The Cursed Kingdom

~ HIS BED ~

Out of the thousands of villages spread throughout the Human Kingdom’s fifty-five provinces, Amaryllus was one of the poorest. With a population below two hundred, our economy depended greatly on the other villages. While they needed our handmade clothing, we needed their crops since the harsh cold of the northern mountains made it impossible to grow our own.

My mother, like her own, had been a seamstress. A fine one too. Although seamstresses were important to Amaryllus’s survival, with nearly half the residents taking the said occupation, they never got paid enough to live a comfortable life.

I had grown up sleeping on a pile of straw with only a thin, scratchy sheet between it and me. It was seen as a luxury that I had something to sleep on at all with most having to subject themselves to sleeping on the floor or, like Tylem and Taylium did a lot, sleep in a hayloft.

The only people who had beds that stood up off the floor were the ladies and lords, Julius’s family.

Despite the straw never being comfortable and sometimes rather annoying, it was home. It was my home and I loved every crack, every leak, and every flaw with every fiber that made up my body.

That’s why when I finally regained consciousness, I knew I was dead.

The cloud I was lying on wasn’t like anything my young and benighted brain could comprehend on its own. Soft and warm, I snuggled into it as close to it as it would allow me to, never wanting to open my eyes in fear that it would ruin my chances of ever achieving such heavenliness again.

A sigh of content escaped my lips, the sound foreign to me. The longer I stayed still, the more my whole body seemed to sink into the cloud, allowing it to mold perfectly to fit my body and ease all its tensions.

It even smelled good, like freshly washed linen and pine with a hint of something musky. Breathing it in greedily, I allowed the alluring scent to start slowly drifting me back to sleep, a part of myself silently hoping I would never wake again.

“I enjoy your scent too. I’m glad to see you find mine pleasant as well.”

I shot up in terror, an embarrassing noise that sounded awfully like a mix between a scream and a gasp emitting from somewhere deep in my chest. Now in a tense seated position on the king-sized bed, I looked down at the grey sheets pooled in my lap and over to the man casually sitting in the dark corner, a book in hand, and the outline of reading glasses barely visible.

Noticing a bitter and distinct smell, I looked over at the small table next to his chair and to the steaming cup that sat on top.

“What the hell?” I breathed groggily, grasping my chest only to look down once more when my hand met an unfamiliar material. Bewildered, my eyes widened when I noticed that my body was clad in a light blue nightgown made of what I perceived as silk, a white lace trim along the end of the short skirt that barely covered my rear as well as the low ‘V’-shaped collar that revealed the line of my cleavage. “Who the fuck put this on me?” I asked aloud, pulling the covers away to observe the gown some more.

Realizing the stranger was still in the room, I quickly pulled the covers over my chest, my face feeling hot and my cheeks pulsing a feverish beat. I was mortified. Never in my life had I worn anything so immoral, especially in front of a man.

“I did,” he said in a bored tone, his deep voice the epitome of masculinity. I watched his large hands pick up the delicate-looking China cup, bring it up to his lips, and then place it back down on the little plate after he was done taking a long sip. There was a pause of silence. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s my right and my duty to clothe you.”

“Your right?” I cried, eyes widening in horror. “How can—How do I know you didn’t do anyth—” I stopped, remembering something. The blood. The screams. The terror. It all came back so painful, equivalent to a strike to the abdomen with a mallet, that it had me audibly gasping. “Wait, the wolves they—”

I reached up to my neck and bit my lip, holding back a sob that was trying to make its way past my lips. The skin that had once been smooth now felt bumpy and raw to the touch. I could barely brush my fingertips over the area without hissing in discomfort and I dreaded the thought of ever looking in the mirror.

“What happened?” I asked slowly, my voice more steady and sure than it had been when I first opened my eyes.

I saw, in the shadows, his head cock to the side as if he thought it was a peculiar question.

He sighed, slipping off his glasses to place them in the chest pocket of his expensive looking jacket. He almost sounded remorseful.

“Your friends crossed Cursedland’s border at the wrong time.”

“No, they didn’t,” I argued desperately, lips wobbling and the bite on my neck burning. “I made sure of it. I watched their feet. Not even a single hair crossed.”

In the deepest part of my brain, where logic was outweighed by childish hopes, it gave me the strange sensation that if I defended them enough, that it would somehow make the situation better. That maybe if I said their names enough times aloud they would reappear and everything would be just as it was before.

But the feeling was just that: hope.

My friends were dead, I knew. No amount of justice or good deeds could ever persuade the gods to give them back to me.

“That’s impossible. Are you positive?” the man asked coldly. Accusingly.

I tried not to get offended or lash out, reminding myself that I didn’t even know where I was and that I needed to be on my best behavior and act like a grateful guest. Angering this stranger, who physically already had the upper hand, without knowing the full extent of his capabilities first would have been the worst thing I could do.

“Yes,” I said confidentially, trying to keep my voice level and calm, and repeated it again just in case he hadn’t heard it the first time.

“I’ll look into it then,” he said, his voice telling me he was annoyed.

He suddenly stood, making me recoil in fear at how massive he was. He snapped his book shut, placed it under his armpit, and stalked over to the left side of the bed, his legs and strides so long that it barely took him but a couple steps. Grabbing the curtains, he quite roughly pulled them open to reveal the sunlight, whose bright midwinter beams landed straight on his face and revealed what the darkness had been hiding.

My eyes widened.

I had expected him to look older, his deep voice having held a maturity and somber tone that I assumed came from at least decades of turmoil and education. Instead, I was met with the face of a young twenty-something year old. Paired with a strong aquiline nose was a set of golden eyes and pink lips that almost looked feminine but somehow made him more handsome, a nice change from his otherwise sharp features. With high cheekbones and a defined, square jawline covered by smooth tanned skin, his face could easily be described as the most beautiful I had ever seen.

But what really had me staring so intensely, consuming me with shock and something along the lines of fear, was the deep, jagged scar that ran through his dark eyebrow on his left side, over his eyelid, and down to the bottom of his nose.

“You,” I said, my eyebrows lifting in recognition at the healed wound’s familiar pattern. “You were the wolf, the black one with scars. You stopped that other wolf from...” I trailed off and brought my hand around and to the back of my neck. The memory of why they were there almost made the superficial puncture wounds more painful than the mutilation above my collarbone.

I heard a loud growl, the familiar sound causing me to instinctively cringe, and then realized it had come from the man—No, not a man, I had to remind myself. He was a beast, a cursed beast, the same one that marred my neck and pissed on me.

My skin crawled.

“Don’t ever speak of that incident again, understood?” Although they were full of everything but cheerfulness, when his golden eyes faced me, I found myself pausing momentarily in awe at their beauty. With the sunlight shining in on them from that certain angle, they themselves resembled two smaller suns. “I don’t ever want to think of another male mounting my female ever again. The image of it already haunts me enough.”

I bit my lip, his choice of wording going over my head like water over stone. My mind was too consumed by everything that had happened that it couldn’t focus on tiny details.

“And you uh-urinated on me to what? Protect me?” The sound of the words put together sounded ridiculous to my ears but he did not look amused in the slightest.

He nodded firmly, almost grimly. “Exactly.”

“Okay...” I breathed, brushing a strand of my golden brown hair out of my face. It was at that moment that I noticed I didn’t smell like urine. In fact, I didn’t smell like anything at all, which had me questioning if he had bathed me before dressing me. The thought had a sickening taste appear on my tongue but I chose not to question it, realizing that for the sake of my sanity, it was best that I didn’t know. “And you bit me?” It came out as a question, although I already knew the answer. It was there as clear as day on my neck. But for some reason I needed to hear his confirmation. I needed to hear him say out loud what he’d done to me.

“It’s not a bite,” he protested sharply, sounding offended. He took a step closer, the action just as silent and smooth as when he was a wolf. Then he stopped with a jolt as if he realized what he’d done. He contemplated his next words carefully, looking conflicted with himself. “It’s a mark.”

“A mark?” I questioned, bringing my hand up to the bite wound again. Immediately it ignited with a burning-like sensation that had me grinding my teeth together to hold back a sound of pain. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a warning to others not to harm or touch you,” he explained without missing a beat. “It means you’re under my protection for life and I will kill anyone who harms you.”

There was a pause. “Oh...” I pondered if I should spare him a hint of gratitude but then remembered it was also his species that slaughtered my friends. He had said the word ‘kill’ so calmly like he was comfortable with the idea—like it was a task as simple and innocent as snapping his fingers. It unnerved me. “Do you—Do you have a restroom I could use?”

He lifted his arm and pointed across the room to two dark wood double doors. I whispered a “Thank you” and stood, trying my best not to keep my pace steady when my legs began to wobble.

I twisted the knob open and closed it softly behind me once I was inside, my hand groping the walls until I came upon the light switch to my left.

When light filled the area from the small chandelier overhead, I nearly fell back from how overwhelmed I became. The bathroom was larger than necessary, much bigger than the entirety of my childhood home, and made mostly of black marble, including the large tub off to the side and even the toilet. There was a window above the tub but it was so high that I couldn’t see out of it, and I knew there was no chance of me being able to climb all the way up there.

I was completely trapped.

After I was finished with my business, the toilet was flushed, and my hands were clean, I leaned against the marble counter and stared at my reflection.

Cold blue eyes and pale skin were what greeted me, common features of people who originated from the north. Then my gaze flickered from the bags underneath my eyes to the bite wound—or mark, as the male had called it—on my exposed neck. It was worse than I had feared. The two irritated lines of puncture wounds extended from barely a centimeter above of my collarbone and curved around to the back of my shoulder. The deep and almost purple scabs that had formed showed me just how deeply the male had mutilated me, promising to leave behind a permanent scar.

My breath became uneven as I tore my gaze away from the wound and watched closely as a tear appeared from my right eye and fell onto my hand. More followed and I bit my lip, mustering everything inside me to not make a sound, to not let the male outside know just how terrified or broken I really was.

Oriana had been right. I hoped she could feel my regret in the afterlife and could understand how much I wished we had all listened to her.

I pictured Taylium and Tylem’s brown hair, wide smiles, and green eyes. But the happy memories of them playing together only led me to think of their toned arms and that made me think of the eerily similar one I saw in the snow, its limp fingers, torn open muscles, and all.

Blood. I remembered the blood against the white snow and—the screams.

I could remember the sound of their clothes and other things I didn’t want to think about ripping apart as the wolves feasted on their bodies, tearing them limb by limb until they were nothing but fragments of what they used to be.

And I had done nothing to help. Nothing at all to save them.

I was just as guilty as the beasts.

Why did I get to live? Why me? If anyone deserved to lose their life, it should’ve been me, the orphan, who had no one waiting for her to come back home.

I looked at my reflection, red faced with tears running down both of my cheeks. You should’ve been the first one to die, my inner voice hissed.

My knees buckled and I crashed to the ground, my palms slapping against the hard floor in a meager attempt at sparing my body from more bruises. The coolness of the marble reminded me of the snow, mocking me and telling me where I should’ve been left to rot. Hot tears burned my cheeks as I continued crying, the only thing that I was apparently good for anymore.

The door creaked open and I instinctively shrunk from it, sobbing louder. But then I stopped when I noticed it was the same male from before entering.

His dark suit with a high collar appeared to be made out of velvet in that particular white lighting.

Hand still on the doorknob, he stared at me with an unreadable expression and I took it as him judging me. I must’ve looked as pathetic as a child, tears running down my face and my arms pulling my knees into my chest. But he did not turn away.

I jumped when I heard the clicking of his leather shoes slowly nearing me, his golden eyes, the same eyes that had stared at me as a wolf, never leaving mine.

He kneeled down next to me slowly, as if he didn’t know what to do, putting all his weight on the balls of his feet. Suddenly I saw him begin to reach for my hand but I pulled it away as quickly as I could, hugging it to my chest and above my drumming heart.

“Please don’t touch me. Please.” I sobbed through my begging and pressed my face into the crevice of my legs, using them like a shield to hide myself from the world. “I just want to be alone. Please, please, please...”

The male stayed next to me in that position for another minute, so silent that I questioned if he was still breathing.

When he growled loudly out of nowhere, I cringed and literally crawled away from his crouched form, which I could pictured pouncing on me to rip me open.

This seemed to only anger him further, his eyes glowing so bright that they burned. He stood up on strong legs without another word or glance and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him as he left and making me jump.

I covered my ears and heard something shatter outside and then followed by a door thrown open and slamming with such force that it had the walls shaking along with me.

Crying, I lied slowly backwards onto the cold tiled floor until I was facing the chandelier. I stayed there like that, staring up at the ceiling with hot tears running down my temples, for what I guessed was another hour until I somehow closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep on that horribly uncomfortable floor.

I dreamt of Oriana, Tylem, Taylium, and I playing in the snow.