Over the wall

Over the wall ~2~

A man at the castle gates hovers aside our car. He is dressed immaculately and I surely think he is the king himself. He opens the door and addresses us.

"Good eve, my ladies. I will be the valet for your motorcar. Please, allow me to assist you down." The man says, curtly. Mother smiles coyly, reaching a 'delicate' hand toward this young man. He takes it and assists mother down. When mothers feet touch the ground he offers a hand to me. I reach to take it.

"No, this foul swine will contaminate those lovely pristine gloves of yours, Sir. She is quite capable to get down herself." Mother spits. I tuck an escaping curl up underneath my cap as I clamber from the motorcar. Mother has waltzed ahead, her fan out, covering her face. The man smiles sympathetically at me before climbing into the front of the car and driving away. I wave to him, I see him wave back so I turn and enter the castle foyer.

The foyer is elegant, black onyx with white Ivory, swirling around the room. A mix of black and white roses sit on each of the small end tables throughout the marvellous room. I've never seen such grandeur. Such splendour.

"Come, foolish child. Now." Mother calls, I feel the daggers in her voice. Following obediently, I fix the itchy cap as I walk. I meet mother at the door, she smiles like she is proud of me...it's a facade so no one knows of the abuse she gives me daily. Continuing to itch at the beaded cap and my braided hair a man, dressed more immaculately than the valet comes up. A silver threaded white doublet, and black breeches as of the renaissance era, dressed similarly to the rest if the bland crowd. Women socialising with men all dressed in black and white, the richer ones with silver thread or silver beads or fully silver clothes. Ahhh, wealth.

"My King." Mother curtsies low, her head bowed and neck shown. The King looks to be a man in his late 50s but I was never one to guess. His receding, greying hair is slicked back into a style that suited the Valet much more than it suits him. Thick eyebrows wriggle together on his forehead and dry, thin lips frame a dark mouth. He smells like a brewery. It's disgusting.

"My youngest daughter, Caierah," She simpers. The King takes an eye up and down my body, I feel like a prized cow being sized up before slaughter. What a horrible man.

I continue to scratch at my cap, curls falling onto my shoulders as the beads and my nails pull them from their braid. Suddenly, with a clatter, the cap falls to the marbled floor, revealing my brown hair. In its fullness. A hush sets over the ballroom, all eyes on me. But despite my mothers angry look and the clutched cap in her hands, I stand proud. Proud of my hair. Of me.

"Get the rest if the women out of here. I've chosen." The King yells to his guards. The girls and ladies begin to protest and yell 'but you haven't looked at my daughter yet!' 'I look just as good as her!', but are ultimately unable to out muscle the guards whom they out number.

The King takes my hand, pulling it up to his mouth and laying a kiss upon the back, fingertips brushing my wrist. A shiver sends down my spine. Why is this disgusting man touching me and looking at me in such a way? I am not a breeding cow. Nor a prized beast.

"What if I refuse?" I inquire. My hand shaking as I pull it from his. Anger sets into his wrinkled face, eyes blazing. In no way will I bind my self to this man willingly. I don't want to be a mistress, a wife, a breeding cow to this feral man. He has many a bastard child hidden behind tapestries and candelabras, and I don't want to mother them. Anyway, at only 18 Autumns, I cannot marry until my 21st. And it is currently winter.

"You shall not refuse, you shall bear my children for you are a rare breed and we must turn your family line back to black and white. That colour will only be permitted as long as you agree to marry me. If you refuse, I shall have you killed and thrown over the wall," He grits. I might as well jump over the wall myself. "The wedding is three days from now. BYRNES!"

A small man comes running, stockily built, broad chested and grumpy looking.

"Yes, my liege." The man bows so low his nose touches the ground.

"This is my bride. C-whats-her-name...no darling, don't tell me, I don't care. Tell the people that we will be wed in three days and that she shall bear my sons. Any man found with her without my explicit permission will be killed." The King says, scratching at his neck beard. I am so repulsed by this man. I didn't try and say anything and he couldn't even remember my name. I will not have this. I turn on my heel and run to the nearest set of doors, ripping at my skirt to make an easy get away.

The door leads to a garden where the wall is low, low enough for me to climb on should I wish to. The King comes running, Byrnes behind him and several guards. The shreds of my shirt fall behind me, leaving me in my underwear. The heels also become discarded, sitting askew in a white rose bush. I climb onto the wall. Looking defiantly to the King and his guards.

"Come down, you stupid girl." He yells. I look over the wall, into the misty abyss, only one place to run. Over the wall. If I do this, I might not live...but anything is better than marrying this repulsive King.

"Good bye, you abusive Bastard!" I scream before turning and jumping. I close my eyes and wait as I fall...