The King's Mistress

Prologue

(Aya)

The dance is everything Mother promised ...and more. I pick my way through the swarm of twirling dangers, almost desperate for a gentleman to ask for my hand. I know this will not happen. The girls swooning into the arms of their suitors are those of status. I, alas, hold no such privilege.

 The man I call father is a simple man. Though he possesses a slight fortune, he holds no title. Most of his wealth has been obtained through the selling and purchasing of his mare breeding stock. It is rumored that the woman that bore me is a disgraced lady, having sullied herself by marrying below her station. Neither have ever spoken of this.

My father is not a kind man. Harsh words are all that accompany him when he dares pay our house a visit...which is rare. Mother only blessed him with daughters, a rather grievous slight in his eyes. He does not wish for daughters. He wishes for a son, someone to carry his name.

A girl of my age bumps into me. She flashes a sour look in my direction, her dull grey eyes judging me for the sins of my parents, before swishing back into the crowd. I inhale sharply but say nothing. What good would it do? I am not strong willed like Mother nor do I possess my eldest sister’s desire to better my social standing. 

I wish to marry for love. Mother calls this a child’s dream, a silly notion that must be done away with. She says there is no love in this world...that, if I am lucky, the best I should hope for is a man that will treat me with kindness. But only a man with wealth. She says I should only marry above or in my station, never below. She warns me of the dangerous though she does not speak of what tempted her to do that very thing.

A hand slithers around my waist. I recoil. A familiar face appears before my own. I know him as uncle. I force a smile to my lips, dipping my frame into a low curesty. I’ve never enjoyed the company of my uncle. He was not our uncle by birth but through marriage. My father’s sister, Lady Elena, had married him some years ago. He was a Duke so that now gave her the title of Duchess.

I’ve always been curious on just how Lady Elena had managed to convince Duke Henry to wed her. Having the same background as my father, she had no wealth of her own to bring into the marriage. She was a lady in name only. Duke Henry had three wives prior to her. He was barren, unable to produce children of his own. He was well into his sixties while my aunt was just barely into her forties. There was quite an age difference.

But, again, a girl of my age has no business asking such things. I was to look pretty and nothing beyond that. Against my wishes, Duke Henry pulls me from the corner I’ve managed to snuggling myself into. 

“You look quite ravishing tonight, Aya.”

I mumble a thanks of sorts. He should not be referring to me in such a manner. We are family, after all. He pays this no mind, continuing to speak of how it wouldn’t be long before I found myself betrothed. He calls me the prettiest of my siblings ...which I know to be a lie. Margie, my eldest sister, is by far the fairest of us all.

His touch sends shivers of disgust running down the length of my spine. I want to vomit. I feel eyes watching. Lady Elena watches from the sidelines, her face neutral of any emotion. I know she does not approve. How could she? 

“I feel in need of some fresh air.” He states without warning, “Accompany me outside?”

My cheeks turn to fire. “Oh-” I stumble over my words as he begins to pull me towards the oval doors that lead to the gardens. I didn’t want this. Mother has warned me on many occasions to never be alone with the Duke.

“Aya.” Lady Elena appears. She doesn’t like to be called Aunt. She insists that I and I alone refer to her as such. “Your mother awaits you in the kitchen.”

The Duke’s hand slides from around my waist, allowing me the opportunity to flee. I flash Lady Elena a smile of gratitude. She dips her head in slight acknowledgement but says nothing further. I make my way towards the kitchen. I slip through the servants entrance, hoping to remain unseen. 

“Mother!” I call. The small yet homely kitchen is unoccupied. 

Something slams into me from behind. I lurch forward, hands grasping the edge of the kitchen counter for support. Before I can face my assailant, a large hand  muffles my screams. The ripping of fabric fills my watering eyes. This cannot happen. This will not happen. My teeth sink into the hand of my assailant. He curses. 

I feel a sharp pain and, then, the world around me goes dark. 

Screams are the next thing I remember.. They are not mine. My vision is obscured by blood.  Someone is kneeling at my side, attempting to wipe said blood from me. My vision focuses after a few seconds. It is Mother. Her face is ashen,  as if she has seen a ghost. I open my mouth but no words come out. My lips feel bruised, cracked from the leathery material that had been pressed against them just moments earlier.

She is crying, screaming. She lifts me into her lap, stroking my hair as she hasn't done since I was a child. It's at this moment that I see the source of her hysterics. The lower half of my dress is shredded. Blood stains my legs. Horror and shock creeps into my veins as I realize what has happened. I am no longer pure.