Stilskin, Stilskin

Chapter Two

I didn't sleep well that night. Tossing and turning, waking up in cold sweats. I couldn't remember my dreams, but I remembered they weren't good. I'd wake up out of breath, as if I'd been running. I'd sob and moan in my sleep. I closed my eyes for an instant, and when I opened them again, it was dawn. I rose up stiffly. That was the worst night's rest of my life. I tacked up my hair and pulled my nicest gown from the closet. I unfastened the buttons one by one and stepped in. I fastened them back up and put on a pair of slippers. I walked into the kitchen, and sat down at the table, mind utterly blank, just staring ahead at the blank wall. My father was there too, but was washing a pan under the water pump. I watched him scrub and scrub with the pig hair brush, round and round. He was sober, and also beside himself. He needed a rhythmic chore to do over and over again just to keep his mind off the fact he'd practically given his fifteen year old daughter a death sentence. He'd been up for hours on end I could tell, scrubbing away. His knuckles raw and red as the repetitive "scrucsh, scrucsh, scrucsh," of the soapy pan echoed in the room. I looked up at the door as I saw two blobby figures top the hill path. At first in the morning sun they were just two wobbly silhouettes, jostling as they came closer, but as they neared they reformed themselves into guards on horses. My heart fluttered. I heard my blood rush through my ears and felt it speed through my veins. I hyperventilated as my knees shook vigorously. The world was going dark and Father stopped scrubbing at the sound of every shrieking breath I took. I looked around. My vision throbbed. Dad ran to my assistance as I began to collapse onto the ground. He pulled me up and clutched me tight. I tried to kick and flail out of fear and frustration. He locked his limbs around me and held me in a body lock, keeping my from doing as much as flinching a single muscle. I slowed my breathing down through my tears as he hushed me. This was the first time I felt secure in his presence, keeping me safe. I looked up at him.

"You're going to be al-" he was interrupted by a knocking in the door. It opened and the King's Guards were visible. They stepped in and saw us.

"To whom it may concern," the taller one read from a script. "According by law of Mortimave, order of King Ulmer Mortimer VII, Olathe Rose Orlebar, daughter of deceased, Rhoswen Blanca Viville - Orlebar and Rudd George Orlebar, is to be taken from her household and delivered safely to Thy Majesty's palace to spin the hay provided into gold, if she succeeds, she will be ordered to spin more until further notice, if she does not succeed, she will be sentenced to a punishment of death."

As he finished, the other guard took me tightly by the arm and escorted me away from my father, out the door, and into a carriage behind the two horses. The man let me into the cabin and locked the doors behind me. I saw him get onto the other horse through the front glass. He kicked the horse and we began to push on. I watched in silence as our house grow smaller in the distance, as it faded away. The green pastures melted into dust roads That wound themselves around stores and shacks and little wooden houses as we pulled into Mortimave. The big stone walls surrounding the castle grew taller as we neared. The block gates moaned and crawled open. I watched through my window, too frightened to be amazed. The cobbled street below us lead to the second gate, which was wooden with metal grates. It opened wide and the palace came into view. The grey walls towering into the skyline. The chariot halted in the courtyard as the two guards jumped off the horses in front outside. They grabbed me gently by the forearms and lead me in to the open ending drawbridge. The sound of our feet clunked along the wooden bridge, sounding random as our feet never merged into sync. The bars rolled up into the stone wall and there we were, standing casually in the King's Castle. They pushed me slightly down the hall into an ajar, ceiling length door. I looked up at the throne headed of the room. King Mortimer sat there, stone faced. A young man sat in a smaller throne at his side. He had brown hair and tan blotched skin. His lightish eyes locked in my gaze. He looked at me sternly.
"Prince Warric," I thought silently to myself. I sat down in the chair facing them, being held in place by the guards. The parliament sat there too, to the king's right the Advisor, the Reporter, the Judge, the Royal Guards, The Knights, and to Warric's left was the Queen, but not Warric's mother. The King's second wife, The Script Man, the Second Advisor and The Royal Knights of Mortimer. I gulped as I attempted to shoot Prince Warric a look of sadness, hoping for his pity. He glanced back down at the Long Table when he saw me. The king looked at me.