in case I should ever need to defend myself beyond a protective shield. I was making huge progress, and Amma Manasa was very proud.
I also took the time to see Jayin often. He was very busy preparing for the coming winter, repairing damaged stables and sheds, negotiating for grain and feed for the animals, and so on, but he made time for me for at least an hour or two following my sessions with his mother. Usually we made love during that time, but a lot of the time we just spent in each other’s company. Often, I had dinner with him before returning to the castle for the night.
I spent very little time with Prince Malik. He was not discontented, however; he seemed so taken with this charitable angel persona he saw as I was caring for this ailing old woman in the village. He always found cause to praise me, found excuses to be closer than propriety dictated to me, found reason to touch my hand or arm or face, and generally found ways to make me uncomfortable. However, I was learning so much in working with Amma Manasa that I was almost too busy and too focused to let that affect me, beyond providing motivation.
The day came, as I knew it would, that my engagement to Prince Malik was announced. This time, at least, I knew in advance. I wore a gorgeous dress and a simple silver circlet on my head when I was presented to the people of the kingdom as the prince’s intended. I caught sight of Jayin in the crowd, a stoic face amidst cheering, and could have wept.
That night, I tarried longer than usual in the servants’ village with Jayin. I was sprawled in his bed, still naked from our lovemaking, and paging through a book his mother had lent me, detailing the steps for many very complicated spells and potions, many of them I was certain I could never complete. Jayin, on the other hand, was kissing down my spine and attempting to refocus my attention on something else, if I was going to stay there late anyway.
I almost broke his nose when I flew to sit up properly.
“By the spirits, woman,” he growled crossly, rubbing his face. I waved my hand, bidding him to be silent. The spell I was reading was a transformation spell, but unlike any I had seen before. If the caster could hold it, this spell would transform a person from human into their spirit animal—the animal of their soul. Unlike other transformation spells I had seen, it did not have a time limit, nor did I see any way of reversing it. This spell would leave you in the form of your spirit animal for the rest of your life. Thoughtfully, I bookmarked the page, then kissed Jayin and began to get dressed.
I yawned widely as I left my room the next morning. Between Amma Manasa’s instruction and the hours spent with Jayin the night before, I was still tired. My now-routine sharing of my breakfast with Giolla, even when she brought coffee along with those silly white rosebuds and whatever senses-pleasing food had been arranged for, had failed to give me any energy. Lazily, I stretched. Giolla had warned me that the prince was starting to become annoyed that he could never find me in the castle, so with a mug of hot, sweet coffee in my hands, I headed toward the library.
There was no one else in the great room lined with books. I was not surprised. This court did not possess many intellectuals. I milled about, half-reading the titles along book spines, until I came to a collection of fairy stories that I had read often when I was a child. Pulling it from the shelf, I turned and headed for a comfortable couch. I had been there less than an hour when the door opened, revealing Prince Malik. I forced a smile.
“There are you are, my dove,” he cooed, crossing the room in long strides. I remained seated, but he dropped himself to his knees before me, taking one of my hands in his to kiss its back. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m doing well, and yourself?”
“Delighted to have found you. I thought we might spend the day together.”
Damn. “If you like. May I finish my coffee before you whisk me away?”
He chuckled and rose from the floor, dropping to sit next to me on the couch. “Of course, pet. Take all the time you need.” As we sat and I ever so slowly sipped my coffee (refilled once already by a quickly whispered spell), I noticed how terribly close he was sitting. Our thighs pressed against one another along their whole length. Even through my voluminous skirts, I felt it and was uneasy. One of his hands reached up to tug on a ringlet of hair, tumbled over my shoulder. “You are very beautiful, Amira.”
I blushed and ducked my head appropriately. “Thank you, Prince.” I took a slow, deliberate sip of my coffee.
Malik smoothed the errant ringlet back over my shoulder, his fingertips playing against my exposed neck as he did so. I could not contain my sudden shiver. Malik’s eyes shone, for perhaps he took my shiver as sign of arousal, or perhaps he enjoyed the disgust and fear he was stirring in me. A smile I could only describe as predatory came over his face. His hand tightened on the back of my neck.
“Beautiful Amira,” he sighed, turning slightly on the couch to face me. “We are engaged to be married, and yet I have never tasted your lips. Would you allow me your first kiss?”
First kiss, my ass, I thought, even as I blushed, shook my head, attempting to demur. “Oh, no, Prince,” I murmured. “Not yet.”
“Your modesty is very charming, little dove, but just one little kiss, hm? I’ll be gentle,” he teased.
To be honest, cold chills went down my spine at the thought of allowing him to touch me, let alone to kiss me, but I could see well that I risked angering him if I refused further. Looking away from him, I nodded.
Malik placed a hand on either side of my face, one cupping my cheek, the other farther back, tangling his fingers into my hair. He pulled me to him with some consideration. His lips met mine softly, pressing once, twice, three times, before his tongue swept across my lips. I would have pulled back—indeed, I tried—but he held me so tightly. His tongue was in my mouth, then, wrapping around my own, and if I were stiff and reluctant and awkward the prince probably assumed it was due to inexperience. After an eternity he pulled away, his hands still holding tightly to my face.
“There now,” he whispered, kissing my forehead gently. “Your first kiss has been a proper one.”
My first kiss had been on my sixteenth birthday, in the stables while I was brushing my horse after a ride, and it had been a sweet, bumbling sort of thing; though Jayin’s hands had curled around my waist, I never felt as if I could not pull away—nor did I want to.
Unable to say a word, I simply blushed and averted my eyes, trying to turn my face away.
“Come now, none of that. For your first kiss must soon be followed by your second.” He kissed me again, one hand still tangled in my hair and pulling it slightly; the other hand moved from my cheek to my shoulder, and I hated the feel of him against the bare skin of my collarbone as he trailed his fingertips along it. When he had kissed me for a reasonable amount of time, I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back gently.
My action only served to anger him, however. “What’s this, my own bride pushing me away? I’ll have none of that.”
After that, I sort of wished I had just sat there and accepted his kisses.
The hand in my hair pulled roughly and he pushed me, until I was on my back on the couch; it mattered not how much I struggled, for he was far stronger. He lay on top of me, kissing me roughly, and his free hand groped for my breast through the stiff material of my dress. I struggled beneath him, trying to gain leverage enough to shove him off of me, but all that did was excite him further; I could feel evidence of that pressing against my belly with every movement. He bit my neck, my collarbone, the exposed skin above my breasts. His hands pinched and grabbed at my flesh through my gown, trying to pull up my skirts without giving me freedom to move. In this, at least, he was not successful, managing to expose only a little of my legs.
The whole while, he was whispering, murmuring dirty, disgusting words into my ear, insults, desires, the things he would do to me, things he would have me do. My blood ran cold as I tried to shut it out of my mind.
Malik had succeeded in freeing my breasts from the confines of my gown and had set about abusing them with his hands and mouth, one hand over my own mouth to muffle my cries, when voices in the hall outside the library forced him to stop. He yanked me from the couch and shoved me behind a bookcase, ordering me to set my clothing to rights. I obeyed with shaking hands, then fled before he could stop me.
I stood naked in front of a full-length mirror in my room that night. Bruises marred my body, from my legs to my hips to my breasts, which were almost nothing but bruises and bite marks. Bruises from his biting and sucking my flesh stood out starkly on the pale skin of my neck as well. My arms were dark with bruises from his holding me down.
I was disgusted by my own body.
That night I made up my mind.
My visits to Amma Manasa increased to four times a week, for I was working very hard, now toward a specific goal. I had not told Jayin what my end goal was to be, though Amma Manasa and I agreed it was the best way to resolve the situation—for, if I ran, Malik would follow, and anyone who helped me would die.
Poor Jayin—I delayed going to see him after Malik had attacked me, for fear my body with its marks would disgust him as it had disgusted me. He cornered me one evening as I was leaving his mother’s, brought me home with him, and learned the whole of the story. He kissed every mark, loving my body and me in a way I still did not understand. There was murder in his eyes, but he knew he could not act on it.
Our relationship took on a tinge of desperation after that.
Though I tried my best when in the castle to avoid Malik, it is rather hard to avoid one’s betrothed for long. There were rehearsals and dress fittings and dance lessons, all manner of things I would sooner have left alone, that forced me to interact with him and put on the brave face of a maiden in love with her handsome prince. I tried, at least, to only be with him in the presence of others. When we were alone, he had the tendency to shove me against walls, his hands groping whatever of my body they could grab, and kissing me until I bruised. I had taken to wearing fuller dresses with higher necks to thwart his efforts as much as I could.
I also locked my door at night.
Eventually, it was the day before the wedding, and the night I was to carry out my plan. People had come from all the surrounding kingdoms for the joyous occasion, and there was to be a great feast that evening. Giolla had come to help me dress, and I was glad I had locked the door, for I heard pacing outside it the entire time we were preparing me for the evening.
The feast itself passed in a blur. The food was good, but I was so nervous I could hardly keep any of it down. There was much dancing, and though Malik was loath to give me up, etiquette dictated that I be allowed to dance with those from neighboring kingdoms. It was only when I was dancing with him that I felt a bruising grip on my hip and had a stream of vulgar words fed into my ear. My father stood proudly next to the king; if his chest puffed up anymore, the buttons of his coat would tear away. I could not look at him.
Following the feast and its festivities, Malik insisted on escorting me to my room. There was no way around it. I must agree. He seemed in no hurry to get to my room; rather, we took an ambling, meandering path, through the gardens and the long way around, all the while with my arm clasped against his side. We finally reached my door, and he tried the knob.
“It’s locked,” he accused. He looked as if he had known this would be the case.
“So it is,” I replied evenly.
“Open it,” he commanded.
“No.”
His fury showed on his face for half an instant before he flung me against the door, forcing the breath from me. There in the hallway, where anyone chancing by might have seen, he pulled my skirt up to my waist, his fingers playing against my womanhood. “That’s no way to treat your husband, little dove,” he mocked, his free hand taking me by the throat. I only whimpered.
His finger thrust roughly inside me, and I cried out; I was dry, and that was terribly painful. He continued thrusting his finger as he spoke into my ear. “Tomorrow night there’ll be no hiding from me, little one. Tomorrow night, you’re mine.”
He pulled back suddenly, my skirt falling back into place. There was blood on his finger from his roughness; perhaps he mistook it for virginity. Either way, he was pleased. “Have pleasant rest, little dove.” He left me shaking against my door.
When he was out of sight, I drew the key from my cleavage and let myself in, locking the door behind me. I had much to do and not long left, now. I changed quickly from the beautiful formal gown into my well-worn riding clothes. I placed a spell book against my chest, held in place by my jacket. Finally, I wrapped myself in an old patched cloak that Giolla had brought me the day before; my own green cloak might be recognized, I feared, and that was the last thing I needed this night.
With a glance in the mirror, I saw a girl who looked far surer of herself than I felt. I took a deep breath and left my room, locking it behind me.
The kitchens were quiet. I was grateful. I slipped quickly out the back door and onto the road into the village.
I was halfway to Jayin’s when I noticed someone following me, a fair distance behind. Whether it was Malik or someone he had put on guard made no difference; I quickened my step and soon was at my beloved’s door.
He opened it, and I drew him out immediately. “Come,” I told him, kissing him gently. “To Amma Manasa’s house.” He followed me, and the shadowy figure far behind us followed as well.
Amma Manasa was ready. Her house smelled of herbs burned to increase focus and concentration and to ward off evil intent. I shivered as I passed inside. I drew out my book and showed my spell, finally, to Jayin.
His eyes showed me nothing. “You’ll be going away forever, then.”
“There is nothing else to do, my love.
He held me tightly. “You know there’s at least one man from the castle who followed you here.”
“Then I must move quickly.”
Let the tales they would tell say what they would. Let them tell of a witch who transformed the lovely princess into a beast, or of the beautiful maiden stolen away on the eve of her wedding. Let them even say that the prince was seduced by a wicked sorceress with the second form of a beast. Let the prince mourn my death to his people, let my father go to hell, and let this whole damned world continue in its patterns. I won’t be a part of it any longer. I will make my own way.
“I’m ready.”
My beloved hugged me fiercely for the last time, his lips locked in a soul-searing kiss against mine. A tear slipped from my eye, and he abruptly pulled back, though his hands still tangled in my hair. “I love you, Amira,” he whispered in a ragged voice. I kissed his forehead softly.
I stepped away from him and began the spell. It took all of my concentration to hold it, as there were many elements involved. Amma Manasa chanted with me, lending her years of wisdom and experience to my own young skill and strength. I was beginning to fear that I had failed, that I was not strong enough, that I would have to go back to the castle and drive a knife through my chest in order to keep from marrying a monster, for nothing at all was happening. Jayin joined the chanting. I closed my eyes, and felt my body melting, reshaping, reforming. The world spun wildly around me, but I kept my eyes closed.
When the world stilled, I opened my eyes, and I caught sight of myself in one of Amma Manasa’s many mirrors.
I was beautiful. I was a large panther, with great paws, with great claws. My coat was a deep charcoal, nearly black, dappled with purple and mahogany. For the first time in my life, I felt vain.
My Jayin was kneeling in front of me. The poor man, I hated to leave him. I nuzzled my soft muzzle against his neck, then walked by him, rubbing the length of my body along him, marking him with my scent: mine mine mine. One last nuzzle. His strong hands ran over my body and through my fur, and even in this form it excited me. I pulled away reluctantly.
I faced Amma Manasa. She spoke a blessing over me, a powerful protection spell. I gently nuzzled against her hand, silently thanking her for everything. She understood.
“Go now, arien. Go now, and be safe, and be happy. You will always be welcome here should you choose to return.”
She opened the door, and I padded out, my body slinky and confident in its new shape. One last look over my shoulder, my sharp feline eyes meeting Jayin’s steady grey, and I was gone, into the night, melting into the ink-black darkness of which I was now a part.
