Marianne delivered the shocking but apparently heart-warming news that Abidelle, daughter of Froggat of Fynesmeade had been taken as a wife by the Lord Jakk of Upper Haywear. After the initial tears of loss, the ladies rejoiced for their departed friend and talked triumphantly about her future life as a Lady of fine repute. Annatrice thought it all rather sudden and inappropriate. Abidelle had not mentioned a forthcoming engagement and thus she would assume she knew nothing of this man. Whilst the other girls celebrated, Annatrice found little comfort in a future where she was to be sold off to the highest bidder, little more than a slave to some equally depraved and possibly tyrannical noble. It was a reminder to Annatrice that the nectar she drank and the silken threads that she wore were ultimately for a purpose. Knowing the King's devious and selfish nature, Annatrice kicked herself for allowing a complacency to breed which would ultimately result in the same sudden end to her oblivious comforts.
In the year or so that had passed, Annatrice had grown into the role of the King's servant with little protest or defiance. She was not the same naïve child that once stood in the Royal Court stained in blood and dirt. As she looked out of the shutters of the day room with the blazing summer sun shining across Fontayne's courtyard, she suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She had allowed herself to be blinded by finery, comforted by ignorance; she had even grown accepting of the King's assaults. At that moment she remembered her father and bit her lip hard. She had almost forgotten his face, his voice, his touch. Across the valley, Annatrice could see the glistening walls of Karick and beyond, barely visible in the distance, the misty peaks of the Cayborne Hills. Why had she allowed herself to become the living embodiment of everything that her father had stood against at the cost of his very life? She was ashamed, she was restless and she was ready to act to restore her pride and dignity.
CHAPTER NINE
Annatrice lay on the King's gargantuan bed, breathing heavily her teeth firmly clenched together, her body oozing hatred as Tragian rolled over and sighed, his naked form shielded from his victims eyes as she turned her head away. Stealthily reaching for her night gown which had been removed as directed, she pulled it from the floor and silently manipulated her body into it.
The room was lit by a hundred candles, a small log fire popped and crackled on the far side of the large chamber which was adorned with magnificent fabrics bearing stories of legend in its gilded fibres. Her head was spinning, her own thoughts and her abusers intermingling causing terrible conflicts which almost blinded Annatrice's vision. Usually at this point, the victim would await a silent and rudely opulent wave away, meaning she could quietly leave and return to her bed but this time, Annatrice felt more aggrieved than she had done in some time. She courageously sat up and turned towards the King, his hairy and spindly body repulsing her. As he lay on the absurdly wide bed, wide enough to accommodate ten men, she closed her eyes. Instead of fighting the intrusive feelings that tormented her she made a conscious effort to sort them, filter them into some kind of order. She compartmentalised her own emotionally charged feelings and sought only to capture the mind of her King. It was her intention to break past the usual more visceral factors; she had no intention of basking in his warm glow of pleasure or feel the tired numbness of his weary body. These were feelings that she had no interest in, what she was more determined to do was to actively explore the King's sub consciousness, raid the knowledge that he possessed and use it as a weapon against him.
Time seemed to slow down as she entered his realm, her own body pained and sore; she banished all thoughts of her own torment. Her eyes closed, the black void of her link with Tragian suddenly crackled
In the year or so that had passed, Annatrice had grown into the role of the King's servant with little protest or defiance. She was not the same naïve child that once stood in the Royal Court stained in blood and dirt. As she looked out of the shutters of the day room with the blazing summer sun shining across Fontayne's courtyard, she suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She had allowed herself to be blinded by finery, comforted by ignorance; she had even grown accepting of the King's assaults. At that moment she remembered her father and bit her lip hard. She had almost forgotten his face, his voice, his touch. Across the valley, Annatrice could see the glistening walls of Karick and beyond, barely visible in the distance, the misty peaks of the Cayborne Hills. Why had she allowed herself to become the living embodiment of everything that her father had stood against at the cost of his very life? She was ashamed, she was restless and she was ready to act to restore her pride and dignity.
CHAPTER NINE
Annatrice lay on the King's gargantuan bed, breathing heavily her teeth firmly clenched together, her body oozing hatred as Tragian rolled over and sighed, his naked form shielded from his victims eyes as she turned her head away. Stealthily reaching for her night gown which had been removed as directed, she pulled it from the floor and silently manipulated her body into it.
The room was lit by a hundred candles, a small log fire popped and crackled on the far side of the large chamber which was adorned with magnificent fabrics bearing stories of legend in its gilded fibres. Her head was spinning, her own thoughts and her abusers intermingling causing terrible conflicts which almost blinded Annatrice's vision. Usually at this point, the victim would await a silent and rudely opulent wave away, meaning she could quietly leave and return to her bed but this time, Annatrice felt more aggrieved than she had done in some time. She courageously sat up and turned towards the King, his hairy and spindly body repulsing her. As he lay on the absurdly wide bed, wide enough to accommodate ten men, she closed her eyes. Instead of fighting the intrusive feelings that tormented her she made a conscious effort to sort them, filter them into some kind of order. She compartmentalised her own emotionally charged feelings and sought only to capture the mind of her King. It was her intention to break past the usual more visceral factors; she had no intention of basking in his warm glow of pleasure or feel the tired numbness of his weary body. These were feelings that she had no interest in, what she was more determined to do was to actively explore the King's sub consciousness, raid the knowledge that he possessed and use it as a weapon against him.
Time seemed to slow down as she entered his realm, her own body pained and sore; she banished all thoughts of her own torment. Her eyes closed, the black void of her link with Tragian suddenly crackled
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