Five
Princess Emeline
“W ould you like some bread, Amice?” I ask my friend, Amice the rat. Or maybe it’s his brother, Becket. I do not know. All I know is that I’ve been locked in this cell for what feels like years…and I don’t regret a thing.
I understand why men die down here because the darkness, the silence, it drives you mad. My only saving grace has been Amice, whom I’ve shared my stale bread with since my father locked me up and threw away the key.
As Amice sits on my shoulder, eating the bread I offer him, I wonder if my father intends for me to be locked down here forever. The prospect wouldn’t be so bad because then I wouldn’t be forced into marriage.
Looking down at the filthy rags I wear, I laugh maniacally because princess or not, I look and smell like a decaying corpse. I’m hardly a prize for any man, and I’m okay with that.
A sadness that I’ve tried so hard to quash rears its ugly head, reminding me of the one man I thought was different. The man I thought would rescue me as I once did for him when he was behind bars.
I don’t know where Skarth is.
My well-being has been overruled with thoughts of Skarth. Has something happened to him? Did someone see us?
If my father wanted to imprison him, there is only one place he’d be. But he isn’t down here, which has me wondering if maybe my father decided to deliver the fate intended to him all those years ago.
Footsteps echo along the cold, hard ground, and both Amice and I freeze, wondering where those footsteps intend to go. The guards have left me alone, but I don’t fear them. Memories of almost being raped assault me, and I wrap my arms around myself, hoping to siphon the chill.
But this cold is one I can never warm myself from. It lingers in my bones and weighs heavily on my soul.
“Emeline?” a voice calls out to me softly. “Princess?”
I strain my hearing, leaning forward apprehensively in case I’m being tricked once again.
“My lady, it’s me, Raedwulf.”
“Raedwulf?” I say aloud in a voice I no longer recognize as I’ve hardly spoken since being locked down here.
Candlelight appears, allowing me to see that it is indeed Raedwulf. I hate that he’s down here and not Skarth. But I refuse to waste my thoughts on him a second longer. He clearly doesn’t care, but Raedwulf does…sweet, kind Raedwulf.
“I’m getting you out of here, my lady,” he says, digging into his pocket for the keys. Amice scurries away when the metal door whines open.
I remain on the ground with my knees drawn to my chest. I fear this is a trick, a cruel taste of freedom, only for it to be snatched away from me as a form of torture to break me.
Raedwulf enters the cell, and I scamper backward, frantically peering around the dank cell for a weapon. When my back hits the wall, I whimper, suddenly afraid.
Raedwulf frowns in sadness, then raises his hands in surrender. “I mean you no harm. I promise thee. Take my hand, Emeline.”
With great caution, he offers me his hand, ensuring he maintains eye contact. I am torn. If I take his hand, then I will be forced to face the world, and I’m not ready yet. But if I do not, I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance like this again.
I won’t die in these rags.
Pushing my fear aside, I slowly place my shaking hand in his. The contact with another feels almost foreign. “How long have I been down here for?”
“Two months,” he replies sadly while a shiver almost robs me of breath. “Here.”
He removes his cloak and gently wraps it around my shoulders.
He helps me stand, encouraging me to lean against him because I am weak on my feet. We then commence a slow walk out of the cell, where I turn over my shoulder and bid farewell to Amice—my only friend.
The candlelight guides us down the uneven path, and when Raedwulf gags, I wonder if maybe he’s unwell. But when I notice him staring at a corpse being feasted upon by Amice’s family, I realize it’s the smell of decay, one which I’ve become accustomed to, which is the cause of his sickness.
The men down here are either dead or close to death, forgotten by their king because my father is a rotten bastard with no soul.
The cages men are forced into are filled with excrement and piss, but with nothing to eat nor drink, this is their life source. That, and the flesh of other men. One prisoner proves this when he tears away at the flesh of a detached leg.
Blood trickles down his chin as he snarls, warning us that this bone is his. My father has reduced these men to nothing but animals. What sort of king would do that to his people?
Raedwulf pays the guard at the gate with a heavy bag of silver. This was how he could rescue me.
“I’ll repay you,” I say, allowing him to guide me through the castle as I’m suddenly beyond fatigued.
“I won’t hear of it,” he whispers, leading me down the dark hallway. “We will ride to my family’s estate, where we will then figure out what to do. My father is the Witan. He can talk sense into your father.”
My fatigue is suddenly replaced with interest as I dig in my heels. “What do you mean? He still wishes for me to marry?”
“Aye, my lady. That has not changed.”
I thought that maybe, just maybe, my insolence would have shown Father that I am not someone he can trade like goods. But all of this was for nothing.
Once we’re outside, we make a run for the postern, where a horse awaits. Raedwulf has thought of everything, everything but one vital thing. I know what will happen once we arrive at his estate. His father will call for the king, and both Raedwulf and I will be punished.
I cannot allow that to happen.
Although tall, Raedwulf is slender and not fit for fighting. He is handsome and more suited for privy council than battle, which is why I feel nothing but guilt as I punch him square in the jaw, knocking him out cold.
“Sorry, Raedwulf,” I say, shaking out the pain in my fist. Skarth also taught me how to throw a punch without breaking my hand.
The postern is open, so I grip Raedwulf’s ankles and drag him out of the castle. I place him out of harm’s way and prop him against the outside wall, so if anyone discovers him, they’ll assume he had too much ale.
Catching my breath, I don’t waste a second longer and mount the horse, clucking my tongue so that she rides like the wind. Her white coat contrasts the darkness of night, and I suddenly feel like I’m gliding on the back of an angel’s wings.
The farther away I ride from the castle, the easier it is to breathe. I don’t know where I’m going, but anywhere is better than Stonehill. Fatigue is crippling me, but I cannot stop. I need to be as far away from Stonehill as I can be.
We ride for what feels like hours, and as my eyes slip shut, I know I must stop and rest. I’m hidden by coverage of the thick foliage, so I decide to find somewhere dry and rest my eyes for just a few hours. The full moon allows me to see a large hollowed-out tree ahead.
It’s perfect.
Directing my horse toward the stream, she takes a long swallow of water while I too do the same. Once we’ve had our fill, I tie her to a tree and settle into my chambers for the night. The fallen leaves act as the perfect cushion. I’m not used to such luxuries after sleeping on a cold stone floor for two months.
Once nestled amongst the earth, I look up into the sky, and even though He may have given up on me, I haven’t given up on Him.
“Lord, show me the way.”
For now, however, I will sleep.
I wake, very aware that I’m not alone.
Jerking upright, I scramble to find a weapon, anything that will help protect me. But when I hear the childlike voice of a young boy, I pause.
“What ho! How fare thee?”
Brushing the matted hair from my eyes, I smile when I see the young child. He is no threat. Only curious about the sleeping girl he found. “Good day. What is your name?”
“I’m Cuthbert,” he replies, smiling broadly and revealing his missing two front teeth. “Did thou eat?”
My stomach grumbles at the mere mention of food.
“Ma is making pottage. Come then.”
Before I can reply, he skips off, branch in hand as he engages in battle with an invisible foe.
Yawning, I peer around at my surroundings as it’s now morning. Nothing looks familiar, which is no surprise. The only times I’ve ventured from the castle walls were with Sister Ethelyn for charity work. Even then, I wasn’t allowed to stray far.
Once our duties were complete, we were escorted back to the king’s castle, sheltered away from the real world. But now, with no minder on hand, I rise, stretching overhead as I slept like the dead. Untying my horse, I follow Cuthbert.
As I push past the thickets, I see a small village up ahead. Many villagers are working the lands that appear unfertile. The dirt is dry, and nothing grows from it, but nonetheless, the villagers continue to work the land in hopes a miracle will occur.
The villagers look at me with curiosity, wondering who I am. I suddenly feel embarrassed for not knowing them as they are my people—people of Northumbria. I also am horrified they live this way. I never take my wealth for granted, but seeing these people close to starving has me hating my father all the more.
These are his people, and he allows them to suffer this way. Even though they are struggling, I am certain he taxes them vastly. They have nothing, but he doesn’t care. He expects everyone to pay, and for what? What do they get in return?
“Princess?” a melodious voice says, and when I look ahead of me, I wonder if I’m still dreaming.
I may not know the villagers, but I know this woman. She is Cecily, the woman I caught Skarth with.
She is even prettier up close. My jealousy returns, but I quash it down because it has no right to be here. This is her home, and I will not allow such immoral thoughts to corrupt me when she stands before me, offering a cup of water.
“Gramercy,” I say, accepting her offering and swallowing it down. I didn’t realize how hungry and thirsty I am. But now presented with both, I am ravenous.
Wiping my lips with the back of my hand, I notice the villagers are bowed in servitude. I appreciate the gesture, but it feels somewhat wrong—them bowing to me when my father has done nothing to better their lives.
“Please, stand,” I say with a smile.
They look around, confused by my order, but thankfully, they obey.
“Princess, it’s not much, but please, eat,” says a woman with kind green eyes. She offers a large bowl of pottage, which smells absolutely delicious.
“Thank you. This looks simply delightful.” I accept the bowl and sit at the wooden table she gestures at.
“I’ll have your horse fed and watered, Princess,” a young man says as he takes my horse.
“Thank you kindly.”
Just as I’m about to stuff my belly full, I realize everyone is watching me, and I suddenly feel awful eating while they are close to starving. They are dressed in dirty rags, and their houses I can’t imagine are even warm enough to keep out the winter chill.
“Will you eat with me?” I ask the forming crowd.
It’s unheard of for a peasant to eat with royalty, but out here, those rules don’t apply. This is their home, and I intend to respect them, regardless of their social standing.
The woman who served me the pottage walks over to the large pot on the open fire and commences serving her kin. I notice, however, that their bowls aren’t as full as mine.
“Please,” I say, coming to a stand. “Ration it out evenly. I won’t eat while your family starves.”
“But, Princess—” she says, eyes wide.
But I won’t hear a word of it.
Placing my serving back into the pot, I gently take the ladle from the woman’s hands and commence serving her and her people.
“Thank you, Princess,” a young girl, no older than five, says as I pass her a bowl.
“You’re most welcome,” I reply, and it pains me to see her, along with most others, wear nothing but cloth over their feet to serve as shoes.
Once everyone has their serving, I then fill my own bowl and sit near the woman who made this wonderful meal.
“What is your name?” I ask her, blowing on the pottage to cool it down.
“Osanna,” she replies in what appears to be surprise. I understand that it’s a foreign concept for the king’s daughter to ask a peasant’s name.
“Thank you, Osanna, for your kindness. And thank you for this pottage. It is absolutely delicious.”
She nods with tears in her eyes, as these people don’t often hear compliments. It pains me this is the truth.
We eat in silence, but I sense the villagers watching me, wondering why I’m here, covered in filth and dressed in rags.
“How did you know who I was?” I ask Osanna, but Cecily is the one to reply.
She takes a seat across from us, smiling kindly. I instantly am ashamed I wished any ill thoughts her way. “We saw the royal seal on your horse. What are you doing so far away from the king’s castle, Princess?”
She’s thoughtful enough not to mention my alarming appearance as they can all guess that I fled under the guise of darkness.
“Cecily,” Osanna gently warns, as it’s unheard of for a peasant to question royalty.
Which is why I reply, “I’d much rather be here than the castle, Cecily.”
She nods, but I can read her disbelief and also her anger as I know she’d trade places any day with me. She thinks I am spoiled and ungrateful. Who wouldn’t want to be the king’s daughter?
The one thing my father didn’t strip me of was the gold crucifix I wear around my neck. Without thought, I remove it and slide it across the table to Cecily.
“It’s solid gold,” I state. Cecily looks down at it like it’s some sort of trick. “You’ll be able to fetch a good price for it.”
Osanna gasps while Cecily’s blue eyes narrow. She doesn’t like charity, and I respect her for that. But she swallows her pride and reaches across the table for it. I can see why Skarth likes her. She is spirited and has the soul of a warrior.
“Thank you, Princess.”
“Please,” I say to her, letting go of any animosity I felt. “Call me Emeline.”
The villagers gasp, looking at one another in astonishment. To address the princess without her title is treason, but no one is here to overhear, just me. These people have treated me with nothing but kindness. I refuse to behave like I’m superior all because of who my father is.
“Has the king come here to see your lands?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Cecily snickers, shaking her head. “The king’s men only come when they retrieve their taxes. Or if they want to recruit our men.”
Cuthbert appears, sitting on Cecily’s lap happily. I wonder if they are brother and sister? Or mother and child?
“I am sorry for my father’s behavior. He is—”
“Busy?” Cecily cynically says, filling in the blanks.
But I shake my head. “I was going to say self-absorbed. But busy will do.”
A smirk touches her full pink lips. I think we’ve found common ground.
She appears to be a little older than me, and without question, she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Her hair is a golden color, akin to the sun, and her eyes resemble a soft sapphire. She is petite but rounded as a woman should be.
Even in her rags, she is striking.
“Cecily, I ask this of you in utmost respect, but would you consider being one of my ladies?”
I know what this means—that she and Skarth will be able to see one another more freely. But if I’m to return to court, I want it to be with a lady I can trust. And for some unexplained reason, I trust Cecily as she has the heart of a warrior.
I can see it.
She licks her lips, looking at Osanna for guidance. They understand what this opportunity could mean for them.
“Please, take some time to think on it. May I trouble you for a place to bathe?” I say, not wishing for Cecily to feel pressured to make a decision immediately.
“Of course, Princess.” Osanna quickly stands and disappears into one of the cottages.
While I wait, Cecily watches me closely, attempting to decipher what I want from her. Out of all the women I could choose in the kingdom to be my lady, why did I ask her?
I don’t know the reason, so I’m thankful she doesn’t ask me. But I know she will accept. Even if she doesn’t wish to be my lady, she will do it for her family as this would mean their fields will no longer be barren.
We all do things we wish not to, and I know once clean, I will have to decide what to do. Do I continue on my way, or do I return to my father and accept my fate?
Tears sting my eyes because it seems Cecily and I have a lot more in common than I initially thought.
Osanna appears with clothes in her hands. “Come, Princess. I will take you.”
Nodding toward Cecily, I stand and playfully ruffle Cuthbert’s brown hair. “Thank you for finding me, brave boy.”
I curtsey in gratitude while Cecily smiles. She is fond of Cuthbert. I hope she can see I mean them no harm.
I follow Osanna, taking in the rich sights of my land. The forest is thick with greenery, and the trees reach up into the clouds. Though the terrain is lined with rocks, the soil is soft. I begin to wonder if Wessex will look the same.
I know so little about my future home. But I suppose that also applies to the man I’m supposed to wed. All I know is that Prince Aethelwulf is thirty-two in age and supposedly a weak, indolent ruler who wishes to be his father.
“Do you need help, Princess?” Osanna asks, interrupting my thoughts.
Focusing on where we are, I gasp at the magnificent lake ahead. Surrounded by tall water soldiers, the foliage allows enough privacy for one to bathe.
“No, thank you. I will be all right.”
Osanna nods, placing the brown tunic she holds on to the bank. “Here are some herbs—mint, chamomile, and lavender—to wash yourself with.”
I accept, cupping my hand over hers. “Thank you for your kindness, Osanna.”
These villagers have next to nothing, yet they’ve given me more than they have. The clothes she offers me are lovelier than hers. Her brown tunic is stained and riddled with holes, and her feet are bare, yet she offers me her finest garments instead of wearing them herself.
“I will look after you and your family. By my troth, you will go hungry no more.”
Tears fill her eyes as she squeezes my hand. “God bless you, Princess.”
Her gratitude touches me, and I realize my decision is made. I will return to Stonehill, where I will agree to marry Prince Aethelwulf. I do this for my people. I do this to ensure Northumbria’s future.
But first, I must bathe, as once cleaned, the future Queen of Wessex will emerge.
I spend the day learning how the villagers live. Even though they live a simple life, they are happy. They live for their family. They live for love.
Osanna offered me her bed, but I wished to sleep under the stars one final time as come morrow, I doubt I’ll experience such freedom ever again.
I have accepted my decision, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. Will my husband treat me with kindness? Will he even like me? I am certain he’s heard of my rebellion. One can only hope that would revoke our marriage, but I know it will not.
A branch snaps, and I turn to the left, straining my eyes to see in the darkness. I subtly reach for the knife Osanna’s husband gave me, wondering if this is a friend or a foe.
Clutching the handle, I lift my shoulders from the ground but don’t stand. I remain supine. This gives me an advantage as I blend into the shadows. The rustling of fallen leaves hints the intruder is near, but as a warm, earthly scent catches the cool night air, I wonder if maybe I’m lost to a dream.
He cannot be here.
“You will not need that, hugrekki .”
His hoarse voice cuts through me like a sharpened blade, and I cannot stop the shiver which rocks me from head to toe.
“Skarth?” I question in case my mind is playing tricks on me.
But when he gets closer, and the full moon irradiates his large form, I realize my prayers have been answered.
Slowly sitting upright, I watch with wide eyes as he stands in front of me. I’m so happy to see him, but then the fact I haven’t seen him for two months reminds me that he abandoned me when I needed him the most.
“I suppose my father sent you?” I question, not keeping the bite from my tone.
“Yes, he did.”
His short reply infuriates me. As does his stoic expression
“How did you find me?”
“I will always find you,” he states, confusing me. “Just as you can always find me.”
“How?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
He peers into the heavens, focusing on the twinkling stars. “The brightest light in the sky, it’s always found north of the stars. The North Star, an anchor to where I will find you.”
“You speak of astrology and stars, like a dreamer,” I quip but can’t deny the star Skarth focuses on is the brightest in the night sky. It can be used as a marker to help guide those who are lost on their journey. It can be used to find me.
The thought warms me in ways I did not expect.
He appears wounded. I tease, “Well, in that case, by this.”
I watch as he unfurls his palm, revealing my gold necklace, the one I gave to Cecily, ending the talk of make-believe.
“That was a gift to Cecily,” I say, quickly coming to my feet and marching to where he stands.
“Yes, she told me you had given it to her,” he states, standing firm while I leave barely any space between us. “She told me you were here.”
“My kindness wasn’t appreciated, it seems,” I state, unable to mask my disappointment.
“I forced her to tell me,” he reveals firmly. “She was trying to sell it, and when I saw it, I knew it was yours.”
It’s a relief to know she didn’t betray my trust as I have no doubt she didn’t hand that information over easily.
“So now that you’re here, what do you propose to do?”
I only reach Skarth’s chest as he towers over me. But I won’t cower in fear.
He peers down at me, those poignant eyes searching every inch of me. “How do you know Cecily?”
“I don’t know her. The same cannot be said for you, however,” I reply with bite.
It’s the first time he lowers his guard, and I can see his annoyance stamped all over his infuriatingly handsome face.
“ That’s the reason you were angry with me?” he asks, but it’s more of a statement—one he says aloud like he’s only just worked out a puzzle he’s been trying to decipher for a long while.
I don’t confirm or deny, but my silence is all the answer he needs.
“I thought—”
“You thought what?” My heart begins to gallop.
My big, stubborn Northman clenches his jaw, refusing to allow the words to escape him.
He is dressed in armor, but it’s not Saxon. It’s Northman. My father has allowed this, but at what cost? The armor is chain mail, weaved onto leather. Underneath, he wears a linen shirt, and his tight trousers expose his powerful legs.
A short blade hangs from his leather belt, and the long sword sheathed on his back is one he’s had crafted for him. That sword has killed many. He has killed many.
Yet he didn’t bother to seek me out.
“Where were you?” I question, keeping my temper at bay. For now. “You left me to rot.”
He hisses, turning his cheek as if he’s been struck. “You were angry with me. I didn’t understand why. I thought you’d finally had enough of me, so I gave you time.”
“Two months?” I ask, incredulous. “That’s a lifetime, Skarth.”
“I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t know where you were. I promise you. Your mother promised me you were well. If I knew you were in the dungeons, I would have come for you. I owe—”
“You owe me nothing,” I interrupt, not wanting to be anyone’s obligation. I want Skarth to seek me out because he wants to, not because it’s a command—just like now.
“You’ve always been nothing but stubborn,” he says, the moonlight catching his teeth as he smirks.
“And you’ve always been an arrogant bastard,” I counter quickly, which has him laughing huskily.
“I’ve missed you, hugrekki .”
“And I have missed you, heathen.”
His laughter continues, and it’s a nice sound to hear as he doesn’t laugh often. But things soon turn serious because I know it’s time.
“I do not wish to marry him,” I confess softly, biting my lip.
“We must do things we don’t want,” he replies, which sparks an idea, one which will change the delicacies between us forever. I know what I want…but I don’t know how to ask.
“Prince Aethelwulf is a grown man,” I reveal, watching Skarth’s chiseled jaw clench. “I know I must do my duty for the people of my kingdom, but I am…afraid.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever told him I’m afraid, and his eyes, those expressive eyes, soften. They soften for me.
I am not like Cecily—full and voluptuous—but I am a woman. My breasts have grown, and my hips have rounded. I am no longer the little girl he once knew. Many tell me I am beautiful, but I don’t want that beauty to be seen by anyone other than Skarth.
“You? Afraid?” he mocks, reaching out to brush my cheek with two fingers. “You’re braver than any man I know.”
His compliment touches me so.
“I will go back with you,” I start, “but I want something in return.”
He arches a dark brow, waiting for me to reveal what that is.
I wet my lips, hoping to find the courage I seek. “I have many thoughts,” I share, inhaling deeply. “What if, what if I was soiled, then the marriage surely would not take place?”
Skarth appears confused, so I decide to clarify things for him.
“Prince Aethelwulf is expecting a maiden, but what if I was…not? If I was no longer pure, he wouldn’t want me.”
“Princess,” Skarth starts, realization hitting him, but he soon stops, stuck for words.
“I know this is selfish of me, but I can’t help but think that even if I was impure and he wanted me still, at least I’d know the touch of someone I…care for.”
A hiss escapes Skarth as he steps back. But I reach out, gripping his wrist. His leather wrist cuff creaks under the force because I am not letting him go.
“Pray thee…lie with me. I don’t know what to do, but if you teach me, I can—”
But he doesn’t allow me to continue.
“No,” he firmly spits, shaking his head slowly. “I will not ruin your life. Soreinn .”
“You refuse me?” I ask, feeling nothing but a fool. “All I ask is for this one simple thing. But if I disgust you that much—”
He steps forward, wrapping his hand around my waist and drawing us front to front. I am certain he can feel my heart exploding in my chest.
“And that is why I refuse,” he declares, his touch setting my body alight. “For you to think what you ask is merely a simple thing…I will not take that innocence away from you. I respect you far too much for that.”
“Now you insult me, heathen,” I snap, attempting to remove his hand from me. “I am not a feeble child with a weak mind. I know what I ask. I thought you were accustomed to such acts. You had no qualms with Cecily pleasing you with her mouth.”
I’ve spoken out of anger, and now he knows I encroached on a private moment, one which I had no right to spy on.
“All right, Princess,” he says dangerously low. “I will fulfill your request.”
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he forces me onto my knees, gripping my chin and arching my head back at a painful angle. He rubs his thick thumb across my trembling bottom lip.
“Is this how you imagined it?” he taunts, slipping the tip of his thumb in and out of my mouth.
I suddenly don’t like this because his actions are cruel.
“Unhand me,” I demand, attempting to stand, but he pushes me back onto my knees.
“No, Princess, this is what you asked for,” he maliciously states. “You wanted me to defile you, did you not? Take your virginity, here in the dirt, like the true heathen that I am.”
“I do not want that,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. Why is he being so heartless? “I thought it involved—”
“Involved what?” he snarls, fisting my hair. “Did you think I would lay you on furs and savor every inch of you? Kiss you until you screamed my name?”
“I-I…” I fumble over my words. I’m nervous, angry, but most of all, wounded he would behave this way.
“It will not be tender because I do not know how!” he exclaims, pulling my head back, exposing my neck to him. “I will have you on all fours, where I will mount you from behind and fuck you brutally until your virgin blood stains this wretched ground!”
Tears trickle down my cheeks. I thought he cared, but he does not. He cares for no one other than himself.
“Are you ready, Princess?” he asks, pushing between my shoulder blades so I’m forced to the soil. I’m at his mercy on my hands and knees as he lifts my borrowed tunic, exposing my chemise. “This is what you wanted?”
“I do not w-want this a-anymore!” I cry, sobbing so hard, my chest shudders. “Please! Skarth, I be-beg thee…stop. No m-more.”
Just when I think he’s lost to me, he takes three steps and screams gutturally into the heavens. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I am too afraid to turn over my shoulder and look. He yells in a foreign language, and he’s done this so I won’t understand.
But even if he spoke words I understood, I wouldn’t listen because he’s broken me—mind, body, and soul.
“I hate you,” I spit, crumpling to the earth and curling into a small ball.
“Good. That’s all I ask,” he replies with little emotion. “Dry your eyes. Your father will not want to see you looking this way.”
“I curse him, and I curse y-you…Skarth the Godless.”
In response, I’m greeted with silence. And for once, the silence is welcomed, as it’s a sound which will accompany me for all my days to come.