Scarlett's Secret

Prologue

They promised that I would never end up like this - alone, a slave, a nobody... that is not how Aunt Ruth and Uncle Albert raised me.

When Mama and Papa's fever never broke and they left me for God, I thought I would never feel so alone and vulnerable ever again. And so far, I hadn't - but a lot has changed in the last seven years. I was no longer a naive little girl. Hell, Aunt Ruth polished me up so well you would believe I was of noble blood. And I could've been if Mama hadn't thrown away her title and livelihood to be with Papa, a farmer out West.

Fortunately for Aunt Ruth and Uncle Albert, my life did not end at ten years old. In fact, it had just begun. Aunt Ruth taught me how to read, both literature and music. She also taught me how to play the piano, but I knew no matter how hard she tried, I could never match her astounding form and swift movement. Uncle Albert taught me to dance and told tales of the great King of our country, King Henry VII, the first monarch of the House of Tudor.

I had a future, I had dreams. But that all feels so long ago. At age fifteen, Uncle Albert left on horseback to discuss matters of business with close interstate dealers. However, he did not survive the trip and his men were attacked by thieves. The news broke Aunt Ruth, and her once beaming crimson cheeks turned a colour so cold that if her chest halted its movements, I'd assume she had left me also. Three weeks later, her heart stopped. The doctors said it was a condition that I still to this day cannot pronounce, but I swear she died of a broken heart.

So best of all, my Aunt and Uncle taught me how to love. And if they were able to conceive children of their own, I know that family would never have felt sadness. Love is strange, love is not always kind. Love can make men vulnerable, and sometimes in the worst cases, turn them into monsters full of envy. That I feared I would find out very soon.

So now what of me? The rest of my journey for the last two years before landing in the King's stables passed like a blur - one I'd gladly forget. Fortunately for my farming upbringing, I knew how to care for animals, particularly horses. My favourite are the stallions before they're broken in. They remind me of Mama.

Oh, Mama. Look at me now. Even as farmers, we had workers below us. I would never dare call them slaves, as we never treated them as such. Here, in the King of England's monarchy, I am most definitely a slave. No rights, no hopes, and endless fears.

I befriended a little boy called Elliot, who reminded me of someone back home. "The King demands the fastest horse in the stable. It's hunting season again." Elliot managed between breaths, he must've run back here.