by E. M. Havens
For the wedding, her body had appeared perfect, but Cole hadn’t liked the pretentious hair and makeup. Now seeing her in her raw form, her body was troubling, but her face; though overly thin and in need of a touch from the sun, her face mesmerized him. High cheekbones tapered to a slightly jutting chin, set with a small mouth and perfectly plump lips.
As pale as her skin was, he guessed her nose would freckle if she spent any time outdoors. It was small and slightly turned up, and he had an overwhelming desire to reach out and tap the end.
He restrained himself and touched her hair instead. It was long and straight with all of the curls washed out, hanging to her waist. Twirling a silky fine lock between his fingers, he studied her face more. Eyebrows just a shade darker than her corn silk hair made perfect crescents above her almond shaped eyes. Green eyes, he recalled, that moved restlessly under her closed eyelids. Her face scrunched suddenly in pain, maybe fear. It must be a nightmare. He swallowed the lump of regret in his throat that he might play a role in that dream
The movement made him hesitate, thinking she would wake, but Cole knew she wouldn’t. The sleeping draught he made her earlier would have her unconscious until tomorrow morning. He chuckled thinking about the chore of waking her up in the tub and getting her to the bed. The tea had a way of making one lose their inhibitions as well as causing an eventual deep sleep. She probably wouldn’t remember anything after getting into the bath, but Samantha had giggled the entire time he dried her off and steered her by the shoulders to the bed. That laugh was a jewel he would hunt for in their future. He frowned knowing it would be a hard treasure to find in the life thrust upon them.
He sighed and let his gaze travel back down her body to the mound of soft curls between her thighs. He promised he wouldn’t touch her, but this was something he had to do. It felt wrong all the same, but he took her knees and parted them, pushing back and to the side to expose her.
“Thank God.”
He exhaled a relieved breath he didn’t know he held. The towel he had placed under her only had a faint pink tinge and as he explored her swollen tender folds he was more relieved. The damage was not as bad as he assumed.
More than once girls were brought to his country manor for treatment from the nearby village of Sagewood. Their injuries had been grievous, enough to turn even his iron stomach. Seeing such young girls, their womanhood torn and defiled from being forced had left him thinking he had done the same to Samantha. She did have a few tears, and he was glad he had treated them with the bath. In a few weeks’ time she would be fully healed.
Sighing in relief he placed her legs back to a more demure pose. He pondered the woman before him. When she woke up she would be mortified that she was naked. For a moment he considered redressing her in her wedding clothes. He discarded the idea and decided he would burn them instead, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. While unlacing the gown, he had seen the indented and bruised flesh caused by the cruel garment. He had gasped in horror at her tortured body as her ribcage reformed before his eyes. He hoped to never see her in a corset again and shuddered at the thought. Since her other belongings had not been brought, he dressed her awkwardly in one of his undershirts and a pair of his short underpants. She would undoubtedly be concerned that he dressed her, but it would be better than her waking up naked.
The clothing was thick wool, and that combined with it being oversized gave Samantha a look of fullness she lacked. Yes, Cole decided, with some weight and some sun she would be very pretty. He reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He smiled and traced a finger along the soft skin of her jaw making a connecting line between three small beauty marks. Very pretty. It was a shame they had to meet under these circumstances. He would have enjoyed seducing her. Such a shame.
When he was King he would put an end to these brutal and archaic traditions once and for all. Cole’s smile faded, and he stood slowly, looking past Samantha.
When he was king? He didn’t want to be king. Being king meant the end to everything good in his life. There was no way he was going to start thinking like that. But when he was king he could make sure this didn’t happen to his daughter.
Daughter? Children?
“Damn it!”
Cole strode to the door that led to his study. What had gotten into him? He had only been married for a few hours, and ideas of children and responsibility were swirling in his head, the very things he wished to avoid. His hand paused on the handle, and he looked back at his sleeping wife. He should be sleeping in that bed. It was his bed. He took a step toward it, determined to use what was his.
“Slag it.”
He pivoted and stomped back to the study door. Turning the handle, he went in search of linens to make sleeping on the sofa in the adjoining room more comfortable.
Cole limped down the castle corridor toward the kitchens rubbing his lower back with one hand. In his other, he held a leather bound folder. The halls bustled with black and white clad maids and servers about their morning duties. Trays of food clattered upon porters’ shoulders. They left trails of delectable aromas as they passed and caused telling rumbles to emit from Cole’s stomach.
Reaching the kitchens, Cole located a cook and left breakfast instructions. He could have just used the transaphonic, but he was afraid of waking Samantha. She should sleep for several more hours considering how he underestimated her weight when calculating the dosage of sleeping draught. Neither of them had eaten since some time yesterday morning, and that would add to the potency of the herbs as well. She would be famished when she awoke, just as he was now.
Cole grabbed a sweet roll from a basket. It made him miss his country manor when no one swatted his hand away and implored him to wait until it was served. The castle was so formal and stuffy. Still the roll was good, and he devoured it as he headed back the way he came. He slowed as he reached another hallway and fingered the clasp on the leather folder. It contained the dossier that was hand delivered to him daily while at the castle. He also received a weekly schedule when at his manor. In the past he had never even bothered to open them. He hadn’t cared what duties were expected of him before, but last night had been a long night.
He was exhausted, but couldn’t find a comfortable spot on his makeshift bed. His thoughts had wandered to his future and the responsibilities of his station. In the early hours of the morning, after much internal debate, he had come to the conclusion that he had to stop denying the inevitable. He should start participating in his circumstances and find what good he could do for his country instead of complaining about the bad. But that had been in the middle of the night while he was stressed and tired. In the light of day, he wavered.
A scurrying porter bumped Cole and sent the folder sliding across the hall. The porter spun with a scowl, which quickly turned to fear as he realized with whom he had collided.
“My Lord! Forgive me.”
“It’s fine. Carry on.” Cole placated as he stooped to retrieve the dossier. The porter scuttled away, and Cole inspected the folder. It lay open in his hands, so he decided it wouldn’t hurt to read it. The first page was a list of names, and as far as he could tell, excuses. He recognized most of them as dignitaries and other officials that were out of the city on business, but also noticed some listed as illnesses. He let out a contemptuous snort when he realized that most of those too ill for duty were perfectly healthy enough to debauch themselves last night in the War Room. He also noticed his name listed as unavailable too, the reason “Binding Time”.
He and his new bride, more aptly his wife, should confine themselves to their quarters for sixty days. The Binding Time was another archaic tradition that chaffed at Cole. He could think of nothing more mundane and suffocating than spending sixty days indoors in the same suite of rooms. The custom meant well for new married couples. They could get to know each other well with no outside responsibilities. It was also another way to ensure conception and parentage of said child.
Cole smirked as he
scanned the second page. He snapped the folder shut and tucked it under his arm, strutting off down the hall. There was a meeting being held in the War Room, and he wasn’t supposed to be there. He was “confined to quarters”. Well, today was the day to start acting like the future king, taking things seriously. This meeting was as good a place as any to start.
He reached the room and swung the door open without knocking. Every head turned in his direction. A voluminous man standing before those gathered, the chest of his red dress jacket verily dripping with bars of color and metal, stopped speaking mid-sentence, his tiny rat eyes squinting at the intruder. His face was always red, like anger waiting to escape just below the surface. Unfazed by the twenty or so pairs of eyes upon him from the highest ranking nobles in two countries, Cole sauntered into the room. He dropped into an empty seat and slapped the leather folder loudly onto the table, then took a moment to scan those staring at them. Most looked exhausted with dark circles under their eyes, no doubt from copious drink and nocturnal activities.
The speaker, General Crom, cleared his throat and continued his diatribe. Attentions slowly turned back to the front, but Cole could still feel someone staring at him. The gaze bore into him like hot coals on his face. He found his father glowering in his direction. He suppressed a smile, but tipped his head in recognition of the man, then turned his attention back to the General.
Cole couldn’t hear what was being said over his own internal triumphant congratulations on seriously slagging with the Arboreal King. It wasn’t that he hated the King. No. He hated the King. The man was hypocrisy incarnate. He stood for everything Cole loathed about the society they ruled. Meaningless, cruel tradition and worthless division of class and labor. When Cole was king…SLAG! He had to stop thinking that way.
He took a deep breath and tried to focus on General Crom’s gravelly voice.
“…even with the possible amassing of Fate soldiers on the Nakona borders, those barbarians should keep them busy for the next few years. This will allow for our newly forged alliance to begin sharing and dispensing information and technology, integrating soldiers and supplies, sharing resources, etcetera.” The general gave a noncommittal wave of his hand. “As for the rescue of Arboreal spies being held as prisoners of war from their Fate captors, we should be receiving information today or the next on the success of that mission. We will call a meeting to discuss any pertinent information if and when any is gleaned on their return.”
With that, the General dismissed the room, and the tired nobles filed out. Cole was almost out of the door when someone grabbed his arm. He turned to see his still fuming father. Cole shook his arm free and turned to leave. He was not in the mood for a confrontation, but the King gripped his arm tighter, spinning him in an about face.
“You are supposed to be confined to quarters for your Binding Time,” the King growled and pointed his dragon cane at Cole’s chest. “What is the meaning of this?”
Cole shrugged and leaned nonchalantly against the door frame. “I guess married life has caused me to turn over a new leaf, Dad. You know, taking on a little more responsibility and such.” He knew he was overheating a boiler, but he couldn’t help taunting his father.
“Married life?” The King relaxed his posture, but narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you think taking care of that new wife of yours should be your first responsibility?” He punctuated the sentence with a jab of his ebony cane.
Cole swatted the stick away and sprang from the door, hands clenched in fists at his side. He took two steps and brought himself into the very personal space of the King.
“You don’t get to talk about her,” was all that he could manage to say before hands were pulling him back. Prince or not, no one was allowed to approach the King in such a manor. Cole caught the satisfied smirk on his father’s face before he was forcibly removed from the War Room by the King’s guards.
He had no right! No right at all to talk about her care. It was his father’s fault she needed care in the first place. Of course that wasn’t what his father had meant. The King wouldn’t know about the medical treatment Cole had given her. The King alluded to something completely different, but either way it irked him for his father to even think about Samantha.
“Oh and Cole…”he spun toward the loathsome voice at the far end of the hallway.
“I believe I’ll be joining you and your bride for breakfast tomorrow. I’d like to get to know her better.”
Cole tossed the leather dossier into the air, and papers flew across the hall. He took two steps backwards keeping eye contact with his father, then turned and stormed back to his chambers. That man knew exactly what dials to turn to set him steaming.
****
By the time Cole reached his study his temper still simmered, so it only stoked the fire to hear the familiar voice of his second least favorite person squawking in the bedchamber. He cracked the door from the study to the adjoining room to see Queen Adella fussing over a fully tucked and trimmed Samantha. Even from here, he could see the circles under her eyes, and if possible she was even paler. Samantha should just now be waking up, but she must have been roused shortly after he left this morning.
“…appalled! Men’s’ clothing?! Really Samantha?!!” Queen Adella’s voice grated like the squeal of a rusted cog. Every word punctuated with her disdain.
“I know mother.” Samantha whispered and winced as the Queen cinched her corset tighter. Samantha used the bedpost as an anchor against the tugging. “I’m sorry. I’m really not certain how…”
“…And still asleep!” Queen Adella interrupted. “Do you want Prince Cole to think you a slovenly wife?!” The Queen gave a violent jerk to the corset, and Cole could see tears forming in Samantha’s eyes “If this is any indication of how you will perform your duties to your husband I feel sorry for the Prince!”
Cole had enough and burst through the door. “Samantha my….Oh Queen Adella, to what do we owe the pleasure.” He did his best to cover any disdain in his voice. Cole bowed cordially to the Queen, then turned to Samantha without giving the irritating woman a chance to answer.
“Now why have you changed into these cumbersome clothes?” he asked Samantha in an overly hurt voice. When her teary eyes met his, he winked and leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. She winced, and he hoped the Queen hadn’t seen. “You know I adore what you were wearing for me this morning.” Samantha’s pale face flushed brightly, but Cole turned, eager to see the Queens expression. He wasn’t disappointed. She was barely able to hide a disgusted scowl before she composed herself and changed the subject.
“I came to let Samantha know that her things will arrive this afternoon. Word was sent via transagraphic this morning that the steam ship arrived on time, and her trunks were transferred to the train.”
A movement from Samantha caught his attention. He turned in time to see a shadow of something pass through her eyes. No, it was the opposite of a shadow. Something lit her eyes for only a second, but then the sadness settled again.
“Your Father and I will be leaving on the same carriages that bring your things.” Queen Adella continued. “We’ll be taking a little sightseeing trip on the train. We want to get a feel for the beauty of the country of our new allies.”
A knock on the door interrupted Queen Adella’s diplomatic discourse. Cole answered and directed the waiting porter to arrange breakfast on the terrace.
“Well, this is goodbye then.”
“Goodbye.” Cole said blandly and held his hand to usher the Queen from their room. Her nose twitched like she fought to hold back a sneer. Turning to Samantha, she patted her tummy. “I’ll visit after your Binding Time, and hopefully we’ll see a little swelling, yes?”
“Goodbye mother.” Samantha whispered without making eye contact with the Queen. The vile excuse for a mother gathered her skirts and left the room. Cole was relieved of her presence, but when he turned to Samantha tears flowed freely down her face.
“What’s wrong?” He cr
ossed the room and took her arms thinking to console her. Samantha stiffened at his touch, and he dropped his hands. He was not used to women shying away from him.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” She squeaked, obviously lying. Cole let it alone for now.
“Okay. Let’s eat. I’m starving, and I know you have to be too.” He placed his hand on the small of her back to usher her to the terrace, and again she tensed. He chastised himself for not paying more attention to his hands, but not touching was hard!
Cole pulled Samantha’s chair out for her and settled her at the small table laden with fresh fruit, fried meats, sweet rolls and crepes. Taking his seat, he placed items on his plate. He watched as Samantha added a crepe, a sausage and a strawberry on hers. Ravenous, he consumed his overladen plate and filled it again. He noticed her wiping her mouth daintily with her napkin, then placing it on top of the plate signaling she was done. She couldn’t have taken more than a couple of bites of each item.
“You can’t be done.” Cole said, his brow furrowed in concern and his mouth half full of a sweet roll.
“Oh, I am,” she said, her voice barely carrying across the table. She shifted her gaze to the hazy city below.
“I know for a fact you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. I’ve been with you the whole time. You have to be starving.” She winced at the sternness in his voice. Okay, no touching and no yelling. There was no way she wasn’t hungry. He tried to eliminate the accusatory tone in his voice.
