Queen of Shattered Dreams

9 - Taking Her Place

Photo by Polina Kovaleva on Pexels

I stare into the suffocating darkness. My chest's unbearably tight and my eyes sting each time I blink. I've curled into a ball, as far away as I can be from Feodor, who snores loudly on the other side of the bed. My head aches from the wedding wine—and the crying.

    A tear pools at the bridge of my nose before dropping to the pillow case. My arms tighten around my stomach as another wave of nausea overtakes me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep. But sleep only welcomes more restlessness.

    How am I to exist in this life? I've been married to Feodor for less than a day and already I hate it. I am no longer the girl I was yesterday morning. I've become an object for a greedy man.

    My breath catches in my throat. I was supposed to be married to Alfrid. I was supposed to wake on a sunny morning feeling loved and safe and loving in return. Instead I feel dirty and cold and tired.

    How could my magic have been so off? Dream dumplings were the first thing my grandmother taught me. So simple that at eleven-years-old I should be able to master them. The most difficult part being the nonmagic aspect of actually baking something. The spell itself came naturally enough. Just speak the words of what I desired. I desired a glimpse into my future. Well, truthfully I'd done it for Hannah, so perhaps they couldn't work on me?

    Though the curtains block out much of the light, the darkness has diminished as the sun prepares to rise. The day will start soon, how much of it am I expected to be a part of? I close my eyes again, trying to find sleep. I imagine Alfrid, leaning over me as he tells me a fantastical story of a girl marrying a handsome prince. But I make one small change, seeing as how this is my imagination. He leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. It is soft and warm and spreads through my entire body. And I ignore the tears streaming down my face.

    When my eyes open again, the sunlight is glaring. The curtains have been pulled back. I glance behind me. Feodor's fork scrapes against his plate as he scoops diced potatoes into his mouth. He eats as though he's been starved and this is his first sight of food in weeks.

    He slurps his tea. "Did you sleep well, my dear?"

    I lay my head back down, my back to him. Bacon crunches beneath his teeth and I close my eyes. Perhaps I can feign unconsciousness.

    He sets his plate down with a clatter and the bed protests as he shifts closer to me. He traces the edge of the sheet I'm using to cover my nakedness, his fingers grazing the skin just beneath my collarbone. Then he slides a finger between the sheet and my skin and pulls it back to peek at my chest. On instinct, I slap the sheet back into place.

    Feodor laughs. "I'm afraid I can't stay in bed with you this morning, as tempting as it is. But my duties commit me elsewhere." His arm slides beneath the sheet then around my waist, pressing my back against his chest. He kisses my neck. "You will grow to love me," he whispers into my ear.

    I can't imagine what could happen that would lead me to loving him.

    "I could have simply taken you as a lover, but you deserve to be a queen." He kisses my neck again. Does he actually believe he's done me a favor? Is he expecting my gratitude?

His free arm slips behind my neck. His fingers graze my collarbone. They slide up my throat until his hand clasps it.

    My heartbeat quickens with fear but instead of squeezing, he pushes up so that my chin lifts. I am a marionette and he is my puppeteer. He directs my face back toward his and kisses me on the lips, wet and somewhat viscous.