At night, the darkened dormitory would come alive with excitable whispers and devious scheming. Annatrice's first few days of living with other girls were enlightening to say the least. Little did she know about what motivated the average young woman and what extraordinarily brazen comments would pass their lips in the seclusion of a darkened room. It was in the middle of one of these hilarious moments when there was a sudden lamplight at the door and a silhouette.
“Annatrice?”
The voice was familiar but it was laden with anxiety and the ensuing hush of the girls did little to help Annatrice feel that this was the moment that she had long awaited with a sense of terror.
“Annatrice, please...will you get up a moment?” Marianne's voice was breaking under the strain. Annatrice pulled the covers back and stood, hurriedly pulling on some clothes.
“May the Gods be with you Annatrice.” Her neighbour Lehona whispered as she could hear the hard and fast breaths of her terrified new friend. As Annatrice edged her way through the dormitory, other whispered prayers were being offered. The solidarity of her new friends did little to aid her apprehension as behind Marianne, the tall figure of a robed man stood ominously waiting to escort the King's new plaything to the royal parlour.
As Annatrice passed Marianne, the elder woman reached out and embraced her, whispering into her ear.
“Remember what we talked about. Remember the tree, so proud it stands, so strong, so defiant.” Annatrice felt her guardian's hot face pressed against hers and the tears that Marianne shed as they were smeared on her cheeks.
Annatrice walked on spurning a prolonged embrace and Marianne smiled with some renewed hope that her newest daughter had the inner strength to come through her ordeal. Knowing what was to come; Annatrice did not even give the robed escort the pleasure of grasping her wrist as she pulled it away quickly. In silence, she walked forth knowing that the pain and indignity Tragian was about to bestow upon her would only make her stronger and her vow to avenge her father even more unquenchable.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Annatrice presented herself the next morning at breakfast, her face haunted by blackened eyes and the long, reddened streaks of vindictive scratching and tearing, it was clear that Tragian had suitably fulfilled himself in revenge for the humiliation that Annatrice had inflicted upon him. The other girls sat around in a subdued silence not knowing quite what to say or how to comfort the new girl.
Annatrice was once again hardened into a silent solitude, her conscious mind bombarded with the well meaning emotion of the others and in equal measure, the relief that similarly violent episodes were not usually inflicted upon themselves. The prolonged aching of her injuries seemed only to heighten her acute sensitivity to her peers every thought and at times, she could extract such fine detail as a vague insight in to where her friends vision was focused, indeed she could almost look through their own eyes and see herself, a battered and beaten body curled up in the corner. More disturbingly, during her tortuous hours with the depraved king, she could not but help be transported into his mind and feel the sensations of control and power that he cruelly exerted. Whilst this curious affliction seemed to be little more than an added torture, she was not so closed off to the moment that she could not find something positive from the experience. If she was to one day right the wrongs that had been so unjustly heaped upon her, then she would need every possible aid in order for her to seek her vengeance. The ordeal had been an insight into the perverted mind of the man, he had little knowledge of Annatrice's intrusion into his psyche but he had revealed details, telling aspects which might one day prove invaluable in his demise.
And so it was that in the days and weeks that followed, Annatrice was offered some respite from the cruelty of the twisted ruler. Whether his fascination with her was at an ebb or it was his longing for variety in his insatiable desires that gave her time to heal, the period of grace allowed Annatrice to attempt to put aside her fears but never forget. Every once in a while and never with any pattern, one of Marianne's ladies were plucked from their slumber and marched to the King's parlour. Annatrice at first could not believe the other girls ambivalence to the ritual abuse, however with time she came to understand that the only way to survive with her sanity intact was to let it wash over her and fade into fleeting, distant memories. It quickly became clear that in order to live with any normality, Annatrice would have to reorder her thoughts and emotions, set them aside and save the feelings of hatred for another day when she could finally turn the tables on her sadistic monarch.
As time rolled on, Annatrice began to thrive in her captivity. Her brash and often dry wit was appreciated by the other ladies; she was a breath of fresh air and had a perspective on life that the others found difficult to comprehend but enjoyed nevertheless. She began to appreciate the opportunities that were presented to her, the camaraderie of the group, the music, the art and the learning. Incarceration at the castle began to feel less restrictive as the months passed and the group were a law unto themselves in many ways.
Annatrice began to enjoy outdoor activities such as riding and falconry. Escorted out to the meadows, the girls would bound across the green landscape feeling the fresh wind upon their faces. They did not care about the dangers of wild animals or desperate bandits, their protection came in the form of professional soldiers, hand-picked from the elite of the Royal Guard. They flirted with the young handsome soldiers who did their best to resist the charms of these untouchable, privileged young women.
Annatrice familiarised herself with the household staff and the soldiers who patrolled the walls or jousted in the compound. Waving furiously to the friendly soldier who had received her at the gates in the midst of the storm, her smile brought joy on a dismal, grey morning. The ladies of Marianne's tutelage were respected and revered by all who trod the halls of the castle; they wanted for nothing and received everything... except for the one thing which eluded them, their liberty. Even Annatrice, so independent and steadfast in her opinions regarding the joys of freedom began to lose sight of her loss. The comforts of wealth and the companionship of like-minded souls slowly softened the hardened heart of an orphaned child and it took the occasional but savage attack from her King to remind her why she was there, dowsed in such sweet finery.
Marianne’s children lived a separate life, a closeted and confined existence which shut out the everyday horrors of the world outside. It was for the most part, an idyllic life for a growing child. Even the abhorrent behaviour of the King was an occasional trauma which seemed to become less frequent as time passed and his enthusiasm dwindled. The girls fantasised of far away kingdoms and stories of legend that Marianne eloquently read aloud in the evening, each day brought something new, life was never dull or repetitive and for the most part, it was a happiness and fulfilment that Annatrice had never felt before but things were about to change..
As time passed, Annatrice began to better understand the baffling powers that she had exhibited at times since her life had changed so drastically. At first, the bombardment of mental maelstroms was an unwanted and potentially embarrassing issue which often led to unfortunate revelations. Understanding and interpreting the sudden intrusions into her mind was one thing, controlling these episodic abilities was quite another. Annatrice could not turn on and off her powers like the lamp that lit her beside, it at first seemed a random thing, a feeling that overcame her in times of anxiety or discomfort. Her eager friends often amused themselves at Annatrice's expense, playing games, trying to coax her into pulling the thoughts from their minds, but it did not work that way. The one thing that was apparent however was that with her developing body and intellect, the intensity of these insights grew. Invariably, Tragian's perverted attacks drew greater and more intense mental reactions as the months passed. For Annatrice, the physical discomfort and repulsion became less significant as she fought tirelessly to block out the images in her mind and most of all the pleasure that Tragian derived from his depraved act. For Annat
rice, the warped feelings of gratification she received of her own rape was sickening and revolting. She cursed her 'affliction' in these instances, it was truly a curse that could not be lifted or fathomed. She began to revile herself for feeling these appalling thoughts and as each attack took place, herself loathing deepened.
The seasons flew by and Annatrice blossomed from a child to a young woman of formidable beauty and intellect. The affairs of the Kingdom began to grow turbulent as Annatrice approached the fifteenth year of her life. Despite being sheltered from the politics of the land, Annatrice often heard members of the castle staff gossip about the growing tensions between the land of Araman and their westerly neighbours, Suleyman. The history of the southern half of the Protathaian Isles was replete with conflict and aggressive diplomacy. Once a great unified nation, Araman was the product of a great war of Kings, not of the people. It seemed that the ambitious and noxious Tragian had been once again teasing the leashed dog. The opposing ruler of Suleyman, Deo Canthi, would only tolerate so much prodding before he slipped his bonds and snapped at his tormentor.
In this year of uncertainty, Araman also saw the Tharsi Plague, a debilitating disease originating in the northern borders of East Corustyn and a mighty and prolonged storm which maimed and killed many, destroying homes and businesses in the process. It was a depressing period for the people of Araman and the pressure was telling on the monarchy and all those who held power across the land.
In the days that followed Annatrice's birthday, the eldest of Marianne's girls left abruptly and without so much as a farewell. Marianne delivered the shocking but apparently heart-warming news that Abidelle, daughter of Froggat of Fynesmeade had been taken as a wife by the Lord Jakk of Upper Haywear. After the initial tears of loss, the ladies rejoiced for their departed friend and talked triumphantly about her future life as a Lady of fine repute. Annatrice thought it all rather sudden and inappropriate. Abidelle had not mentioned a forthcoming engagement and thus she would assume she knew nothing of this man. Whilst the other girls celebrated, Annatrice found little comfort in a future where she was to be sold off to the highest bidder, little more than a slave to some equally depraved and possibly tyrannical noble. It was a reminder to Annatrice that the nectar she drank and the silken threads that she wore were ultimately for a purpose. Knowing the King's devious and selfish nature, Annatrice kicked herself for allowing a complacency to breed which would ultimately result in the same sudden end to her oblivious comforts.
In the year or so that had passed, Annatrice had grown into the role of the King's servant with little protest or defiance. She was not the same naïve child that once stood in the Royal Court stained in blood and dirt. As she looked out of the shutters of the day room with the blazing summer sun shining across Fontayne's courtyard, she suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She had allowed herself to be blinded by finery, comforted by ignorance; she had even grown accepting of the King's assaults. At that moment she remembered her father and bit her lip hard. She had almost forgotten his face, his voice, his touch. Across the valley, Annatrice could see the glistening walls of Karick and beyond, barely visible in the distance, the misty peaks of the Cayborne Hills. Why had she allowed herself to become the living embodiment of everything that her father had stood against at the cost of his very life? She was ashamed, she was restless and she was ready to act to restore her pride and dignity.
CHAPTER NINE
Annatrice lay on the King's gargantuan bed, breathing heavily her teeth firmly clenched together, her body oozing hatred as Tragian rolled over and sighed, his naked form shielded from his victims eyes as she turned her head away. Stealthily reaching for her night gown which had been removed as directed, she pulled it from the floor and silently manipulated her body into it.
The room was lit by a hundred candles, a small log fire popped and crackled on the far side of the large chamber which was adorned with magnificent fabrics bearing stories of legend in its gilded fibres. Her head was spinning, her own thoughts and her abusers intermingling causing terrible conflicts which almost blinded Annatrice's vision. Usually at this point, the victim would await a silent and rudely opulent wave away, meaning she could quietly leave and return to her bed but this time, Annatrice felt more aggrieved than she had done in some time. She courageously sat up and turned towards the King, his hairy and spindly body repulsing her. As he lay on the absurdly wide bed, wide enough to accommodate ten men, she closed her eyes. Instead of fighting the intrusive feelings that tormented her she made a conscious effort to sort them, filter them into some kind of order. She compartmentalised her own emotionally charged feelings and sought only to capture the mind of her King. It was her intention to break past the usual more visceral factors; she had no intention of basking in his warm glow of pleasure or feel the tired numbness of his weary body. These were feelings that she had no interest in, what she was more determined to do was to actively explore the King's sub consciousness, raid the knowledge that he possessed and use it as a weapon against him.
Time seemed to slow down as she entered his realm, her own body pained and sore; she banished all thoughts of her own torment. Her eyes closed, the black void of her link with Tragian suddenly crackled into light, fleeting glimpses into scrambled imagery, no order or comprehension. The bridge between the two minds was almost complete, the very final piece was about to be put into place when there was a seismic eruption in Annatrice's dreamlike state, a force that wrenched her searching tendrils away from that place and struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes flickered open and she sharply inhaled with fright as Tragian's face was close to hers, his eyes wide and penetrative.
“What are you doing?” He asked with sinister overtones. Annatrice's heart fluttered what had he seen in their mutual bonding?
“Nothing, Sire.” She replied hastily, clearly spooked by the proximity of Tragian's nose against her own.
“Just...tired.” She added as he pulled away. He looked suspicious and rightly so.
“Just tired heh? I don't know why, you did not do anything. You remind me of the Dragh, useless creatures basking in the mud, too idle to move, their brains too slow, and their thoughts too remedial. If you put more of an effort it you might find it all the more rewarding?”
Tragian's tone was always accompanied with a sneer, an air of superiority and a cutting remark designed to keep his subordinates in their place. Annatrice found his distasteful commentary enough to warrant an argument although any actions with the King were tempered with caution.
“You would prefer it if I fought back?” She asked provocatively.
“Now you're finally learning something.” He replied with a grin, his front teeth revealed a large central gap.
“What is the point of fighting when there can only be one victor, the contest designed by the same, the rules changed to suit?” Annatrice felt quite bold, it was refreshing to vent her frustrations, and she had barely spoken to the King since the first days.
“Ha! You are just like your father! Like you, he was quick witted yet blinkered. He whined and whinnied like a prancing mare yet learned nothing about the order of the things. His intellect was second only to his ignorance.”
“I shall never know if what you say is the truth, you have deprived me of that privilege. The man I knew was wise and noble, he could not know the wealth and prestige you covet yet squander.”
Tragian reared up and turned his mouth downwards.
“Oh really? How little she knows of her father's most sordid past!” Tragian cried out, amusing himself at her expense.
Annatrice was taken aback by the news that Tragian's connections with her father were more than just a distant displeasure.
“To what are you referring?” She inquired, feeling that Tragian held secrets that he had not yet disclosed.
“My my, have you not figured it out yet? Why do you think a peasant girl could ever possibly find a place within the Royal Court? Did it not ever occur to you why you lived the life of a surf but spok
e so eloquently? You really do have a lot to learn, Marianne must be failing in her tutelage, perhaps I shall find a place on the axe man's block for her?”
Annatrice's mind was a muddle, she could feel that Tragian's threats were empty but the cold hard truth could not be so easily concealed and there was plenty of that in Tragian's barbed revelation.
“You are saying that my father was of nobility?” Annatrice was perhaps asking the obvious but needed verbal confirmation; she had not yet learned to trust her instincts.
“Nobility yes, noble...hardly. Such a scoundrel should never have bore a coat of arms.”
Tragian's dislike of her father was evident, but it did not explain why or how he had been castigated in such a fashion.
“Sire, I bid you tell me of this man who I knew as my father but who could not bring himself to tell me his previous sins.”
Annatrice was desperate, she did not long to hear Tragian's spiteful tale but maybe she could garner the truth as he spoke it from looking more deeply into his beady, ice blue eyes.
“I shall not bore you with tales of woe; needless to say he was shamed and dethroned, sent into exile by foolhardy elders with a soft underbelly when his summary execution should have been the only result. His crimes are a matter of public record, if you wish I shall order a copy of the papers from the records office at Karick. Needless to say, I should receive thanks for rescuing you from a life of peasantry and ridding the land of the tyrant once and for all.”
Annatrice's face was reddened, her eyes moist. Tyrant was not a word she could ever have associated with her father. The Kings words carried weight and he was certainly confident that his account would be ratified by the public records, but Annatrice could feel something inside Tragian. There was far more to the account than he portrayed, there was treachery, regret but most of all guilt. Annatrice boiled over with hatred for the naked man who knelt before her; if she had the means she would have killed him there and then.
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