Gilded Jail

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As daylight bled into sunset, Charlotte began to lose hope for her rescue. Then again, all she had been doing was drinking sparkling champagne. The noblewoman couldn't tear her mind from the outlaw she had crossed paths with. Nicholas Greene... One couldn't help but imagine his true origins. Many versions existed. Some said he was descended from the most fearsome pirates, but others argued he took the place of a noble he murdered and fled upon revelation. Everywhere you'd ask, another variant arose. However, everyone agreed upon one detail: The outlaw never showed mercy upon the aristocrats.

As Charlotte pondered these thoughts, her husband grabbed her by the waist. Such a violating feeling.
"... and that's only the beginning! That scrounger scurried off once he realized who's wife he was seducing. But my love wouldn't be swayed by that low-life, disgusting criminal. Isn't that right, dearest?"
The slightly drunken man looked at Charlotte with a dangerous gaze, though only she was aware of that glow behind his pupils. Despite the blood boiling within, the lady responded accordingly with a smile.
"Of course." She managed to lie through her teeth. With that, the guests showered the nobleman in praise for such bravery and grace... Charlotte wished to vomit on the fortune of gorgeous clothes and leave him for the rats.

The painful charade continued for hours on end until the stroke of midnight, when every guest had left the manor and departed for their own luxurious homes. All that remained of the party was empty bottles and disorganized napkins. Exhausted, the lady rested on a nearby sofa. It wasn't even comfortable, only for show just like everything else. Her cheeks reddened from the alcohol she consumed to stomach the night.

"What is it you said to that vermin?" Asked a demanding voice, piercing through Charlotte's temples.
Right away, she knew what her husband was referring to. Of course he saw her speaking with Nicholas. Why wouldn't he? He sees everything.
"... Nothing of importance... You understand how many men wish for my attention." Charlotte started as her husband approached. Suddenly, a harsh crack rang out and the woman found herself on the floor. Her cheek stung, as usual, and her vision went white for just a few seconds.

"I am REPULSED, Charlotte!" The man boomed.
"I don't associate myself with rats like that Greene, you tainted my good image by being in his vicinity! Not only did you speak with him, you allowed him to kiss your hand!"

Silence followed. It was better that way... to allow her captor to yell. But he didn't stop his abuse there.
"I should have you thrown out of my home, you can lie in the garden like all the disgusting worms!"
He finished, kicking his beloved wife in the ribs.

Tears welled up in Charlotte's eyes as she stared at the floor. Marble tiles reflected the one screaming through her ears. Everything hurt at that moment. Her ribs, her head, her pride... and most of all, her somehow beating heart. After one moment more of silence, she posed an enormous question in a delicate voice.

"Why? Why must you do this, Ronan?"

She continued before he could answer.
"What ever happened to the young man I met in Galway, who swore he'd fulfill our dreams?" Her husband glared down at her with a true expression of disgust, but allowed her to go on.
"Twenty years ago, Ronan! Twenty years ago you promised me a family! Yet every passing day I find myself again at your feet, begging for mercy, while you berate me for nothing! NOTHING, Ronan! NEVER have I done anything to hurt you, so WHY must you control me like a puppet on a string for your amusement?!"

Charlotte's golden curls shielded her face as she sobbed, her head as low as the tile. Her throat sore from the wailing echoing throughout the hall. She didn't dare meet Ronan's eyes after what she had said to him. Part of her braced for an impact she knew was coming.

Once again, Ronan's voice pounded in her brain. "You think you're special, don't you? Pitiful... Do you think I was happy marrying into your family? The poor, rancid fishermen by the wharf? I only ever kept you because every other boy wanted you for his own."
Charlotte's hair was grabbed, she forcefully laid eyes upon his horrible face.
"You have never been anything but a prize to behold. You never thought to reach anyone for help, and why do you think that is?" he asked in that patronizing tone.

"You deserve hell."

A sharp voice interjected and, for the first time since her marriage, Charlotte's eyes gleamed with love. There stood the infamous outlaw with his blade drawn, facing the noble with godly determination. He refused to leave without Ronan's head on a silver platter, and the noble already knew that fact.

Ronan dropped Charlotte, who quickly stood and backed away to safety. He growled under his breath, "How did you-"
"Your greatest failure is putting faith in those who despise you. Your guards were easily swayed with a light offer of silver." Nicholas spat back. This being was now fueled by a cruel sense of justice, a mindset only adopted by the emperors of this world. His emerald sword was begging to be stained with its enemies' entrails.
"You've never earned a single blessing in your life. Every guest at your parties is paid to smile and laugh at your ridiculous jokes... All but the goddess you've defiled with your manipulations."

The nobleman had enough of this. As if his voice meant anything, he let out a thunderous yell. "I WILL NOT BE SUBJECT TO SUCH FALSE ACCUSATIONS OF-"

.................

In the blink of an eye, the fight ended before it could begin. Gushes of thick, dark blood pooled at his feet, and the only sound heard was a violent scream. From who, however, remained undetermined.

This is what Charlotte had wished for, yes, for many many years in fact. Witnessing the assassination firsthand, however, only sank her soul further. Before she knew it, any and all possibility of a normal life with Ronan had vanished. Not a thought later, that man coughed and staggered to the ground. Each second felt like hours for everyone. That is, everyone but Nicholas. With one final glare, the noble spat blood at the outlaw above him. He began his final statement before departure.

"Never will you reach salvation... you stray further from god each drop of blood you spill..." His voice shrill from the pierce in his chest.
Nicholas only looked at his victim with pity, the stern expression unmoved. He leaned in close, so close his forehead almost touched his victims'.

"Give my regards to the Antichrist."
He whispered, and with one pull, his sword glistened a violent red.

There laid the once mighty human, the envy of everyone in Waterford. As he twitched and choked on his insides, Nicholas slowly approached the woman crying into her hands, she had sunken to her knees in anguish. The weapon was set aside, and her savior embraced her protectively in his arms. No words were exchanged, but there was a mutual understanding between the two remaining people.

In his heart Nicholas knew he robbed Charlotte of her home, no matter how broken it was. She was witness to something no eyes should ever see, and there was nothing that could be undone about that. Additionally, he realized she was now just as big of a suspect in this murder as he was. Why had he done it this way? If only he didn't promise such a thing in a short span of time. He could have removed this woman from the equation without leaving a target on her back. He doomed her.

As Nicholas pondered this, Charlotte's nails dug into the back of her comfort while she released every pent up tear she collected. How could she ever return to a normal life? What was she to say anymore? Was she to thank the one she asked this from? It was her fault the sounds of gargles and coughs plagued her eardrums. No combination of words could do justice to her myriad of clashing emotions. She had lost everything, but at the same time, gained a new beginning to her life.

Would she have the drive to write her own chapter?

Only time would tell.