She savors the sweet scent of the roses wafting into the night air andthe trickling noise of the fountain dedicated to the Goddess of Wisdom, Maeve. Atop the smooth granite structure is an elegant statue of the Goddess garbed in a cloak with her fabled long flowing hair cascading down her back. She clutches a stack of books while gazing at the flowers with a wry smile.
The haggard sound of someone moaning rips her away from the brief serenity she found in the darkness of the evening. Glancing over her shoulder at the closed doors to the palace, she creeps closer, careful to linger in the shadows of the flickering torches spread throughout the terrace.
She rounds a corner to see a young woman in a figure-hugging green gown being taken from behind by none other than her soon-to-be-husband, King Rendel.
How is this the second time I have encountered this scene in two weeks? At least this is a different woman.
She is wracked with a pang of jealousy as she sees the woman’s face flush with pleasure as she rocks in time with his hips. It was not Rendel’s weak hands that cultivated jealousy in the princess. She’d give anything for a man of her choosing to touch her like she is the only woman in Treland. Or to lay her on an altar as he worships her like a goddess.
Rendel removes a cigar from his pocket, and lights over the harlot’s back. Occasionally, he glances at the sky as if bored of the affair. His rhythmic pounding continues until he freezes, pumps her harder three more times, and then withdraws himself.
“This one better stick. I am not a patient man.” His slimy voice echoes across the courtyard.
He takes another drag from the cigar, unaware Avina is loitering even though she can reach out and touch his back.
Rendel wears tailored white trousers, a thick red doublet with billowy sleeves, and a velvet black cape that makes his shoulders appear broader. His drab brown hair hangs loosely. Every inch of him is carefully manicured, from his nails to his clean-shaven face.
When he kissed Avina’s hand upon his arrival at the palace, she was disgusted to find his hands soft and cold, much like raw chicken.
Not quite the ruggedly handsome warrior prince she had always imagined marrying as a young girl.
Glancing at the goddess’ statue,Goddess of Wisdom, Maeve, grant me strength of mind.
“Will this be my life?” Avina throws out her hands as she approaches a somewhat surprised Rendel.
“Stalking me in empty gardens?” He quips.
“Pumping your harlots behind my back, hoping your seed can finally stick to something. Even if it is a bastard.”
“Jealousy is unbecoming of you.” He says in a flat tone while inhaling from the cigar.
She can’t do this anymore, not after growing up as a ghost of the Sapphire Palace. The thought of becoming one in Scarwood Citadel rips her soul apart.
What she wouldn’t give to have someone love her.
“I can’t do this, Rendel.” She shocks herself that she would admit her feelings to someone.
“I can’t marry you.” The words tumble out in a shaky voice she barely recognizes.
He smiles as he exhales a thick cloud of sweet smoke. “Did you think you were my first choice?”
For the first time, she feels a connection with him. “We can end this before we both suffer.”
“You misunderstand me, young princess. I only need your womb to produce an heir. Beyond that, you can cuddle all the broken animals and people your sad little heart wants.”
“You know nothing of me.” She seethes even if his words rang with truth.
She wants to help the unfortunate in her kingdom. Rendel and her father's reduction of her to nothing more than a mindless woman has left her feeling so cold and empty inside that she wonders if life can sustain itself within her.
“I see an entitled little brat who has had her head filled with childish notions. If you want to live, then you will give me a son. I do not need to hear you speak. I barely need to hear you breathe.”
Avina is so stunned she is unaware of the horrified tears slipping down her cheeks. “Do you find me pleasing at all?” Surely, she possesses any traits he might find appealing.
“Your father practically begged me to take you off his hands. And no, you are not marriage material. I don’t have time to train a weak-hearted woman. But I am frantic for an heir.” He is standing a breath away. “Know it will be painful to endure your cunt as I pump it full of my seed.”
She lunges at him with her sharp nails, snarling and crying. He blinks back in surprise as her nails slice across his jaw, drawing blood.
Rendel curls his hand back and slaps her violently. She is thrown to the ground, scuffing her palms and ripping her gown.
