Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Pain

*Of Pain*

        The guards threw her down on the bed, bolted the door behind them, and took up their watch on the other side. Elodie heaved herself upright, fumbling with the laces at the back of her gown, wanting it off, wanting to never see it again, except that wasn't fair. The dress was beautiful, and the cloth had been a gift.

        On the other side of the door, she heard one of the royal guardsmen murmur to his companion, "We're supposed to protect her, too."

        His companion's response was depressingly bleak, and uttered in a hopeless, flat voice. "Yes, but not from him."

        And that was that.

        Elodie changed into a nightdress and crawled into bed, feeling battered and heartsick and weary. She slept through the day and into the night and woke to the sound of her door opening.

        The bedchamber was pitch-dark by then, the only light coming from beyond the door, and, backlit by the candles beyond, the king looked like some monster out of a hearth tale.

        Elodie sat up, cowering against the pillows, not wanting to know what he'd come for, and afraid, afraid for her life, for her sanity.

        Two strides, and the king was at her bedside, yanking the covers off the bed. He grabbed her and threw her onto her stomach, tore off her nightdress and threw it in a heap on the ground, forced her legs apart, one hand keeping her pressed, helpless, against the mattress, the other doing the dirty work.

        And then Elodie felt like she was being ripped in half. Her body screamed in red-hot pain, that turned icy cold in seconds.

        It could have been five minutes, or five hours, she had no idea, but her father had done what he'd come for, and left her, naked and battered, lying on the bloody bed.

        Elodie turned her head to watch him go, but her entire body protested the movement so violently her stomach rebelled, and she was sick over the side of the bed.

        She didn't know how long she lay there, half-conscious, bleeding and aching, unaware of anything but the unending, omnipresent pain.

        Slowly, after a long while, the world came back into focus around the edges, finally coming together into a single, undeniable fact: she couldn't stay here any longer.

        She sat, taking a long moment to recover from the dizzy spell that had overtaken her, breathing carefully, for her sides ached where her father had grabbed her. Her head swam miserably, and her eyes wouldn't focus, so she waited with unbreakable patience for her perception to clear.

        Finally, feeling slightly more sure of herself, she heaved herself to her feet, pausing to make sure she wouldn't black out. When she didn't faint or collapse in an exhausted heap, Elodie began preparing.

        Tucked in the back of her dressing room was a set of saddlebags that she'd never really needed, but in wonderful condition, and well-made, stuffed with useful things like a hat that shed the rain, a set of little pots stacked together, flint, a water gourd. They'd been a gift from a particular minister who'd hoped to win over the princess, but whose holdings were small and not wealthy.

        Elodie picked them up and shook the dust off. In her hands, the leather bags seemed completely useless, flopping everywhere, with no apparent way to put anything inside, until she realized she was holding them upside down.

        She set the saddlebags on the bed, and proceeded to dress herself in a simple wool riding habit, struggling with the laces, and the layers of petticoats, and the long stockings, and the boots. Finally, clothed, she stared at the empty saddlebags, wondering why she'd taken them out in the first place.