𝔸𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕒. [WRITING PROMPTS]

#2

A Daring Escape

"This is absurd."

"Don' move, yer highness," Dolores replies apologetically. "I wouldn't want ta poke ya."

I sigh melodramatically, arms raised on either side of me as she stuffs the stiff fabric with pins and slippery silk ribbons. One goes in just a little too deep. I wince and let out an involuntary yelp.

"'M sorry, yer highness!" Dolores exclaims, face flushing.

"It's fine," I murmur, shaking lose black locks out of my eyes. 

"Jus' let me fix that up," she says hurriedly, continuing to prod me until she leans back and deems me fit for the public. "You look right splendid, yer highness."

I glower at myself in the mirror, miffed. "Yea. Sure."

"Don' fret, love," she says earnestly, patting me gingerly on the shoulder. "Ever'things gonna go wonderfully tomorra'."

"That's not what I'm worried about," I say angrily, eyeing the suit with disdain. "I don't want to get married, Dolores."

Her eyebrows pull low, her mouth turned down. She looks at me with motherly sympathy. "I know, dear. That's what ya think, but once ya get married ya'll feel right as rain. There's nothin' to it."

"But I don't even know her!" I exclaim, turning away from her touch and aiming my simmering gaze at her worried face. "Why would I ever want to marry somebody I don't even know?"

"Thas not da point, love," she says softly, tugging at my ruffles and coat sleeves til they're even. "Ya don' got much o' a choice."

"That's horse shit," I say sourly.

She smiles dryly, then pats my cheek with her soft, powdered hand. "Even so. Even so."

"Bane?"

We both turn, Dolores' face immediately flushing as she backs away from me, smoothing down her threadbare brown apron and tugging her bonnet over her red ears. My father stands in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, staring down with beady jaded eyes, over his beakish nose and thin, curled lips. His hair is like mine, thick and black, but he oils it back until it's flat and gleaming against his head. His gilded crown poises on his ridiculous hairdo like a pompous bird.

"Where is your crown?" he demands in his thin, sharp-edged voice, both of his eyebrows arched skeptically.

I give him a look and reach over to the ottoman, taking the thin silver device and slipping it into my own unruly curls. "Happy now?"

"Very," he replies dryly in a tone that indicates otherwise. He turns to Dolores. "Does the suit fit him well?"

"Very, yer majesty," she says hurriedly, bowing so low I'm afraid she might stumble head-over-heels or start grovelling at his slippered feet. "It fits quite well, yer majesty. he's a v'ry handsome lad indeed."

my father's eyes sweep back over me, sucking on his lips. "Very well. So the suit is ready for tomorrow's ceremony?"

"Yes, yer majesty," Dolores replies dutifully to the floor. 

"Wonderful," my father says sharply. "Have it removed and ironed tonight. He shall be dressed by 9 sharp."

"Very well, yer majesty, very well," she replies, nodding rapidly.

Then, he looks at me, a warning in his slippery black eyes. "You're ready for the ceremony, Bane?"

I cross my arms and stare the ground broodingly.