Unforgiving

2. oh, fuck

The announcement ceremony was one of the only events in the empire where all people sat together: Commoner, aristocrat or noble. Of course, every class mostly sat apart, in different sections, with very few people breaking that mold.

Why would they? Ivory thought mockingly, looking at his older brothers jostling each other. Why would a pureblood noble give peasants the time of day?

He had lived as a peasant before, thousands of times, though he had never gotten used to it. He could never get over how little (or much) he mattered depending on who he was born as. Now, whenever he was born noble, he did his best to give back, change the system, and be a good person greedy amongst monsters.

He was never born king.

Back straight, eyes ahead, Ivory sat amongst the rabble that laughed at the sight of his family. His mother and father, and three older brothers sat beside him in the throng of elites. They seemed oblivious to those who got a good laugh because of them; his family could make any moment as beautiful as they were.

"Oh, do lighten up, brother!" Donovan said, voice hushed. "We won't have to be here long. You can get back to your books after the party."

Ivory smirked a bit. Donovan never failed to break him out of his head. His brother continued, "You surely wouldn't want to waste a perfectly good ensemble hiding and brooding, would you?"

Every Gross in attendance wore that clothes were as neat as they could make them, everyone was clean as they could be.

They all varied in features, but were united by their polished exterior. What they lacked in expenses, they made up for in painstaking precision.

Ivory, especially, learned to sew and patch up almost any garment. The household had one desire; to protect themselves and their title, their status.

The family could fall into all manners of exploitation and harm if they were to waver in their power, what little power they had. Ivory had grown up hearing rumors of fallen families being forced into either poverty, or worse servitude to more powerful entities, ones who had eagerly entered themselves or their children into the Trials.

Despite his best efforts to hold his head high, the elites around him spoke behind their hands. Most hadn't even designed to look him in the eye, though others were all too eager too. He knew what they were all thinking.

He knew what they wanted.

"I wouldn't," Ivory said, words clipped. He repeated himself in a lighter, kinder tone: "No, no, I wouldn't."

We are only here to remind the people that we exist, Ivory thought, pushing away his disdain for the scorners. Nothing more.

He could handle a few hourglasses of empty merriment, handle the older swine speak of how much he's "grown". By dawn, he would be in his room with his texts and research. Before night, he would play with nieces and nephews. He would retire with his meal and continue to study and annotate the Holy Texts of the Heart.

The mirror that took its place on the front wall, the area where the throne would be, glowed with faces of the chosen contenders. Ivory paid little attention to them. There would be a list, but it would not matter to him. He would watch the Trials in passing, for he was sure his family would pur the grand display on their dingy, worn hand mirrors.

Ivory knew in his heart that a Cordelia would win. They had always won. When he would reach back into the memories of his past lives, the Cordelias were a constant, a staple for this empire for the last two hundred years.

Blonde hair, pale skin and potion-green eyes were juxtaposed against the rest. Out of the one billion people that resided in the empire, they were the only people who had those sets of combined features (as far as anyone currently knew). Before their reign, there were many, but it seemed like those sets of genes had died out in every person except the reigning family.

Now, those distinct markers of the Cordelia family appeared in the mirror twice: Once for the Crown Princess, and a second time for the son of the Archduke. Ivory had met the two on multiple occasions, and all were unpleasant. The way they would ease up closer to him, and whisper, coax...

Ivory held back a gag. He tore his eyes away from the display and turned his attention to his surroundings.

The palace throne room had been transformed. It kept its most notable details; the sky-high ceiling that was beautifully painted over with depictions of warfare. Each soldier, sword, horse and dragon sparkled with thousands of shades and colors. The throne room, along with the palace itself, was a kaleidoscopic masterpiece that held no space for him.

"Miriam Will, has been chosen!"

Who? Ivory looked up, finding the enlarged face of someone he could only vaguely recognize.

Dark eyes and a halo of black hair stood out amidst deep brown skin that seemed almost golden. Her full lips were a blossom in the middle of her face. Her gaze was sharp and focused, nailing the young Gross to his seat.

Who is that?

Everyone turned in place, looking for the anomaly. The short, soft-figured girl tentatively stepped forward. She bowed her head to no one in particular. She had been at the front, sitting with Allia and her flock of ladies.

Oh. Cordelias's toy. Miriam Will was the girl Allia used to bring around everywhere, before she turned into an evil wench. He hadn't seen the maid in a long time; she must have fallen out of favor with the Hope of the Empire.

He watched as her bottom lip quivered. He had stared at her so long that he almost hadn't noticed the change in the mirror.

"Ivory Gross, fourth son of Baron Thomas Gross of House Mir, has been chosen!"

Ivory was puzzled. House Mir? When were we still associated with Mir-?

Oh, fuck.

He stood slowly, knowing his composure was still (externally) intact. He looked at the Will girl and smiled. She looked at him, her small eyes now widened with fear and confusion.

She's mine, then, he thought. No one else could have her.

No one else can.

....

Once the princess finally released me, I hurried to the servants's quarters, happy to find myself beside Dana again. Our ranks consisted of five hundred different workers, an appropriate amount for such an expensive palace. I bunked with ten other maids. I used to have a small, cozy room near the princess, but now I slept in one of the hundred rooms for the maid staff.

Before, I had been sad about the exile, but I had come to find solace away from the monstress. I could only deal with so much of her hands and coursework. I could not afford to snap at her again.

"Are you well, Miriam?" Dana was folding her clothes. She had on her uniform, so she had probably come back from her shift. "I heard that Her Highness... dragged you away again."

"I am... alright." I gathered back my hair, the plume of curls that the princess had snapped out of its tie. I found a bit of rope underneath my bed, where I stored all of my possessions, important and miscellaneous. Dana kept her things in the trunk her mother had left her.

She was without parents, but they had loved her in life and reached out to her. My parents had left me to rot at the vulnerable age of nine. The princess found me in an alley, starving. She had taken a liking to me. Allia looked like something out of a fairytale.

My life had changed that day. But my sweet fantasy had turned into a nightmare. She was a bloodthirsty vampire, who only wanted to torment me and splurge.

I go behind my curtain and put on my night clothes. As the night neared, so did the promise of slumber. Most of the servants of the staff would be retiring for the night, whereas new guards would change out and fulfill their roles.

As I laid down to sleep, I dreamt of Ivory.