Manservant

1

"Why am I here?" I asked Mother as we stood in the middle of the marketplace on a hot, crowded Sunday morning.

Mother turned to level her gaze with mine. At fifteen, I was almost as tall as she was, although physically, the similarities ended there. She had pale skin, hazel eyes and thick, ash brown hair she (or I guess I should say the servants) always kept up in an immaculate, pinned-up style. 

Me? I looked like Father, with my dirty blonde hair and sleepy green eyes.

Thinking about him made me miss him. Years ago, he'd gone off to join the war against the Larians. We used to hear from him at first, but after a while, the letters just stopped coming. The war had already ended, but still, we had received no word, despite all my pleas to the army for news. 

It had been so long now that I was beginning to even forget how Father's voice sounded like. At the thought, I felt my lips form a miserable shape.

"Stop frowning," Mother said, noticing. "You'll give yourself wrinkles."

"There are worse things in the world than wrinkles, Mother. Besides, I'm only fifteen."

"Now is the perfect age to start taking into account such things."

"The perfect age?" I echoed, a little coldly. "Meaning what exactly?"

"You know exactly what I mean. The age to marry."

I turned my face to the side so she wouldn't see me roll my eyes. Ever since I had 'become a woman', as she'd called that horrible day I'd found blood in my underwear, everything had changed.

Every day was all about what new ideas she could come up with to marry me off, like she couldn't wait to get rid of me. She'd even said it would be the best birthday present to give me – a husband. Can you believe that?

"I think we should aim to have you married by the end of the year," she commented, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "What do you think?"

"Does it matter what I think?"

She laughed as if that had been a joke. It hadn't.

"Mother, I'm not ready."

"Nonsense. Of course you're ready."

"Let me put it another way, then. I don't want to get married – at least not yet."

"One year should be enough time, yes?" she went on, as if she hadn't heard me. "You are pretty as you are, so I'm not worried on that account. You've finished your studies, you know all the dances, and we'll have the latest fashions ready for you when it comes time to present you at court."

I sighed. From a young age, my time had not been my own. Every waking moment had been taken up with all manner of classes and exercises, from learning how to stitch to perfecting my posture to practicing what the different fan gestures meant.

I used to feel proud that I was a quick learner, basking in my governess' and Mother's praise ... until I realized what the real reason behind all my studies was. To shape me into a 'respectable wife', whatever the hell that was.

Knowing that now, I couldn't help feeling cheated somehow. Why did we women have to learn things for a man they'd never even met before? I wished I could have spent more time on writing my poems – something I tried to do in secret since Mother considered it a waste of time.

"Can't we wait another year or two?" I tried a delaying tactic as we meandered through the crowds of merchants, nobles and servants jostling past each other, voices rising all around us in laughter, bargaining and gossip.