!"
By late morning, the vivacity in the palace had crescendoed greatly past what she was accustomed to. Everyone had moved with purpose, towards completion to a contributive task for that night. The torrid morning sun parched the earth and pounded upon the heads of unfortunate people in the surrounding city, yet it was luxuriously cool behind the pale stonewalls of her home.
At once, she returned to her room after they had absconded, and she quietly slipped underneath the silk sheets and white embroidered cover of her bed, feigning sleep, until the time came for her morning ritual- her maids bathed her, brushed her teeth, washed and combed her long hair, gave her drink, and then dressed her, the choice of this morning a light, white flowingly dress.
Her maids then escorted Serafina to her father, who had requested her to see him. Usually, she would have eaten by herself. Her maids opened the heavy doors for her, and she stood in the large frame, watching her father, the Hand of the King, and their cousin, Lord Garron, break their fast on a variety of fruits, nectar, fresh bread, eggs, fish and cheese, all in superfluous amount for three people. Simultaneously, they stopped drinking and eating to greet the new company. The Hand and his cousin smiled and nodded courteously in salutation. As soon as he laid his eyes upon her, her father's aged face wore an austere expression, which struck slight fear in her. Her stomach twisted, fearing what he would say next. She was in constant fear that he would one day learn about her frequent trysts late in the night, or what truth about what happened three years ago, but she judged this morning she had nothing to fear, since he had extra company, which would mean he was in a jovial mood.
Servants stood beside the table, waiting for command. Once she stepped into the room, they bowed deeply. She gestured for them to rise with a fluid movement of her slender hand. She found their dramatic show of loyalty humorous, but never showed it on her face. She took two tentative steps towards where the Hand and her kinsmen were casually seated. Her head was slightly bent, and her voice was soft, and quiet. "You called for me?"
"Sit." He commanded, gesturing towards the empty chair beside him. Awkwardly, she traversed the room and sat next to him, and placed her hands in her lap, lowering her eyes.
"Good morrow, my daughter." He paused, draining his cup, and then looking at her. She could feel the eyes of the others on her as well. "The day of my third child's birth, a glorious day, I do reckon. And what a comely daughter you've become." A small, thin smile broke away the usual stoical look on his face, and the Hand and his cousin chimed in with their agreement, though Serafina wondered if it was feigned. Here, she felt certain there were few who truly liked her. She smiled back feebly at her father, wishing she could be anywhere else but eating breakfast here.
"You are too kind," She replied to his compliment, in words that were not her own.
"A glorious day should be accompanied by a glorious celebration." His cousin cut in, as he ate honeyed melon, gesturing with his cup as he spoke. The creases in his face deepened as a sly smile formed his fox-like face.
The Hand of King, seated next to him, glared at him for his remark. Serafina suddenly felt more uncomfortable at the tension. She fidgeted in her seat; decided it would best to keep quiet.
"And that it will be, Garron," her father replied slowly, in his deep, dour voice, giving him a sharp look in his direction before turning his attention back to his daughter. "The son of Bolthor will be here tonight to be acquainted with you. Honored, are you not?"
Quietly, her eyes still lowered, she responded, "No, father, just dutiful."
The three frowned and stared at her. Her father was silent for a moment, as he finished his morning meal. He leaned towards her, asking, "Good, loyal Bolthor, you are speaking of!? Bolthor's son is not a good choice?"
She hesitated before answering. Bolthor was always very good and loyal friend of her father’s, and unlike Tomoyo, she had met and even played with Bolthor’s children, yet that was so long ago, and she had changed so much since those times. She did not want to insult him by any means.
She looked up into her father’s hard eyes, her own pleading and desperate, "Isn't this all too sudden?"
Servants rushed to clear the table of food and drink once they finished. The Hand of the King spoke this time. "Has it not been three years since the death of Camar, princess?"
She did not know how to reply to that, and she grew silent. Two of those years she had disappeared from home, and the last was not enough time to regain herself. Regardless, she did not want a second marriage, for reasons only she knew, though she feared she was in an ineluctable situation.
Her father quickly changed the subject to one of amiability before there could be an awkward silence. The table was soon cleared, and he bid the servants to leave. Once they had left, he gestured towards to door, looking at Lord Garron. "It was good breaking my fast with you, coz, but do excuse us." He said, much too curtly. Garron understood what did not need to be verbalized, and he rose from his chair, thanking him before parting.
Once the door shut behind them, the three sat in utter silence. Her father’s eyes seem to bore through her. His stare made her shrink against the back of her chair.
She could hear the hint of anger in his tone once he spoke. She knew she should be meticulous in her choice of response, but the thought of another dreadful marriage angered her, and clouded her thinking. Reason was soon forgotten.
"You challenge my decision to marry you to Lord Bolthor's son?"
"I do not want a second marriage!" She exclaimed, clutching the arms of her chair.
He was gradually growing impatient. The Hand noticed agitation. Quickly, he cut in, "Your trepidation is understood, princess, but you cannot stay widowed forever because of fear."
She swallowed hard, and gave the Hand an angry, insolent look. "I am not afraid, nor am I grieving. I do not want to marry Lord Bolthor's son, or anyone’s son, for that matter!"
"You have no choice."
"I will not love him!" She cried, overwhelmed from emotion. Immediately, she bit her tongue, for she realized how fatuous she was for letting those words slip.
"Love?" Her father spat out, as if it were foul poison, in disgust, clenching his fist. "Love? Is this the affliction that has seized your sanity!? I never said for you to love him, I said for you to marry him!"
"Why must you marry me? Why not Eugena?" She persisted, pushing her limits.
His eyebrows furrowed, creating a deep crease between his eyebrows at the prospect. "Eugena? The girl is too young!" The Hand sat across from her, silently, his face expressionless, his eyes never leaving her.
She stared at her father in disbelief, Eugena was older the she had been when he hastily married her for his own benefit. His logic made no sense to her, and it only upset her more. Her voice rose involuntarily as she spoke in anger. "You married me at fifteen. A reckless marriage, father, and how disastrous it ended! I refuse another marriage!"
In one sudden, quick motion he rose from his chair and backhanded across the face, his own features contorted with seething rage. She cried out and rubbed her red cheek, attempting to assuage the sting. She tried to escape him, but the arms of the chair and the table had trapped her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her soft flesh, shaking her violently.
“How dare you question my decisions! “ He roared, “Two years you have disappeared after what had happened, returned mute for a month, and said nothing of your absence. I can no longer stand for your silence. Tell me, cursed child of mine, what happened to you! Where did they take you? How did you escape? Why did they not murder you? What were their intentions? How did you return? All of these questions, unanswered! I’ve given you enough time, Serafina, look at me, speak to me!”
He stared at her, breathing hard, waiting for an answer, but she looked away ashamed, remaining silent, a tear rolling down her face. It only served to provoke him further. “ Wanton baggage! Disobedient wench! ” He screamed at her, his hands tightening around her arms, “Your behavior drives me mad! Out of sight, get her out of my sight!”
The Hand rose from his seat, “Your Grace, Casnar, enough of this.”
He glowered at him, and then shoved her against the chair, and slowly walked away from her, wringing his hands. Her maids rushed in, meticulously helping her out of the chair, and out of the room to prepare her for the celebration.
“Get me some wine,” Were the last words she heard him utter as she left.
At once, she returned to her room after they had absconded, and she quietly slipped underneath the silk sheets and white embroidered cover of her bed, feigning sleep, until the time came for her morning ritual- her maids bathed her, brushed her teeth, washed and combed her long hair, gave her drink, and then dressed her, the choice of this morning a light, white flowingly dress.
Her maids then escorted Serafina to her father, who had requested her to see him. Usually, she would have eaten by herself. Her maids opened the heavy doors for her, and she stood in the large frame, watching her father, the Hand of the King, and their cousin, Lord Garron, break their fast on a variety of fruits, nectar, fresh bread, eggs, fish and cheese, all in superfluous amount for three people. Simultaneously, they stopped drinking and eating to greet the new company. The Hand and his cousin smiled and nodded courteously in salutation. As soon as he laid his eyes upon her, her father's aged face wore an austere expression, which struck slight fear in her. Her stomach twisted, fearing what he would say next. She was in constant fear that he would one day learn about her frequent trysts late in the night, or what truth about what happened three years ago, but she judged this morning she had nothing to fear, since he had extra company, which would mean he was in a jovial mood.
Servants stood beside the table, waiting for command. Once she stepped into the room, they bowed deeply. She gestured for them to rise with a fluid movement of her slender hand. She found their dramatic show of loyalty humorous, but never showed it on her face. She took two tentative steps towards where the Hand and her kinsmen were casually seated. Her head was slightly bent, and her voice was soft, and quiet. "You called for me?"
"Sit." He commanded, gesturing towards the empty chair beside him. Awkwardly, she traversed the room and sat next to him, and placed her hands in her lap, lowering her eyes.
"Good morrow, my daughter." He paused, draining his cup, and then looking at her. She could feel the eyes of the others on her as well. "The day of my third child's birth, a glorious day, I do reckon. And what a comely daughter you've become." A small, thin smile broke away the usual stoical look on his face, and the Hand and his cousin chimed in with their agreement, though Serafina wondered if it was feigned. Here, she felt certain there were few who truly liked her. She smiled back feebly at her father, wishing she could be anywhere else but eating breakfast here.
"You are too kind," She replied to his compliment, in words that were not her own.
"A glorious day should be accompanied by a glorious celebration." His cousin cut in, as he ate honeyed melon, gesturing with his cup as he spoke. The creases in his face deepened as a sly smile formed his fox-like face.
The Hand of King, seated next to him, glared at him for his remark. Serafina suddenly felt more uncomfortable at the tension. She fidgeted in her seat; decided it would best to keep quiet.
"And that it will be, Garron," her father replied slowly, in his deep, dour voice, giving him a sharp look in his direction before turning his attention back to his daughter. "The son of Bolthor will be here tonight to be acquainted with you. Honored, are you not?"
Quietly, her eyes still lowered, she responded, "No, father, just dutiful."
The three frowned and stared at her. Her father was silent for a moment, as he finished his morning meal. He leaned towards her, asking, "Good, loyal Bolthor, you are speaking of!? Bolthor's son is not a good choice?"
She hesitated before answering. Bolthor was always very good and loyal friend of her father’s, and unlike Tomoyo, she had met and even played with Bolthor’s children, yet that was so long ago, and she had changed so much since those times. She did not want to insult him by any means.
She looked up into her father’s hard eyes, her own pleading and desperate, "Isn't this all too sudden?"
Servants rushed to clear the table of food and drink once they finished. The Hand of the King spoke this time. "Has it not been three years since the death of Camar, princess?"
She did not know how to reply to that, and she grew silent. Two of those years she had disappeared from home, and the last was not enough time to regain herself. Regardless, she did not want a second marriage, for reasons only she knew, though she feared she was in an ineluctable situation.
Her father quickly changed the subject to one of amiability before there could be an awkward silence. The table was soon cleared, and he bid the servants to leave. Once they had left, he gestured towards to door, looking at Lord Garron. "It was good breaking my fast with you, coz, but do excuse us." He said, much too curtly. Garron understood what did not need to be verbalized, and he rose from his chair, thanking him before parting.
Once the door shut behind them, the three sat in utter silence. Her father’s eyes seem to bore through her. His stare made her shrink against the back of her chair.
She could hear the hint of anger in his tone once he spoke. She knew she should be meticulous in her choice of response, but the thought of another dreadful marriage angered her, and clouded her thinking. Reason was soon forgotten.
"You challenge my decision to marry you to Lord Bolthor's son?"
"I do not want a second marriage!" She exclaimed, clutching the arms of her chair.
He was gradually growing impatient. The Hand noticed agitation. Quickly, he cut in, "Your trepidation is understood, princess, but you cannot stay widowed forever because of fear."
She swallowed hard, and gave the Hand an angry, insolent look. "I am not afraid, nor am I grieving. I do not want to marry Lord Bolthor's son, or anyone’s son, for that matter!"
"You have no choice."
"I will not love him!" She cried, overwhelmed from emotion. Immediately, she bit her tongue, for she realized how fatuous she was for letting those words slip.
"Love?" Her father spat out, as if it were foul poison, in disgust, clenching his fist. "Love? Is this the affliction that has seized your sanity!? I never said for you to love him, I said for you to marry him!"
"Why must you marry me? Why not Eugena?" She persisted, pushing her limits.
His eyebrows furrowed, creating a deep crease between his eyebrows at the prospect. "Eugena? The girl is too young!" The Hand sat across from her, silently, his face expressionless, his eyes never leaving her.
She stared at her father in disbelief, Eugena was older the she had been when he hastily married her for his own benefit. His logic made no sense to her, and it only upset her more. Her voice rose involuntarily as she spoke in anger. "You married me at fifteen. A reckless marriage, father, and how disastrous it ended! I refuse another marriage!"
In one sudden, quick motion he rose from his chair and backhanded across the face, his own features contorted with seething rage. She cried out and rubbed her red cheek, attempting to assuage the sting. She tried to escape him, but the arms of the chair and the table had trapped her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her soft flesh, shaking her violently.
“How dare you question my decisions! “ He roared, “Two years you have disappeared after what had happened, returned mute for a month, and said nothing of your absence. I can no longer stand for your silence. Tell me, cursed child of mine, what happened to you! Where did they take you? How did you escape? Why did they not murder you? What were their intentions? How did you return? All of these questions, unanswered! I’ve given you enough time, Serafina, look at me, speak to me!”
He stared at her, breathing hard, waiting for an answer, but she looked away ashamed, remaining silent, a tear rolling down her face. It only served to provoke him further. “ Wanton baggage! Disobedient wench! ” He screamed at her, his hands tightening around her arms, “Your behavior drives me mad! Out of sight, get her out of my sight!”
The Hand rose from his seat, “Your Grace, Casnar, enough of this.”
He glowered at him, and then shoved her against the chair, and slowly walked away from her, wringing his hands. Her maids rushed in, meticulously helping her out of the chair, and out of the room to prepare her for the celebration.
“Get me some wine,” Were the last words she heard him utter as she left.