Chapter 1
Time has fallen to the waste side. I’ve never been fond of its grasp on the turning planet’s beauty. How green fields turn brown, and those brownfields turn white, then many-colored flowers dot its surface and it does it again.
The sun rises and falls without any care if you’ve completed your goals for the day. The moon shines but only enough for you to see in front of you, and never into the mysterious and deep darkness around you.
I inhale the deep scent of pollen in the air. I let the wind run over my skin, with its cold embrace before I step back into the church.
The ends of my dress slide across the ground with a swish. My bare feet pad on the hardwood. My jet-black hair tumbles after me, loose from its usual knot atop my head.
“Aisling,” calls the king’s confidant. “Have you finished saying your goodbyes?” he asks.
The pews are filled with the townsfolk who watch in tense silence, as I descend upon the pedestal.
“I am,” I say with a bow of my head. My long, stretched curls spill past my head and dangle between us.
“Then collect your things.” He says and stands straighter.
The light catches on the thin, and small pair of glasses he has propped on the bump of his narrow nose.
I clutch the small box of my belongings and turn to look into the sour gazes around me.
Here they sit, sending me off to my death with no way of knowing if I was capable of more before they wrote me off for good.
I sigh and keep my gaze on the ground. My lowered head allows the confidant to press a cool fabric hat onto my head, and pull a shimmering black veil over my face.
I follow behind the sound of his leather boots, clutching tightly to my last, and only belongings.
“Aisling,” a soft child’s voice calls. A grubby little hand snatches up the smooth satin of my gown. It’s the nicest fabric I’ve ever worn since the day I was born.
I turn to Jomana and stroke her head. Tears are gathered in her large, opal eyes. “You cannot leave us Aisling!” She yells. Her mother jumps from her seat in the pew and scoops her up.
Jomana clings with might to my dress. I shift the box into one hand and touch hers with my other.
“You are to grow big and strong. Do you understand?” I ask.
Jomana sobs a great cry as she is wrenched from my side and back into the pews.
“Please don’t forget me!” She cries after me.
I almost don’t recognize the feeling of wetness as it streaks down my cheek and clings to my chin. I do not wipe it. I cannot wipe it.
The cold breeze grasps me again. The dirt lays light, warm kisses on my feet. The grass slides against the soft fabric of my gown.
The carriage door is opened and the confidant turns to me. In the afternoon light, his hair is pure white, which suits the wrinkles gathering around his eyes and lips on his otherwise stern, and a blank face.
I step up to the carriage and take one last look around the slumbering town of gray and brown. The crooked roofs, the cobblestone roads, and dirt paths. I long to dance once more in the bundle of flowers sprouting around the decaying fountain in the town square. Or to eat fried food from one of the stalls.
Or to sing merry hymns to Jomana, but I can’t and I never will again.
I long to turn around and refuse this job I’ve been given. Refuse this fate I’ve been sealed in.
“I am Edgar, the king’s confidant, and the people’s advocate. I will be helping you settle into the palace when all of this is through. You are doing the people of Krueger a major service and your name will live on in history.” He blabs in a monotonous tone.
I’ve no idea how many times he’s said this speech, to how many unsuspecting, and unwilling women. But here I was, on the receiving end of its cruelty.
“Thank you, Edgar. I was born Aisling, daughter of Saintess Andromeda of this church. It is an honor to serve my people.” I say.
I take his offered gloved hand and he helps me into the carriage.
“I know who you are maiden. The people have told me all of you. Save your words for the king.” He says and taps the side of the carriage before climbing in. As soon as the door is properly shut the horses neigh, and the wheels begin to turn.
The people inside the church come out like floodwater, and watch as the carriage pulls off.
I can barely take my eyes off the little girl of white and gold who runs after me. My heart squeezes so tight I begin to wheeze.
Edgar passes me a handkerchief. I refuse it and turn away from him.
“Are you feeling ill? Once you get to see the king it will pass. It always does.” He says resolutely. It does not reaffirm me in the slightest.
As we pull through the town, the leftover townspeople watch from their doorsteps and windows as the king’s entourage leaves them behind, just as hungry, dirty, sick, and disadvantaged as when they arrived.
It’s said that those who provide a concubine for the king are well made after. To them, I am a bartering tool to feed their children, a resource they can expend as they see fit, a born sinner for I was born of sin.
I wrap my arms tightly around my beaten box. It’s been with me since I can remember. My only toy, my only education, my only possession. Inside is nothing but a doll, the doll of the same child who called me, mother. Though I was nothing close, I was just a friend. Just a friend.
The sky begins to spill sad tears of white, and gray unto the ground leaving a chilly wind to seep through the open window.
I close my eyes and pray that my union with the king will bear fruit.
I do not wish to return. I do not wish to die. I do not wish to be alone, anymore.
