"They say he is searching for a queen."
She swallows as she lowers her head. Better to lower your head and keep it unscathed, then to lift it and see it broken.
"I have heard Father."
"You have heard?" Her father is well renowned for being unreadable. She never sees any tension in his shoulders, never sees his tone of voice change. But Faithe knows that. And when he is silent, then he is at his most deadly. Look at him there, standing next to the door with his caramel coloured skin and striking eyes. Green eyes, like the grass blossoming in spring. It pains her to know that she looks nothing like him. And everything like the mother she should never have lost.
"Where have you heard?"
She responds without hesitation. "The village girls speak of it as they pass by Father. It is a source of growing anxiety among them."
He looks mildly impressed that I've been listening. Especially since I've been forbidden to talk to them for too long.
"And what might they be anxious about?"
"He's holding an open party," I mutter. "It's all about having the best dress. About wearing the best make up. Showing the most cleavage. They want it to be them."
"But it's going to be you, my prestigious little rose bud."
"No."
He lifts an eyebrow and she flinches instinctively. She knows better than to raise a knife to him. The last time that happened, it left a mark an inch deep in the grooves of her back. She didn't sleep for the pain for so long. But she tenses her thumb, and she dips onto the balls of her feet. If he moves, she moves.
"What did you say?"
"I said, no."
He laughs. "You don't get to say no . . ."
"I'm a person."
"You're a bastard child!" he spits as he rams his fingers into the table with such force her teeth rattle in her skull. "You think you're special?! Huh?!"
When she says nothing, he grabs her by the ear.
"Davan let go of me!" she yells. "Let go . . ."
The training kicks in. One twist around, jamming the force of her hip into his neck, breaking his grip but at the cost of her back. She hits the floor with a BANG! and rolls back up again.
"You're like your mother," he growls. "A whore. A slut. A cheap distraction. This is our chance as a family to get acquainted with the right elements of society! A life of royalty could really get my debts cleared, get me? So you are going to that party, and you will win the affection of this King Thranduil."
It's a miracle she doesn't pass out but she dares to say it. Because she always has to know.
"And if I don't?"
"Then I toss you to the pit little Faithe," he whispers as he walks away. "And you can sell your body for tin coin, like your mamma did."