For What is Bought in Blood

Where is my Savior?

I lean over the fresh chamber pot and release the contents of my stomach in a very dramatic heave that I cannot suppress. The breakfast I had eaten only moments ago reappeared just as I knew it would. The molten feeling in my gut does not relent, causing me to move away from my own vomit, but not far. The cold floor feels great beneath me, and I almost give into the urge to lay flat atop it.

"Anything?" Mary, my newly assigned maid, asks me gently. I shake my head, knowing she's hoping with every purge that I'll suddenly feel better. I have lost count of the times I've retched in the last day. Mary has the unfortunate job of cleaning up after me, despite my attempts to handle it myself. She claims I am too ill to even attempt. Nothing has helped- no amount of calming teas, salty foods, or sleep has rid the feeling from my stomach. We have managed to keep the information of my illness within my chamber, only telling Terran when he snuck in quietly before Mary could send him away.

He insisted fresh air and exercise would calm my raging sea, but instead I only grew more ill at the sight of the twisted arch awaiting its flower placements. I had assumed that avoiding the garden would allow me to ignore my upcoming nuptials but was instead slapped with its reality once more in the front lawn.

"Nothing will change." Terran had insisted to my pale face before I turned to dry heave in a nearby bush. He rubbed my sweaty back as spasms ricochet throughout my empty stomach, trying to sweep my hair out of the line of fire.

"Nothing will ever be the same," I had whispered, physical manifestations of my fears leaving my eyes to coat my cheeks. As he has done many times over, he only reassured me that he would follow me to whatever end. To my dear Terran, I only fear being trapped in marriage. My true fears are mine to dwell over and Wolf's to prevent.

"The ceremony will be beautiful, Her Majesty has made sure of it." Mary says, again rinsing the soiled chamber pot over the drain cover. She has tried to settle me with talking of how sweet Reagan is to the servant that keeps his quarters, how he seems like a great option for me. I can't find it within me to either agree or disagree, opting for a faraway look instead.

From my lowered vantage point I can see the edges of the sacred gown hung from the top of my armoire, a polished oxymoron to my current state. When the bells chime twelve I will begin my descent to the front yard to be wed. All morning carriages filled with The Capital City's wealthiest have filtered through the main gate, servants in rarely worn royal garb greeting them at the entrance stairs and escorting them inside. In the all too short spans of my stomach cooperating I have watched from my window, unable to draw my eyes from the extraneous displays of wealth. Only for a royal wedding would such dyes and fabrics be worn, such illustrious hair styles and head adornments be chosen. Each guest was encouraged to wear their finest, and I realize with sadness that many of the Lords that vied for Reagan's position are in attendance today. What will I even say to them? Do they also think of what could have been?

Mary urges another tea to my lips and I accept though I know it will not last long in my system.

***

The makeup is not yet placed and my dress still hangs on the opened armoire door, yet the reflection in the mirror is so much different than what I expected. I had almost lost the memory of being pampered somewhere in the far reaches of my mind. When Mary produced the filing stone to round out my jagged, broken nails, it was as if she had thrust me back into my childhood. I could suddenly feel the rough hands of mother's eldest maid, Netta, as she held my hand in place while she filed. I would squirm when she turned the stone on my callouses but was too fearful to ever ask her to leave them.

The fruit of my consistent worrying has left me speechless and empty-minded as Mary gently recreates the tasks that haven't been turned upon me in years. Stray eyebrow hairs are plucked, my skin is moisturized, and a sheen of pale white covers my fingernails. I feel as if I am being reintroduced to society, as was originally done after my first bleed at thirteen. I had been so excited then to be placed on the pedestal of adulthood- I had hoped to be included more in the politics of Arithia, and I had been, for a time.

Mary places me in my desk chair and beings braiding my hair delicately. My cheeks she paints rosy to hide the paleness that has plagued me for days, my lips painted red to hide that I've been chewing them bloody. My cheeks are sunken, hollow, almost as if I've aged years in a few days. Most of my large mass of hair is pulled back, leaving a long five stranded braid resting along my spine. A few hairs right around my face have been left out and curled, fighting to bring out youthfulness in my dull face. Another place, another time, and I would have been beautiful in this moment.

She is buzzing with excitement as she moves me in front of the larger mirror and begins untying the corset on my dress. Something is being said, maybe she's even asking me questions, but instead I stare at myself. I stand so tall and thin next to Mary. My hips provide my body with no shape beneath the small white slip I currently wear. It is right that this day would remind me of my first years as a woman- it seems I have changed not.

Even as the slip is discarded for the white gown designed by Colette, I feel no excess emotion. The thought of Terran is easily accessible, but even his face in my mind brings forth no feelings of regret or sorrow. I'm surprised he's not here fussing over me, trying to get me to eat something before facing such a large crowd of people. Maybe he knew he couldn't stomach the sight of me in preparation for something I didn't want. Maybe I feel warmer toward him for acting as if this day is just like any other, that the vows and binding sentiments shared today will truly mean nothing. If he was here, I might be able to find excitement in the fantasy that I was marrying him instead.

I must give credit to mother and Colette. The dress they chose is unlike anything else in fashion right now, certain to become a trend after the wedding. I have been granted some freedom of movement by the lack of sleeves, but I also fear moving too much will jostle my overly exposed chest. Instead of the soft necklines worn by ladies today, the fabric covering my breasts is thrust upward by supporting whalebone. They form two spikes of delicate white fabric pointing toward my face, leaving my sternum and inner breasts open to air. My waist and hips are on display, and on another woman, this silhouette would provide the world a full view of her beautiful figure. Instead, I still feel boyish, the inserted corset trying its hardest to give me shape. It flows delicately to the floor and trails long behind me, inhibiting my walking even further.

A bell chimes, distant but echoing through packed streets and silencing the excited chatter outside. I squeeze my eyes shut, allowing myself one more moment to retreat into the comfort of darkness. I shut out the pure white reflection that fills me with unease.

"Time to get married!" Mary says, breaking into my thoughts with a sledgehammer. My eyes snap open, colliding with unadorned blue eyes. Mary is overcompensating for my dread with her flamboyance, so I cast her a small smile. I am just a job she was assigned, assuredly a plant by Her Majesty to assure I make it to the alter. At this point I couldn't turn back, even if I so desperately wanted to.

Numbly I allow Mary to escort me down the stairs, her short form almost entirely covered by the dress' train as she holds it up behind me. It is only when I am facing the wide entrance doors, light music filtering in from outside, that I take a steadying breath. Reagan will understand why I have done this. Terran will be here to hold me tonight.

The music changes and the doors slowly open, guards stationed outside likely having practiced this for days. As the moment swells, I realize with a great amount of hope in my heart that Hollie would be damn proud.