Always In Sight

Ch. 3

    Carriage wheels bounced up and down, sliding over rocks and jamming in crevices of the road. The horses strained to pull it along, but always managed to jostle the carriage along, until the next hole pitted the road. Raven sat uneasily, feeling every bump as they jolted her again and again from her position. Sleep was impossible and the journey had just begun. She dreaded to think about the rest of the trip, hoping they would stop for the night, not just switch out drivers. 

    Inns littered the sides of the road, as she could see when she pulled back the window blinds, daring to dream of a world outside of hers. The cobblestone halted them yet again, and she could hear the carriage straining and creaking. Outside of the window, there was a tiny shop, where a man stood outside. Clearly a butcher, selling meats to passersby, he waved to the men driving the carriage. Maybe visitors were infrequent here. Or maybe he was just nice. 

    Raven longed for it. The simplicity of the life she saw through the window. Children screeched and chased each other, enjoying the simple freedom of life that she never knew. Maybe if she made a run for it, the butcher would take her in as a daughter. Raven could learn to knead bread in the bakery, one she judged was nearby by the smells drifting through the cart as it meandered along. She could take care of the children, the younger ones running around, while drinking wine and laughing with the women. No cares of a kingdom or marriages for alliances. 

    Maybe she would fall in love with someone. Another baker, kneading the dough with her perhaps, who she’d get married to, out of love, not obligation. They’d get a small cottage near the woods, maybe they’d make it themselves, each log a labor, but when they looked around at their completed house, the labor would be worth it.  They could raise chickens in the backyard, and sell the eggs to people like her, who passed by in their carriages.

Raven leaned back again, and stopped looking through the window. It did no good to think of a life she would never live. Never be allowed to live. Everyone dreamed of being royalty, but no one dreamed of the restrictions. 

She faded back into reality and looked at the man the realm called her husband. They had taken off the day after their wedding, as he was determined to get back to his kingdom, a place where his word was law. After all, a king is only comfortable in his own castle. He looked solemn, eyes forward facing as the carriage rumbled along. Not looking at her, but not looking out either. He struck her as someone who did not care for fantasies, but she didn’t know him well enough to say. 

“Will we be stopping for the night?” She hardly dared to ask, but the silence had reached levels of uncomfortableness and, honestly, with all the bumping, so had her rear end. She was sure it would fall off soon, unless given a reprieve. 

He barely glanced her way. Raven had noticed that about him, how he seemed more distant than anything. Not in an attempt to be cruel, at least, not that she could tell, but like he was mentally far away, and coming back, to this exact moment, required all of his energy. It took him a minute to speak, finally responding with a chuckle, “ It’s far too bumpy to keep on the road, at least, if we expect some good sleep.” 

The chuckle seemed far away too, an imitation of a chuckle if anything. Raven simply murmured her agreement and relaxed back, getting caught up in her head again. This time, not a dream, but a memory of her wedding night. 

After the vows, obviously, they had made their way to the reception. Really, it was a party for those who weren’t allowed into the main event. Or, those who did, she mused, as she glimpsed her Uncle Cleat stumbling around the dance floor. He had already found the bar, it would seem. 

Seated next to her husband, at a table at the forefront of the large hall, Raven saw everything. She watched the men, in their cups, fondle the waitresses, bringing more ale and wine. She saw the little boys running around, jabbing at each other with wooden swords while their mothers frantically tried to make them behave. 

In this, in her view of the room, which had more lighting than normal, candles adorning every available space, and scones added to the weight bearing pillars that framed the hall, she was surprised when her sister and mother snuck up on her. She thought she’d seen them moments ago, dancing in the middle of the hall as the band played some song that she couldn’t recall. Her father had guided her mother, swirling her in circles time and time again. Her brother, Smyth, spun Rachel, dipping her and then threatening to drop her for the look of panic on her face. 

Rachel’s husband  had soon come to her rescue and their dance was much more graceful, her blonde hair and red dress spinning in circles with her. When had they left that spot? When had the song ended? Raven glanced to her left, looking for Zophos, in an attempt to make him greet her mother and sister too. To her surprise, she found it empty. 

As she turned back to her family, her mother, Magdalene, started gushing over her all over again. “My dear, you look so radiant. I couldn’t believe it was you up there.” She held her hand to her heart, and Raven realized she was crying again. 

“Like a proper queen, wouldn’t you say?” Raven joked, waggling her eyebrows for her sister while her mom was distracted by wiping away her tears dramatically. 

Rachel smiled wickedly. Even with the 7 year age gap and their vastly different views on the world, they were closer than most. “The most queenly of queens!” Rachel almost shouted, in a sing songy voice. 

Her mother interjected again, this time with a hiccup, and Raven realized she might be drunk. She had failed to realize this was the last of her siblings to be married off, leaving for good. What a large castle to have with just her parents and the servants. “ Of course, the ceremony is nothing compared to the time she’ll have tonight, if you know what I mean.” Magdalene said with a wink. 

Magdalene nudged Rachel gently with her elbow, as if to prompt Rachel to enlighten Raven about what happened once all the guests faded away. As if Raven didn’t already know. The thought boiled in her stomach, turning it sour. 

Two months ago, when she thought of the act, it hadn’t been filled with repulsion. Nervousness, surely, excitement too.  Intimacy. She thought of it with green eyes and red curly hair. Freckles powdering a cute nose. A nose she would gently press, as a sign of affection. 

Not with a man who seemed utterly aloof. There would be no love in their marriage bed, only duty. She shuddered and felt her dinner coming up a bit. Six courses, from butternut squash soup to roasted duck seemed to stick in her throat. Swallowing, she took a deep breath. Then, she grabbed a glass of wine. 

Sometime in the night, when the details got a bit blurry, they went to their room, escorted by guards and handmaids, in case the queen needed help getting out of her gown. The one with all the buttons. 

This room was a different one than hers. Queens get different accommodations than princesses do. They walked into a room twice the size of her own, with a huge four poster bed. The headboard had carvings of knights in battle beautifully etched into it. All around them, carved furniture accented the room, desks and love seats. An elegant wardrobe sat in the far corner of the room, but what she focused on was the bed. 

With deft fingers, a maid unbuttoned her. It felt like an eternity and she saw his eyes on her as she stepped out of the wedding dress, the intricate lace drawings falling to the floor. She wasn’t nude, but dressed in her undergarments, which she could easily get out of. The barrier between them seemed to be gone. 

Breaking the silence, the maid in the red dress asked, “ Will you be needing help with the rest?” 

Raven shook her head, her knees near buckling. “No, thank you,” she managed. 

She heard the door shut but did not bother to look. She looked straight at him, the man whom she had married. One final step, and she was queen. She couldn’t see the blue in his eyes in just the candlelight, but she saw his eyes on her. Her feet were made of lead again, but she stepped toward him, simultaneously pulling the shift over her head. 

He wasn’t looking at her face anymore, taking in her body greedily. She hated him for that, as much as she hated herself in this moment. But she knew, she’d heard whispers of what a woman can make a man do for s*x. Another step and he met her in the middle, near the foot of the bed. 

She’d been here before, standing completely exposed before in front of someone. But this time, it was allowed, even if she felt nothing for Zophos. Not even hate. She would love to hate him.

So, as he pushed her lightly toward the bed, spreading her legs, she played her part. He kissed her gently, pulling down his pants as he did so. Raven felt nothing. No twinge of attraction, no feelings other than sadness. Maybe he saw that in her face, because before entering her, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

Rachel was the one who had told her about the wedding day, and what it entailed. While older ladies who are far from it, from their virginity and the shyness that comes with losing it, titter and laugh, poking fun at the whole ordeal, women like Rachel feel something different. Because they remember, remember the nervousness, the excitement. And the pain.

Slowly though, that was ebbing, and for the first time since they sent Zara away, for the first time since the incident, Raven felt just a little bit of pleasure. She closed her eyes, put her hand inbetween her legs, and thought of green eyes, of freckles, and soft supple lips and told herself she was just doing what it took to survive.

The guilt still wracked her though, the next day, sitting in the carriage as her husband kept his icy cool distance, as if his lust and want for her the night before hadn’t existed. Guilt, not for doing it, the doing it was inevitable, but for the pleasure. Even though the plan was new, a hatchling of an idea, that was never a part of it. 

 Pushing that thought aside, she worked on the idea. Guilt had no place here. The s*x was only a beginning, a means to an end. If she went in seemingly eager, well, that could only benefit her. Every once and a while, a queen might need the favor of a king, might need him to do something for her. Best play her part.