The Widow

Chapter One: Married off for Politics

The Netherlands was always cold during any form of season, the air held a crisp chill that would make one want to bundle up by the fire, the low fog cloud your eyes from seeing anything beautiful and peaceful, just hatred, madness and chaos filled these lands- especially when the Duke's daughter was born. She was different; hair long and curly with a wool texture that no comb could easily go through, skin the color of her mother's- dark and smooth, eyes the color of chocolate, lips full and brown, voice soft as a stream, and mind full of peace and joy.

The difference she held frightened others, the mix breeding and the future full of color and culture. The world so cruel and cold would never open its arms for this child, the hatred and anger surrounded her like a itchy blanket. Still, it kept her warm, the thought of her being so different had made her glad, because soon the world will be filled with others like her- others who roots are closer, cultures more vibrant and fun, the natives of the largest continent in this entire world... the birth place of man.

"Lady Emelie, get away from the window, you'll catch a cold." A jolly older woman with rosy cheeks, blonde hair that dared to show themselves from under her cotton bonnet, and the most timid voice the young lady has ever heard- spoke in such urge and rush as she hurried around the room, cleaning after the young woman and pulling out her gown for the day.

Emelie sighed heavily when trying to look through the thick fog, but gave up the attempt. "Let me become ill under this dreadful weather, the people would love to see the abomination fall." Her tone was harsh, low, with a strain of sorrow and despair.

"Hush now, child. You should've joyful and happy to be leaving."

Emelie crosses her arms to cover her perky breast that revealed themselves through the thin night gown. Her spine shivered as she walked barefoot on the cold stones toward lap her bed, where she hide herself under the covers to never be seen again- or she wished to never be seen. "Oh yes," her words were muffled through the thick blanket. "To he married off to a French stranger, who so happens to be a prince of a small and powerful kingdom. Oh shall I have joy and skip around the father to kiss my dare father's feet."

The old maiden snatched the covers off of her body, removing the only thing that protected Emelie from the word- other than the thick stone walls and the same numerous of guards in the halls. "The Prince is kind, an intellectual being that's also a good hunter. Many girls are married off to barbarians and frail old men, not you, your father made sure to pick the the best one."

"No, my father made sure to pick the best alley so he can win this war and become the favorite of King Ura's politicians."

"Get up child, before your mother comes in and drag you out."

Surely it was already too late for the threat. Duchess Abigail entered with no grand entrance but a cold stare, nose pointed up in the air, spine straight, and lips thin in judgment. A form of beauty; pale skin, long flowing raven hair, emerald eyes, tall, slim, and class that no other woman has endured with a beauty that no woman her age could hold. Abigail is not Emelie's mother by blood, you see, Emelie's biological mother was a servant- a mere slave that was impregnated by Duke Harold before he married the beautiful duchess of Romania. Abigail encouraged Harold to keep the child, to show the world how kind and a good Christian she can be. However, because of her lack of producing children, Abigail became cold and used her beauty as a weapon.

"Why are you still in bed? Get up...get up." Her voice was cold, dry, and husky with a hint of Romanian accent- it made her anymore beautiful, strong, and powerful.

Emelie knew better not to fight, even though Abigail never hurt her physically, but her words were as painful as a dagger soaked in piss and shit. Her body was soon covered with the thick layers of the navy blue gown that was tied to her skin, making her breast show themselves, stomach flat, and waist smaller. She could barely breath.

"Come, your father is waiting." Abigail lead the into the wide hall, down the long corridor and towards her father's studies where he's currently hunched over his desk full of scrolls, letters, and philosophical books. "Why must you stress?" The woman's tone was softer towards her husband. Despite the fact his bachelor ways before their marriage lead to the only kin of his blood, Abigail loved the man.

Duke Harold sighed heavily while looking up from the intense letter from King Dion from France. Duke Harold has been holding off on an actual decision in marrying off his only child, even though he's the only king who has actually reached out to marry off his only youngest. Because Emelie's status as the bastard daughter of Duke Harold and her mix-bred blood, no one dared to even hold the thought of marrying her- which Emelie has no problem with.

"It's fine father." Emelie could see the distress on his face, the mental conflict of making a decision, protecting his daughter, and still saving the kingdom from war. "I will do my duty, please, make a decision."

Harold sighed heavily before placing a single paper in front of him and dipping his quill in the ink so he can write the letter everyone is waiting for. He was signing his daughter off to a stranger, a political decision mostly every man of his status has to make for their child.

*~*~*~*

Emelie found herself wandering on estate grounds, the morning no longer consisted of low fog and the sun has finally made an appearance. She strolled around the statues of her ancestors just behind the manor, fingers glide against the ruined marble of her grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins; people she knew would never approve her certain status and leverage in the manor. Emelie took pride in her luck, she prayed to the gods that granted this life for her and only wished it wouldn't be risked away.

"Why do you stray out here when you ponder?"

She turned to see her father standing in front of his grandfather's statue, hands clasped behind his back as he eyed his role model. Her father looked old from stress, ginger beard holding specks of gray, the top of his head was balding, wrinkles along his eyes, and his young athletic physique was now flabby with a small belly. He still stood tall, showing his power with his wisdom and strength; many times he use lead armies through war and lead political debates when he could no longer straddle a horse with aching his back. "The dead is silent, no one can judge me from their grave."

Harold looked down at his only child with a form of wonder in his eyes, "Your sacrifice will be rewarded generously."

"I am doing my right as lady, father, it's my duty. Even if it's not in my blood."

"Sometimes you remind me of your great-grandfather. The righteous self-less acts, thousands of people kissed his feet and the ground he walked on. Our family name were gold on people's tongues, but after my father, our name were nothing but horse shit covered in hay. All my life I tried to fix it, to gain that power back- almost lost everything. But you, Emelie, you do not have to lose everything."

"The agreement is done, father, we can not take back our word."

He sighed heavily while looking away in shame, from his daughter's gaze and the statue's stern lifeless stare. "Very well. Prince Ouen is a good lad, a gentleman that needs to settle down. I assure you he volunteered for the marriage as well, so no one was forced into anything."

Emelie nod her head in satisfaction while looking up at her great-grandfather's courageous statue. He was displayed wearing a bear skin as a coat, arm raised in triumph with a sword on his hip, the flag of Netherlands by his side, and a stern look upon his face that was so exact- she thought that was his natural look. "When do we sail?"

"Two days from now, they will be expecting us when the sun is at its peak, behind castle walls in the garden. Unless they change the plans, France receives a lot of rain during the summer- but it's very beautiful, you will enjoy that if nothing else. I'm very proud of you, Emelie."

Her lips tugged into a small grateful smile that made her day better. "Thank you father."