To Love A King

04

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I wanted to be brave. I wanted to meet death with diginty, I wanted her to be proud to take me. But I couldn't. I couldn't be brave. 

Not when all I could remember were my mother's screams as she got torn apart. Not when all I can remember is looking away instead of meeting her eye's. I got a glimpse. I got a glimpse of the pain, of the suffering she was going through. And all I did was watch.

Maybe I was a coward. But I would not die like that today. Force to kneel in front of a king and then slaughtered violently anyway. 

So I twisted in is arms, moving my bony body every which way, trying to elbow him. Anything to escape his iron grip.  

My mind was getting even foggier as I continued to struggle, his low growls increasing as we head more and more down the path, in the opposite direction of the village. 

Confliction. I finally placed what I was feeling. Some despicable part of me didn't mind being in his arms, traitorous thoughts rolled in an out of my mind. 

The other, obviously logical part of me, knew that I needed to escape him. Escape, escape before the last thing I see is his dark, cold stare. 

The fear I had tried to crush and store away until I was safe started bubbling up as I realized my twisting and turning was getting me nowhere. Terror crawled up my throat, choking me. Freezing me. I tried taking a few breaths. Clear my mind. Clear the chaos. 

Nothing was working. I couldn't breathe. I was going to die just like her. All my anger, everything I had worked for. Everything I had sacrificed. It all was for nothing. 

Anthony was right. An angry girl, a reckless girl, a stupid girl, a weak girl. That is what I was. And that is apparently all I'll ever get to be. 

The edges of my vision started blacking out, blurring around the edges. I didn't want to die like her. I wanted to finish what she started. I didn't want my last moments to be so torturous that all real thoughts leave me. That I wouldn't even recognize myself. I don't want the world to remember me like that.

But this new world is not kind to small, angry, terribly human girls.

They don't say it, but we are slaves. By everything but name. Making their food, their clothes, our lives always out of our control. I fought for our freedom. And I lost. We all did.

I tried breathing again, but a scream pierced the air. It sounded like my mother. I tried screaming too, telling her to stop. But I had no air left in me to scream.

I was gasping, gulping down air that wasn't getting to my lungs.

I heard his voice, "Breath little fox." It was soft, gentle. Like my vision. But I couldn't breathe. All I could hear was my mother. Screaming and screaming and screaming.

Her voice was chasing me into the back of my mind. It was so dark here. So dark and cold. I couldn't find her. Her screams blocking out everything. I couldn't escape him and now I can't escape her screams.

"Save me!" She yelled, her voice sounded hoarse and high-pitched. Scratching like nails against a chalkboard. Like she had been screaming for years. "Do something! Anything! You cowardly girl! Help me!"

But I couldn't. I couldn't find her. It was so dark here, in the back part of my mind. So dark. I could only curl up into a ball and rock back and forth. Back and forth. 

Please just make it stop. I wanted to say. Someone. Anyone. My world was completely black and I don't remember my mother's cries of pain ever stopping as I felt myself drift away into the most twisted parts of my consciousness. 

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I awoke with a jolt. Ripped back into reality.

I don't open my eye's just yet. Trying to center myself. Memories come rushing back, Anthony's concerned face, growl's, the forest blurring around me. How the wind felt against my face. And the fear. The unadulterated fear. 

I'm laying on something like a cushion. My body is in a spread position. Something bumps me around and I'm up in an instant.

My eye's take a few seconds to adjust to wherever I am, but I notice his presence immediately. Just like I had earlier today. Or at least I think it was today. It was so strange. It felt as if he were a part of me. An extended limb of sorts. A peculiar sensation indeed. 

I refuse to look at him. I take in my surroundings as quick as I can. Noting that there are two doors, one on each side of whatever compartment we are in and I that we are moving. The interior of this moving room is all black. I also take a moment to realize with satisfaction, that it is warm in here. 

I resist the urge to let out a content sigh. I live for warmth. It's been so long since I've felt truly and utterly warm that it takes all my might to not simply rest my head against the moving room and soak it up. The winter was harsh this year. My body open to all the jarring elements.

There are three things I live for. The rebellion, warmth, and anything to do with nature. All three of those things are a part of me, and I, a part of them. Never separate. Always one.

I can feel his eyes on me. His gaze feels heavy on my head. Maybe it's a challenge. To see if I'm willing to even meet his gaze. A lowly human, meet a king's face. I can see it now. I feel anger and a surge of confidence swell up in my chest.

I meet his cold stare head on. I hope he see's the fury.

For just a second, I see something flash in his eye's. I would say concern, maybe, but it would make no sense, so I set that thought aside to analyze another time.

Neither of us says a word. Neither of us backing down. We are at a stalemate.

His dark brown eye's take me in. I size him up too. I memorize his features. The pitch black hair, the ticking jaw, arms that are wrapped in muscle. Not necessarily bulky, but they were there. Another weapon among many.

I watch his eye's narrow just a fraction, "You are a strange little fox aren't you." It did not come out as a question.

My back straightens at the sound of his voice. A slight shiver danced down my spine. 

The urge to snap at him, to tell him my name is not little fox gripped me. The smart part of me knew is was better that he didn't know my real name. To leave it as it is.

He look's at my body. Tracing his eye's over my deathly skinny face, and even skinnier arms, legs, and torso. He stops at my feet, shoeless and bruised and scarred from over time. Years of starvation and scavenging for food. Resorting to eating rats and grass daily, does take its toll on a body. I suspect I'll never look just right. Never look completely healthy. 17 years of suffering can not just be undone. 

Leisurely he looks back at my face. As if he doesn't even see me as a person. He cares not for my suffering. That doesn't surprise me, but it still hit my chest hard and I don't know why. 

"Get some sleep fox. Your sharp eyes will do you no good here." 

Just like that, the weird chest pain went away. I want to jump to his side of this cart and strangle him with his own words. 

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