Entitled.

Act I:

Brimuld, one of the oldest existing kingdoms predating the arrival of the first colonists six-hundred years ago, and a bustling metropolis of trade on the lively Stanrocc Coast, the monarchy ruled this kingdom variably. The previous monarch took many lessons in persecution and prejudice from his warring father, so a rebellion I was too young to remember wasn’t as far-fetched as if one were to occur in the modern day. With the Rymann’s - heads of the rebellion - forming the New Monarchy, it was said that many foresaw a new age of wealth and prosperity on the horizon, yet other than the oppression of the supporters of the Old Monarchy, in my eyes I saw very little had changed from the stories I was told. The 1%, aristocrats and the royal family, still controlled Brimuld and its vassal states, and a war continued to rage from the days of the Old Monarchy. Lewis the Third, the father of the king who watched the formation and end of the Rymann’s rebellion, practically started a war encompassing the entire known world, from the desert plains of the Werik’i to the snow-capped mountains of Bjergområde in the central lands. Today, a few days from the eve of the five-hundredth-year anniversary of the Old Monarchy and the tenth year of the New Monarchy, tensions were either peaking, or it was the first year I’d truly recognised the vast amount of cracks running throughout the kingdom.

As much as I wanted to worry about it, however, nobody could touch us. Not my family. So, why did I need to bother doing anything more than the bare minimum of showing my face to the public once a month and playing nice with all the other noble families? By no stretch were we as rich as the Rymann’s who were either looked up to as Gods or Devils depending on which side of the city you lived on, but we owned enough wealth to enjoy a peaceful, fulfilled lifetime. I hesitated to say we couldn’t survive generations of rebellions provided we remained neutral, as our relation to the Werik’i Advancement was a feat not even the king, queen, or republic (god forbid we formed a republic!) would scoff at, and the only reason we hadn’t remained neutral ten years ago was a result of Father’s pride. Ultimately, if there was to be another rebellion and we’d sit idly on the sidelines, I assured myself that no revolter - no matter how devious - would ever hurt the fifteen-year-old daughter of such status for fear the Devil himself would come for them in their sleep. On the other hand, if it wasn’t the guilt that they succumbed to, my family was known for its production of poisons, and that fact hadn’t changed much. So, while I waited for my suitors to arrive any day, I sat and ate cream-covered scones when I wasn’t reading up on world history, perfecting my curved handwriting, or working on learning a fifth musical instrument. My life was hard.

Slacking off from reciting a famous melancholy melody by a pianist from a few decades ago who went mad and disappeared from the face of the world - a fact which always amused me - a trio of rhythmic knocks arose from my bedroom door. Swiftly, I grabbed the sheet music and slotted it into place atop my piano before acknowledging the knocker with a loud enough “come in!” Grunting as the polished wooden door got jammed again, my mother gave it one hard kick - an act she’d not done to it before but what my father was very prone to - and with a crack and a jerk, it loosely swung open.

Recovering her posture, straightening out her back, with a deep breath, she smiled warmly that “the first one has arrived.”

It took me a moment to process what she meant, then I almost choked on the air, “who?”

Mumbling an unintelligible word under her breath, I asked her again.

“Mr. Bailey.”

“The tradesman? He’s-” I stood; my mother interjecting!

“He is the one man who will treat you well.”

“He’s forty-six years older than me,” I chided, “he had three other wives, all of whom, let me remind you,” I grew red in the face, ”were still in their twenties when he let them go! For your sake as well as mine, you can’t allow this, he’ll bring shame to our family name!”

After that, she was silent for almost a minute. I wanted to storm out but there was nowhere to go.

With another, even deeper inhale, she said calmly with an eye twitch, “Mr. Bailey, though he may be somewhat older than you, is barely at his homestead and when he is will make you feel like you are the only woman in his world, but you are right,” she sighed. “The other families he’s taken on have all been brought to ruin because his wives… ‘Let themselves go’. You represent our family name, so ensure that you do not bring us disgrace as his other wives have to theirs.”

“You can’t allow this,” I argued, glaring at my mother with all the rage of a thousand bulls!

Sharply, she whispered and pushed the door closed, “lower your voice, girl!”

I seethed, sucking on my teeth.

“I did not raise any daughter of mine to whine over her marriage,” Mother retorted. “Calm down and make an impression on him. I know this isn’t ideal for you,” she scowled ”but as long as you obey his words and behave, he’ll die in a few years and you’ll be his only family. You,” she pointed, “will inherit a fortune worth an entire continent.”

“When did you care about money?” I asked, my voice turned low and monotone.

Turning her back to me, she put her hand on the doorknob even though the door had shuddered back into the room on its own, “suck it up for a few years and come downstairs,” she hissed, stopping in the hallway, “and make an impression on him.” Once said, she left.

When I heard her open the door to the staircase, I pushed my door closed, yet it bounced out of the frame whenever I did so. Mother kicked it so hard that it broke. I swore at her from my bed as I slumped into the sheets and sank into them. Turning onto my side, I witnessed my reflection. Already dressed since the early hours of dawn, my waist was buckled to emphasise its thinness; the light-brown sleeves stretching down from the elbows of my dark blue kirtle - a dress covering a vast amount of body - were tight already but tightened further by three very thin metal bands at the wrists. The family brooch was worn around my neck and cold to the touch but represented the house symbol - that of a rotund boar. Lining the inside of my clothed shoulders was a fur trim of an unidentified animal, and beneath my kirtle were close-fitting trousers. All of that and yet I was dead-eyed. Like a fish at the market stall, wrapped and ready to look as tasty as possible, except if you glanced into its eyes even for a moment, you’d see just how lifeless it was. Forcing a smile at myself in the nearly six-foot wall mirror, I wet my lips to give them some more colour and applied some perfume to my skin. Reaching out for the plate of cream scones atop my piano, the plate teetered and fell when I was pulling one of them off, sending the rest of the scones scattering all over the rug. Swearing, I hastily picked them up, and those I couldn’t stuff into my face, I piled onto the plate which I lightly tossed onto my fresh duvet, using the inside of my sleeve to wipe any excess cream from the edges of my mouth. I stood straight and tightened my belt until it felt like the buckle was about to pop off. I practised shallow, rhythmic breathing for about a minute so I wouldn’t pass out from oxygen deficiency, then stepped foot into the hallway, swallowing hard the last of my food.

Elegantly sashaying down the grand stairs from the second floor, I focussed my mind on impressing Mr. Bailey who awaited me in the living room. As much as I wanted to give him a piece of my mind and make him think I was unworthy of his hand, my mother was right in the fact that he was the one man who had a chance at destroying our family name. Not even the Old Monarchy - who were, bar recently, the most powerful people in the last two centuries - could have done that. All it meant was I had to show my other suitors that it was them who I wanted more than anything, it was the only thing I thought of that would have given me a chance not to be with him - if somebody else chose me. The only person who could spare me was myself. Opening the doors in front of me, the finery-laden servants I’d grown up with bowed as I approached and escorted me those few metres from the end of the steps to the living hall.

Entering, Mr. Bailey was stood tracing the golden-laced, purple walls with the tip of his right index finger. A single, lit silver chandelier hung by a chain attached to the ceiling and swayed gently thanks to the breeze blowing in from an open window. Shivering, I flashed a smile in my mother’s direction who sat with one leg folded over the other on the velvety sofa, a plump, brown-and-gold-patterned cushion underneath her. Bowing to Mr. Bailey as the servants closed the double doors and waited in the adjoining hallway, I faked as big a smile at him as I could, my cheekbones already hurting from it. Telling me to sit, I did so next to my mother with my hands on my thighs and my back straight as an arrow.

Standing back from the curling gold and red patterns that made up the wall closest him, Mr. Bailey snapped his fingers. Apart from my light, nasally breaths it was the only sound for over a minute. In the silence that followed as he paced the room up, then down again, his boots clicking on the floor echoed through my ears. Had I already done something wrong? If that was what I wanted, why was I so nervous? I fixated my eyes on the floor all the while no one said a word.

Suddenly, it came. His deep, gruff voice whispered from behind as he placed his hands on my shoulders. “When we wrote, your mother told me all about you. Aren’t you a cunning young woman, Abigail?”

Instinctively, I shuddered the moment he touched me. I didn’t know what to say besides, “yes, sir,” through an unfamiliarly shaky voice.

Ambling around the sofa to sit opposite me, he chuckled. Raising my head and focussing on his nose because the thought of looking him in the eyes unnerved me greatly, I saw the thick beard that hid his face in all the portraits I’d been shown was gone; and only a twirled black moustache remained.

“There’s no need to be so polite with me if we’re to get married after all,” he smiled. “Truth be told, your father and I were old friends - bless his soul - and if it weren’t for the revolt, I’d have come here many years ago. For you.”

Flattering if it wasn’t from a man who could’ve been my dad three times over. I nodded.

“Shy?” He leaned in, his hands intertwined on his knees, “there’s no need to be, dear.”

The next time he went to speak, my mother interrupted with a trembling voice, “perhaps I should leave the room to allow you two to be acquainted? She’s probably just embarrassed with her mum in the same room,” she laughed briefly.

“Quite,” agreed Mr. Bailey and walked her out. Closing the doors himself, he sat next to me - too close - and sniffed intensely. “Rosemary?”

“Lavender,” I corrected, coldly.

“Of course.” He replied, drifting the conversation into an extremely awkward silence.

After that, he asked me more questions which I answered very briefly. I smiled only on occasion. My voice was quite monotone. That was until he touched my knee. Worked his hand up to my thigh and I stood up in a hurry. All he did was huff, then told me he had seen enough and left briskly, thanking my mother on his way out. As much as she tried to ask him how it went, I watched from the window as he plain ignored her and climbed into his black carriage. It was safe to assume that she was furious.

“What happened in there!” She shouted, raising a hand to me. I told her I made an impression on him and that he touched my leg before storming out. She said that was my chance. “You don’t recoil from a man who’s in his element, so to speak, you let him do what he wants. It’s the price of being a good wife and a better mother.”

After she said that, I ran to my bedroom and slammed a door, positioning a chair up against it to stop it from swinging back open. Why didn’t she listen to me? I didn’t make him hate me - probably - so at worst he’d have denounced our family, not destroyed our reputation. At best he’d have left us alone and never bothered us again. Where that man walked, only shame and destruction followed. Not for him, of course.

I barely slept that night. I was horrified, but I supposed that was my role in the world - to be sold off to the richest man and do the same to his children. Was I different? Was it wrong of me to not want that; to want something more for myself, something that I deserved? The next morning, my mother knocked on my door until I was awake. When I answered her, she said she had great news: none of the other suitors needed to show up because Mr. Bailey proposed his approval to marry me immediately. So, either he didn’t hate me or he wanted me to suffer. Later that day, his servants came to my home to move my possessions into his, and they delivered me in the evening. I spent an hour wandering about the grand estate suitable for royalty, chatting to the head of the servants who implied I wasn’t staying for long but were extremely kind nonetheless. When it turned to dusk and I ate, I saw Mr. Bailey for the first time since he suitored me, yet he walked by and ignored me completely. So, I asked someone where he might be and was directed to his study on the second floor. Seeming that most of the servants were tidying up the dining area or prepping for breakfast the next morning, the dark, lonely corridors of the upper floor were haunting.

Finding his study, I paused when I placed my hand around the brass doorknob and heard him shout and slam something. Swallowing my fear, I took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling deeply for five seconds before I waltzed in without knocking.

Pale, he turned and opened his mouth, his eyebrows intensely furrowed, then must’ve stopped himself when he saw it was me. Clearing his throat, he took an opened envelope and flipped it over so the back of it faced up, but I picked up on one small detail before he did so. In the top corner on its front, I saw, only for a brief second, the pronounced symbol of the Old Monarchy in silver ink. When I partially raised my hand in a wave, he opened up the right-hand drawer of his desk, slid the letter in, and locked it with a key he pocketed.

“Do you need something?” He inquired, clearing his throat and staring me down.

For a moment I was silent, trying to figure out what to say. Had he been plotting something with the Old Monarchy? As implausible as it sounded, he benefited greatly from them. “I haven’t seen you all day, so I just came looking for you. Trelawny told me where you might be, is that okay?” Looking up at him innocently, I portrayed my voice like I was a lost puppy, but it might have been seen more as obnoxious.

“I’ve had an exciting day - very stressful. Sorry, but I was planning on retiring to my chambers soon, you should do the same.” I couldn’t find the words to respond as he spoke to me like I was a stranger he didn’t decide to marry the next day after meeting me. Seeing I hadn’t left but anxiously wanted to speak, he bid me goodnight.

I whispered back to him a goodnight and went to my bedroom, locking the door and readying myself for sleep. It had been a miserable twenty-four hours but I realised an opportunity had come to me. If he truly was working to restore the Old Monarchy, I thought, they could’ve been my only chance to get rid of him.