Conquests and Roses
"I want you to tell me something," she whispered. She didn't know if he was awake or asleep; he hadn't moved in what felt like hours, but his hand stayed clamped tight and hot on her thigh. "I want to know why I'm here."
The bedclothes rustled softly. He had turned to stare at her - all he could see was the soft, damp shine of her eyes. "Why do you ask questions?"
She flinched slightly at the annoyance in his voice, although she had expected it. She felt his hand moving slowly up and down on her thigh, trying to distract her.
"Because I have no answers. I don't know anything, and I want to." How inadequate she felt. She was confined to his bedchambers; it wouldn't do for the world to see them together. It would hurt his reputation. They never conversed - she had nothing to say that he cared to hear. She was good enough for sex, but no more.
"You don't need any answers. What would you do with answers?" He asked scornfully. His grip on her leg tightened, almost painfully. She decided not to answer. She had put him into a bad mood – yes, she had, it was certainly her fault – and she was terrified of him.
His hand slid up her hip and to her breast, where it again became uncomfortably tight. She turned her head to stare out the window. The moon was floating somewhere above the castle, out of her sight. The stars, she could barely see. Her vision, like all other intangible parts of her, was no good.
She regretted coming here. She had come, years ago, because he was so beautiful and tempting, and his power called to her. She hoped to rule by his side, to wield that power with him. Other girls came for the same reasons, but they were turned away. Many of them he slept with first, but none besides her were invited to stay. She had felt special, better than the others, and she stupidly considered the weeks spent in his bed to mean just that. He brought her gifts – candies, beautiful nightclothes, sweetly-scented perfumes. He spoiled her with compliments and rarely tore his eyes away from her. He kept the room filled with her favorite flowers - roses.
When the weeks dragged on and still she wasn't shown to any other parts of the castle, she became confused.
Then he started leaving her. He waged wars against neighboring kingdoms, conquering them all. He battled those farther away, taking them for his own. He overtook the sea ports, the mountain fortresses, the desert territories. There were none who didn't fear him. He came back, blood-soaked and wounded, and fell into bed with her. She took this to mean he missed the comforts her body provided, but soon realized he was not above raping the women whose husbands and fathers he killed. He kept himself satisfied.
He was evil. She was now sure of that. And just as sure that someday, when her body was too old to attract and please him any longer, she would be homeless, turned away as the other girls were.
He lifted his hand from her warm flesh turned away. He could barely stand what he had done to this poor girl, this beautiful young girl with the long dark hair and hazel colored eyes. She was so irresistible to him, for reasons he avoided thinking of. She wasn't who he wanted her to be – he didn't even remember her name – but the resemblances made it easier to pretend.
He couldn't bring himself to let her go. He would keep her here forever, away from prying eyes. He would keep her hidden, in case his true love would return. He couldn't stand the thought of her, his sweet, beautiful love, coming back to him and finding him with another woman.
His frustrations, he released on those around him. His heart was broken, and so he eased it by breaking others.