The Burden of Freedom

Chapter 1

Part of me has always known it would come to this. I have put off the subject for so long, pushing it aside whenever it had come up, and even left the room when the conversation felt like it would steer in that inevitable direction.

I don't know why I avoid it this much. Maybe a part of me hopes that by not addressing the problem, it will simply go away. Maybe I hope that I can stay this way forever, frozen in my childhood, living as close to a 'simple life' as any person of my stature can.

However, I face the problem head on now. And this time, I can't avoid it.

My name is Evelynne Irene and I am going to be married to someone I don't know by the end of the year.

I stand facing my father, every bone in my body wishing that I were somewhere else. My hands clench at the blue fabric of my dress to mask their trembling. 

He is sitting in front of me, his throne elevated so that my eyes are level with his knees. I choose to stare up at him, not daring to look away, our gazes locked. 

"I don't think an arranged marriage is a good idea," I say, keeping my voice as controlled as I possibly can.

"You do not have a say in the matter," he snaps back, voice spitting out the words. 

"I think I do," I say in response. Immediately, I know the words are a mistake. My father is the king, the most important person in the entire kingdom. People who speak against him don't live for long and he never accepts any form of resistance, even from his own family. 

Unfortunately, I was born with a quick temper, which gets me in trouble more often than not.

The king stares back at me, his ice blue eyes cold and resentful. His dark hair is peppered with gray, cropped short to his skull. A gold crown sits on his head, red rubies glinting and angry. There had been many days the King was seen without his wedding ring. But not once, never one single time had anyone remembered seeing him without his crown.

I so desperately want to rip it from his head and throw it to the ground. But I control myself, staring into his eyes and keeping my hands clenched at my side.

"I've told you that I don't want to be married to someone whom I have never met," I say, once the silence stretches out longer than comfortable. I struggle to keep my tone polite and controlled.

"No one of our stature has that luxury, Evelynne," he says back, tapping lightly against the armrest of his throne, fingers tracing over the wooden dragon heads carved into the arms. They stare out at me, emerald eyes sparkling as if they are anticipating what I will taste like. 

"Besides," he continues. "You will grow to love whomever I select for you. Even if you do not, it is your duty."

This makes a cold fire flicker in my chest, stirring up memories. "Father, love and duty have absolutely nothing to do with each other. But you wouldn't understand that, would you?"

By the time I realize what I have said, it's too late. I have no time to move, no time to react.

The goblet collides with the side of my face, my head snapping to the side. Tears prickle behind my closed eyelids, pain pulsing from my cheek. When I pull my hand away, my fingers have a thin coat of red blood.

The king, my father, had just thrown a goblet at me.

I find myself thinking the words that I had often repeated as a child, the words that got me through each and every day of my life. They have always been a comfort, but now they feel empty and hollow.