The Kingdom of Secrets and Ruin

Dalliah

The journey from the King’s bedchamber to the grandhall seems shorter somehow, despite walking this length daily as part of my new role. Every step I take seems to echo louder around the stone hallways and a large circle of sweat has started to grow upon the small of my back.

I don’t know how, but I haven’t ran into anyone so far and it doesn’t help the building anticipation that seems to vibrate through my veins as I draw closer to my destination.

Here I go, into the lion’s den without my armour.

The second that the obnoxiously large oak door is opened ahead of me, thanks to a pair of guards trying their best to hide their shock, all eyes turn in my direction to see if I’m anyone worth knowing. But rather than the dismissal that I have come to enjoy, I unsurprisingly hold their attention this time.

I hold the cloak closer to me instinctively to try and cover more of myself, forgetting who it belongs to for a second and how I’d loath to have the smell of him linger on me longer than is necessary. It’s as if his rooms are coated in hidden cloves and similar spices from how I can always sense them even hours after the lights have gone out. My future self however will have to forgive me as a moment like this isn’t one I anticipated.

It doesn’t take long before the whispers start and what appears to be a jester smiles so brightly that I may as well have gifted him the kingdom himself. I know of their role at court only from the books I have read and the limited time I have spent waiting on the king, but I know enough to dread whatever words he might find fitting to leave his mouth.

I can only hope that I am dismissed before I am forced to play witness.

The Red King looks up as the only person who hasn’t already zoned in on the fact that I have entered. I don’t know why it’s at this moment that I find myself cringing the most in anticipation. Is it the fact that he could put 2 and 2 together? Or is it that all of his unwanted attention will finally come to an end now that he’ll see me?

Yes, it’s what I would prefer, but to know that my skin will be the cause is disheartening to say the least.

When spending my entire adolescence in isolation, it doesn’t exactly give much room for getting used to the scorn I was raised to expect. But it’s foolish really, as even my beloved mother applied the face paint to cover myself from the 4 walls surrounding me, so how could I expect this to go any better than it already is?

His eyes narrow for a moment as they scan my body from head to toe and it’s as if he’s trying to figure out some sort of a puzzle. The answer to his unasked question doesn’t take very long though as those thick brows of his unfurrow and he nods to himself.

“Over here, Doll.” He calls to me and I flinch at the sound, unused to it compared to the lower volume of the mutterings around me.

Holding my head high, I keep track of my breathing as I step closer to him. In. Out. In. Out.

If I am to get through this, all I must remember is to breathe and who knows, maybe I can forget the rest?

His mouth opens as if about to say something and I inhale deeply to try and prepare myself for the blow but it doesn’t come. Not from him anyway.

“How fitting the print is that of a Cow.” One lady says to another, imitating a whisper but without the lowered volume that could have shielded me from the jab.

I flinch as the insult registars swiftly and I doubt a whip to the back would have stung less than that. Comparing me to an animal, I could have seen this coming but even so I look down at the fur in my arms with the patches of white and black glaring up at me. Is that how they see me?

“Our King is most amusing, it must have been planned for a jest.” The companion of my bully replies with joy and sparkling eyes that now turn towards our king.

For a second I consider if this is the case but quickly dismiss the idea as he had no way of knowing that today would be the day I run out of paint and needed to show myself. No, I’m spared that pain at least and without looking him in the eye, I hand the cloak over and offer a weak curtsy that I would otherwise have feared to make should it signal my disrespect.

Luckily, I think he can forgive me this time.

I must have missed another quip from the table as more laughter erupts and I swallow hard, trying not to grind my teeth too loud in the process. I can do this. I can get through this.

As if to try and prove it to myself, I look up into the king’s face and he shakes his head for a second as if clearing his thoughts. I only hope it’s not to contribute an insult of his own but what difference would it make now?

“I’m sorry, Gretchen… did you say something?” He asks earnestly as if he hadn’t heard and I bite my lip and close my eyes to contain myself as she will no doubt repeat the insult, only in my direction this time.

“I was merely complimenting your humour, my lord. Your cloak matching the servant is singular and I haven’t laughed so hard in a while.” Her eyes roam up and down my form again as if inspecting for anything else available to mock, but thankfully satisfies herself for now on returning to the king with a smile.

“Matching?” For the second time this evening I see his brows furrowed in confusion and I feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes follow the path hers took only a few moments ago.

Only he doesn’t smile, nor seem to get it.

Gretchen as I now know her opens her mouth as if to explain but it’s too much. She’s had her fun and the anger in my stomach boils over, replacing the mortification.

“She is talking of my skin, my lord.” I get out through my teeth. “The different colours on my face match the patches on your cloak.”

The tear that escapes my right eye is not from sadness, but from frustration, not that they’d be able to tell the difference and I have to sniffle to hold back more as it threatens to take me over the edge.

But rather than chuckle now that the joke is out in the open, the king surprises me.

He explodes.