Chapter One: Wooden Ball
The echoes of my cane clacked against the hardwood flooring of the halls as I hobbled through the castle gallery, making sure not to make direct eye contact with any of the people in the portraits. My hand gripped the ivory skull topper of my cane as I leaned on it for support, shuffling my way to the castle library. I grunted and swore under my breath, cursing the uselessness of my left leg and the damned ache that stiffened with every step.
A testament and reminder of the accidents I had in the war, which had left me crippled and unsightly, and which had driven my husband away, replacing me with a flock of pampered harlots. Each of these harlots now had their own portrait hanging in the gallery, along with their handful of spoiled brats.
If I counted correctly, there were five of these god-awful women and approximately eleven of these damned hellions swarming the palace, filling the halls with the sound of ugly laughs, giggles, screams, and the banging of toys or tiny heads filled with equally tiny brains.
It was almost maddening. Enough to make an already mad woman such as myself want to go ape shit.
And ape shit was something I wanted to go when, as I was walking through the halls, my bad leg hobbled onto something, causing the heel of my boot to catch. I fell, crashing to the ground with a startled cry and a “God fucking dammit!”
I cried out in pain as my busted hip hit the ground and my shoulder slammed against the even harder floor. My cane fell from my hands, and a jolt of pain shot through my hip. All because of a stupid wooden toy ball that I made sure to kick across the gallery with my good leg after I tripped over it, cursing the staff for being so careless and the stupid child for leaving it behind.
As usual, I wasn’t quiet about my complaints and bitterness. Several members of the staff heard my pained cries, loud curses, and the clatter of the wooden ball as it rolled away. The servants weren’t the only ones who heard my angry fit. One of the five young brides of my husband, the king, who he referred to as his ‘queens’ and my ‘fellow wives,’ also heard. Though none of them were anything in the court other than his concubines, and I did nothing fellow with any of them.
This wife happened to be sauntering through the halls, fanning herself with an elegant fan, wearing a tight, cinching dress that made her small waist even tinier and her curves even curvier, making her easy on the eyes of the court and probably even easier on the king. Her long, shiny raven-black hair fell over her shoulders in unnatural, forced curls. Her face shone with copious, probably unhealthy amounts of cosmetics, and her nails were painted a deep blue that matched her deep blue eyes. These features made her unmistakably Bianca. Even though all the wives wore suffocating dresses and masks of cosmetics, Bianca was known for her raven-black hair resembling the king’s and her deep blue ‘siren’ eyes, as the court called them.
Since she was the daughter of a wealthy sea captain, her beauty had been likened to that of a siren’s. Quite accurate, as her screeching voice could be considered that of a sea witch’s, and her unruly ‘wavy’ hair was forced into bouncing curls to please the king.
“God fucking damn ball! God fucking damn child who played with said god damn fucking ball!” I cried in the gallery as I flipped onto my stomach and reached for my cane, unaware that Bianca was strolling through the gallery, probably gawking over portraits of her husband, the king.
All of which were exaggerated, making him look more kingly than he often was, especially the one of him sitting with all eleven of his children on his throne, all of them looking poised and posed like the perfect, serious royal family.
In reality, I had the joy of watching them fight and struggle while the kids had trouble staying still and quiet for the portrait, and the king struggled to reign in his patience and temper. Just like always.
I grabbed my cane and struggled to get back onto my feet, my bad leg giving me the hardest and stiffest effort. I gave it the harshest and most vulgar scolding, even though it was nothing more than my leg and couldn’t care less what I was babbling.
Nevertheless, I had to scream at something in this castle, since the pain of falling on my busted hip was immense, and I didn’t care to conceal it. I wasn’t on the battlefield or fighting a war now, so I didn’t have to suck it up or bottle it in.
While I was struggling up, I suddenly heard a loud thump and a scream of pain a few yards behind me. I looked back to see who else had fallen prey to the treachery of the art gallery. To my surprise, but not alarm, it was one of my ‘fellow wives,’ Bianca, who had tripped and face-planted after stumbling over the wooden ball I had kicked away.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the wooden ball belonged to one of Bianca’s brats, which would serve her some much-needed justice for her god-awful parenting. I mentally high-fived myself for kicking the ball into such a perfect position.
But little did I know the consequences of my actions for kicking the ball, and how it would become the thing that would change the entire course of my life.
