The King’s Priestess

Cinderella? Happy endings? Love? The kind that ruined my mother’s life? No. That crap doesn’t exist. But since they fill books with those lies, fairy tales, promises, perfect endings..I read them all anyway. If I couldn’t get mine, at least I could steal a little dream from someone else’s. That was how i lived I flipped the page. The male lead died for his lover. I snapped the book shut. Annoyed. Who the hell dies for someone else? Humans are selfish. That’s the truth. I threw it aside and glanced at my window. “God!” I sprang up from my bed. I was late. I didn’t bother looking at the mirror, no fixing my hair.. I didn’t care how I looked. All I wanted was to be able to eat three square meals, no, scratch that, I just needed to feed my grandmother three times a day. The cold breeze stung my delicate skin, I hoped the junk buyer would give me a tangible amount for my mother’s jewelry. It was the last belonging of hers I had. I felt guilty for selling it, but I had to. I’d already sold off her other things. Holding on to memories wouldn’t put food on our table. The air suddenly shifted. It smelled of cigarettes and sweat. I looked around for the man with the beard thick enough to hide a meal. It wasn’t hard to find him, his stench always announced his presence before he appeared. I hurried to him. “Sorry, sir. I had to… take care of my grandma,” I lied. My lies were turning into a habit. He looked me up and down like I was a beggar. Which, technically, I was. “What do you have for me?” he asked, like my apology was worth nothing. I held out the bracelet. “This garbage?! Was this why I waited? You told me you had gold, kid!” he barked. “Erm… sir, this is basically gold.” I bit down on it with my teeth. “See? Can you hear how it sounds? That’s the sound of gold.” I widened my eyes like some street vendor hawking wares. “Well… I’ll give you twenty coins,” he muttered, already pulling out the money from the stacks in his bag. I eyed it hungrily. If I had learned the ways of a thief, I’d have snatched the whole bag and run. He was truly lucky I wasn’t one. “Sir, please… that won’t even buy bread. How am I supposed to survive on that?” My voice cracked. I stared at it like it was meat. If I was a thief, I’d have grabbed the whole damn bag and ran. Lucky for him, I wasn’t. “Sir, please… that won’t even buy bread. How am I supposed to survive on that?” My voice cracked. “Whether you eat bread or stone isn’t my business, kiddo. Take your garbage back or take the twenty coins. Your choice.” He sipped whatever foul drink sat on his table. “Sir, please… try to consider…” He cut me off, voice sharp. “You should’ve begged your Maker to love you more. Cause clearly, He doesn’t. You’re a beggar. Take the money and get lost, or I’ll strip you naked right here.” The word naked carried. Heads turned. I snatched the coins, staring at my mother’s bracelet for the last time before letting it go. “Wait!” the man called just as I stepped toward the cold outside. “You thief. You think I wouldn’t notice?” He lumbered forward, and that’s when I realized just how huge he was. “You must be mistaken, sir. What money are you talking about? I didn’t steal…” The sentence never finished. A slap landed across my cheek like a hammer, knocking me to the ground. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I hadn’t even spat the blood out when I was yanked up like a sack of potatoes. I scanned the faces around me, hoping for pity, for help…but all I saw were hungry eyes watching a drama unfold. He searched me, his hands everywhere, groping places no money could ever hide. Then another blow landed. A kick to my stomach. “Where is my money, you little thief?” His voice dripped with rage. “Sir, I—I..didn’t… ” Another kick, this time to my ribs. I curled on the floor, bracing for the next, if I begged again, maybe he would stop. But begging meant surrender, and I’ve surrendered too many times in my life. When suddenly… nothing. I opened my eyes slowly. My abuser was frozen, staring at someone standing in front of him. “I think you misplaced this. I found it near your seat,” the boy said, holding out the missing money. Relief hit me so sharply I wanted to cry. “Ahem… thanks,” the man muttered, snatching the coins and stomping out without so much as a glance in my direction. The crowd dispersed just as quickly, their entertainment over. A lean hand reached down to me. I looked up at my savior properly for the first time. He looked… normal, strangely familiar, like a face from a dream I couldn’t place. I refused his hand, struggling up on my own. I didn’t want pity. Every part of my body screamed as I limped out, but I could hear his footsteps behind me. I stopped suddenly, turned my head. “Uhm… thanks,” I muttered, before turning back again without waiting for his reply. His footsteps never followed me further. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. My father had beaten the tears out of me long ago, he pulled a tooth from my mouth once because I’d cried too loudly while he hurt my mum. Tears were weakness. Tears meant punishment. So I walked, limping, every step echoing pain, I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not now. Not after all this. If I broke, who would hold me together? No one. So I walked on, limping, toward the only place that ever made me feel like I still existed.