Allerleirauh

Chapter 1

1

KÖNIGREICH OF TRÄNEN

The day we buried my mother, the earth was grey and wet. Snow had fallen heavily upon the kingdom, making it difficult for the gardeners to dig a deep enough hole in the ground for her casket.

My father ordered a grand stone to be placed upon her grave with engraved words honoring her forever as his queen. The kingdom’s crest, a large eagle with a curling tongue, encompassed in a great shield, was engraved along with her name.

Each time I came to visit her grave since, I found my fingertips itching to graze the smooth surface, but something always stopped me, forbidding me from closing the distance that once lingered between my mother and me for the entirety of my life.

The hiss of her words still haunted me: “Promise me.”

I wondered if my father, too, heard her plea echo around him with each gravesite visit. We hardly spoke to each other, even when we went to the grave. He’d grow restless as he stood over the stone in winter and spring, his hands fidgeting as though he could not get away soon enough. As though he could not wait to return to the line of maidens awaiting him back at the castle.

Always a short distance away from my father stood his advisor, Lord Haven.

They’d known each since my father was a child. As my father grew into his position as König, he listened to the guidance of Lord Haven, whose father had once served as an advisor to the König before him. My father rewarded his continued assistance with an abundance of power, titles, and land. It was rumored Lord Haven had a helping hand in arranging the marriage between my father and mother. It was said she had come from a foreign land—a kingdom across the sea, where riches of jewels and gold were plentiful. All of which my father’s lands were lacking.

At the suggestion of Lord Haven, my father held a ball in hopes of finding a suitable bride. During at which time, Lord Haven took the opportunity to invite the exotic princess, my mother, to Tränen for an introduction between the two.

Myriah, whilst telling me the story of my parents’ meeting, said my mother knew how to wear seduction in the corner of her lips. All men who gazed upon her desired her.

She’d arrived at the ball dressed in a gown of reflective gold. It was said she held the ability to turn normal thread into pure gold by magic. My father had been drawn to her instantly, and my mother to him, drawn into the attentions and enormous power he could bestow upon her. Myriah recalled that my mother had made a scene by tracing her fingers over his body as they danced. She’d fed him fruit and exotic nuts from the tables and laughed at his jokes. She knew exactly how to entertain and enchant him with laughter and seduction, and keep his attention throughout the night. Myriah tried to shield me from the circulating stories around the court, which condemned my mother as a witch who manipulated my father with her magic love spells.

Myriah was like a second mother to me. She knew everything. She had grown up in the castle. At the age of five, she was sold to the palace as a servant in exchange to pay off her father’s debts. Her father was once the town baker, and with the plague taking over the villages for years, and harvests doing worse each year, he’d lost his bakery, and almost his home, until he sold Myriah.

She told me stories of her early childhood, milking cows and harvesting grain. When she came to the castle, she began with the daily household chores: washing and mending, sweeping and mopping. She once had worked as one of my father’s maids. I knew there were many things she never told me about that time–things she felt were better left secret. But she did her best to quench my curiosity of the king and queen.

Women of the court started rumors of my mother pouring white powders into my father’s drinks shortly after their engagement. Her magic was allegedly used to keep his attentions centered upon only her, despite her cruel and cold heart. She would dress improperly, exposing the crest of her cleavage for all to see. She would adorn her face with too much rouge on her cheeks and lips. But after the birth of a daughter, my father’s interests began to drift to the younger, the more beautiful women of the court.

My father’s desires lingered with young maidens who knew little of the world or of men.

My mother had her own escapades with men of the court, tempting them with the rising hems of her dresses. After my birth, love nor l**t lingered between the king and queen.

I heard too many of these stories behind the closed doors of the library as I’d hide under the tables when servants entered. I’d cling to the books at my chest and listen to them giggle at the news of the latest affair of my mother or father.

“They have always been envious of me,” my mother said once, catching the gossiping women in the library. She snagged me away, gripping my arm too tightly with white fingers.

“They will say anything to win the König’s favor, Aurelia. But they are lies. All lies!”

“Are you truly a witch?” I once asked her. The slap of her hand against my cheek had been her reply.

We all knew the stories of what happened to those who did not speak favorably of my father—those who spoke about the sort of indecent things he’d do to young women.

As I had been escorted back to my room one afternoon, I witnessed a bout of his misconduct for myself. A sharp cry rang out in the halls, echoing as a trail of disparaging wails resonated down a long corridor. A cleaning maid sobbed as she raced away from my father; the back of her gown open, revealing bruised and reddened skin. My father stood in the doorway of his chambers; his dark eyes appeared to be watching her as his hands adjusted his trousers back into place. His slow movements told enough of what he had done to the maid in the privacy of his rooms.

As our eyes met, the fear of what my father could do grew deeply inside of me, much like a tree’s roots. I was never able to forget the maid’s face; she seared a fear in me that was irreversible that made my blue eyes burn and my stomach twist with disgust. The hair on my arms rose as I tried to regain my balance. The fear sent me running to my chamber, where I vomited as soon as I entered the room. At dinner, I couldn’t stop hearing her sobs or seeing her face in my mind, almost like a bad dream. Distractedly, I pushed the stew in my bowl around and around, until Myriah pulled the cold mush away.

The next day, I watched from a window as she was carried away in a carriage. Myriah heard murmurs of her being sent off to a new establishment with a Lord and Lady. I could only hope it would be a better situation than the one she had found in the castle.

“If only you were a son,” my mother would remark bitterly in passing to my tutoring lessons. “Things would be different.” Of course, with a son, there would be reassurance for the kingdom as to who would inherit the throne. With the passing age of my father, there would be no fear as to who would rule after him.

“He would be strong and brave,” I found my mother often saying to her ladies in waiting. “He would be just like his father. A good and just König.” But as she’d turn her gaze in my direction, often finding me in the corner of the room practicing one of the many tasks she wished for me to perfect. She always found fault in me, no matter how hard I tried to do my best.

“Why can’t you be more accomplished? Talented?” She’d ask bitterly over musical notes not struck correctly on the harpsichord, or loose stitching in my embroidery. I never knew how to respond to my mother without turning my cheek away, doing what I could to hide the flush on my cheeks. I was the shame she had to wear every day.

To her, I was the reason why my father drifted from her and her bed. I was the one failure in her nearly perfect life and now, with her passing, she would be mine. With each passing month since her death, many of the courtiers remarked how ‘very much like my mother’ I had become. The more I heard this, the more I wished for it to not be true. I never wanted to be like her.

My father began his search for his new wife only after a few short months. The councilmen had been quick to move into his study with lists and lists of eligible women in and around the kingdom. His courtiers, and more importantly, Lord Haven, reminded my father the importance of finally having a male heir, and securing a wife who could fulfil this role.

“Only with a son, my König, would Tränen feel at peace in your passing,” Lord Haven said many an evening at the dinner table, surrounded in the dark finery. “Without a son, it would leave neighboring Königreiche the chance to fight for Tränen and rule. We wouldn’t want everything that you’ve created and kept fall apart.”

“And what would you have me do?” my father growled a response, as a servant poured wine into his goblet over his shoulder. Lord Haven returned his question with a placate grin.

“We invite eligible maidens to the castle. From the selection, you take a bride. Marry her, Your Majesty, and have a son. Avoid any chance of a war or the ruin of the Königreich.”

War had always been on the lips of the courtiers; war with the neighboring lands, and without the reassurance of a future king, Tränen would no doubt fall into the wrong hands. It was a true fear of my father, and to Lord Haven; power was fickle – it could belong to one man and in an instant, another by the s***h of a sword.

“It is your duty as our König to ensure the future for not only your people, but for your daughter, Aurelia, as well.”

I watched my poor father slid his fingers through his hair, almost as if he wanted to tug every strand away until he was left with nothing on his head. Agreeing to Lord Haven’s insistence, a selection of women began to come to Tränen in hopes to gain my father’s favor and become his bride.

I watched as he entertained the many possible brides, only to turn all of them away for one reason. None of the women held the most valuable piece to my mother’s promise: her golden hair.

The court endured two years’ worth of parties and galas; two years of visits from hundreds of women with their gowns, jewels, and high expectations of marriage. The maids of the court endured the king’s wrath as each party resulted in failure. My father, enraged by the weight of his promise, began to take out his anger on everyone around him. What began as tantrums during dinners with a sudden push against serving plates and pitchers of wine, slowly turned into overturned desks in his study and pink, flushed cheeks of serving maids after he’d slap them. My father felt powerless in his inability in finding the promised wife, and he knew time was of the essence. His abuses began to affect the prospective wives as they witnessed his increasing aggression. Many of the potential brides upon their experiences with his increasing temper quickly left, returning to their homes. Rumors began to spread over the land of his maligning demonstrations. Invitations that had once been sought for, began to be returned declined or even, unanswered.

On a cold, wet, and grey morning—much like the day we buried my mother—I found myself staring at my father who stood solemnly with Lord Haven. There were dark circles under his eyes, as though he had barely slept in the two years gone by. He looked pale and thinner than before. My mother’s large tombstone lay between us, already turning a shade of grey with decay; a sad sort of irony for my mother’s vanity.

He spoke to Lord Haven and turned to glance in my direction just as my golden hair was caught in the morning glow of the emerging sun. His blue eyes were wide and a small, determined smile lurked in the corner of his lips; one of conquering. I suddenly felt as though I were drowning, as a thick sinking sense of dread filled and overwhelmed me.