Author's Note: This is a tale that I consider an interesting mix between the Cinderella story and that of Beauty and The Beast, both favorite fairy tales of mine. I'm sort of new to the whole fan fiction thing, playing with a few themes that interest me. As the story unfolds, each character will become revealed and brought to light in an interesting way. This also includes a part of history that has always fascinated me--the whipping boy, boys used in the olden days to be whipped in place of the noble sons as they were considered too weak and etc. to be whipped. In this case, however, straying away from historical fact, I use a female version of that. Please read and let me know what you think. I am very interested in knowing what others think of this story. Thanks to all of those who do read.--licensetowrite
Death emanated throughout the air—eating away at my soul like the plague—like that incessant disease that turns the skin black and rids the body of pestilence through boils. I felt like that—skin tight from tears, from the fear that life would always remain this way—that I would always fear. I felt more than heard when the door opened, when 'he' came to flog me once again for something else his daughter had done. I was the female version of the 'Whipping Boy." The child whipped and punished for the sins of another, but that's what servants were for, right? They were there to endure the pain of what the nobility would consider the weak. But the strong felt the pain too—endured it not because we weren't weak, but because we had to. My body tensed up as he stopped unexpectedly—drawn suddenly away by the insistence of a voice outside the hall. I looked up—allowing myself hope—a foolish notion really but there all the same. Yeah, hope. The door was left cracked open, and I shuddered—knowing that once his business was finished that he would come back for more. There were laws against this kind of treatment, right? There had to be. And then there was the shriek—that wonderful noise of rejoicing that came from his spoiled, rich daughter, and I knew my salvation had come in the guise of a prince—an unknown man who did not know me from a speck of dirt in a mound full of clay, but still my savior. He was Gabriella's betrothed—the second son of a powerful monarch now entrenched in war, which made him a soldier as well.
"He's here, papa! Damnation! Nothing has been prepared! Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Gabby yelled before beginning a tirade about the incompetence of their staff. I swallowed hard. And here I was contemplating salvation. Yeah, right. Tirades never boded well for me. I was the indefinable end to all means because I was the half-breed orphan that had stumbled into the realm as a refugee. I was hated, despised, leered at, and spit upon. I was part of the same heritage as the coming prince and part of the same heritage as his enemy. And I had the gift of 'magic'—a curse really, but so did the man who approached for tales were told of his ferocity—of the way he fought other men as if he were more beast than he were man. Gabby ate up the violence for she thrived on the idea of danger—attracted to that ideal 'bad boy' image. I was just distressed. All I wanted was relief. Just relief. The arguing continued as I shivered there in the dark, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that her father wouldn't leave me be. He was angry at his only child—angered at her insolence, and he needed someone to take that rage out on. I was the outlet to that rage, had learned to soak in the anger like a sponge so that he could function normally in his every day life. But how did that leave me? Gabriella growled in frustration outside the door before throwing something. I knew this because I heard the impact of glass against stone as something shattered.
"Leave her be, papa! We have important guests to attend to. There will be royalty eating from our tables this night, by Gad!" She thundered as her father swore. I just stared at the wall, emotionless and tired. He wasn't done with me. I let that knowledge sink into my flesh as the door opened again, allowing a sliver of light to trail its way over to my broken figure. The dress I wore was dark blue and dusty, wrinkled and frayed. I was used to the attire, no longer embarrassed over its threadbare and patched appearance. It suited the girl who was whipped. That was my job—to endure pain. Lord Horton paused in the doorway as I sat there staring. I was so vacant. His footsteps sounded just inside the door before he paused again.
"Guards!" He yelled, and I jumped. I jumped because he had never had me punished by anyone other than himself, had never allowed anyone else to do the flogging he seemed to so enjoy and that scared me. What was wrong with him? I had learned how to accept his whippings with no sound or whimpering, just allowing the whip to run across my back, clenching my teeth against the sting while trying not to scream. I was not about to grovel, to beg for mercy. My mother's blood wouldn't allow me.
"Guards! Take her to the bailey. Have her flogged. Five strikes for each willful act that Gabriella has performed. Now!" He commanded as I stood up suddenly in shocked surprised, my bare feet instantly chilled once the hem of my dress uncovered them. No, he couldn't! He wouldn't allow me to be flogged publicly. It was too humiliating as it was—an experience that I had learned to live with as long as only he and his valet were there to witness it. I would rather die. No!
"Don't take your time about it!" Lord Horton yelled. "I have guests who have just arrived, and I will be sure to keep them occupied. Do as ordered." He finished as the guards rushed in, two coming to reside on each side of me before chaining my ankles and wrists. I wasn't a threat, but they assumed that the sensitive telepathic and healing powers I had inherited from my mother made me invincible—for wounds, even deep ones, healed at a remarkable rate on my person. But I was not invincible. I was the opposite. My telepathic sensitivities made me more vulnerable to the feelings that emanated from others, including those who punished me. I wouldn't be able to stand this flogging. I wouldn't. Two years in this horrid place as a prisoner all because of the current war between two kings. I was a half breed, a citizen of both the enemy country and the current one I resided in which automatically made me a traitor in both lands. Supposedly, the second born prince was fighting against the prejudice held against my kind, but so far had been wholly unsuccessful. Therefore, like most half-breeds, I was a slave. And my job was one of the worst assigned. I struggled little as the guards dragged me, my auburn hair like burnished flames as it fell over my face, hiding me from the view of all those we passed. I liked it better that way. It saved my pride.
And then I felt sunlight.
The warmth soaked into my skin, and I reveled in it and remembered why freedom was so important to me. I couldn't allow this degradation. My mother would have fought. She did fight. I was not going to let them see me cower.
"A curse on all of you!" I cried, knowing good and well that they all thought that I was a witch, having seen me heal a young cripple girl one afternoon before my imprisonment. I was not a witch, but fear went a long way towards making people act foolish. And these men deserved to be afraid. The guard behind me shoved me onto the ground.
"Quiet witch!" He roared as I struggled against the chains. The sun gave me strength, and I spat on the man who had pushed me. He recoiled and yelled before sending the palm of his hand against the side of my face. I didn't even feel the pain or the burn for my anger was too great now. They could kill me for all I cared, but I was not going to be a prisoner anymore. I refused to be.
"A quick death to you all, you pigs!" I exclaimed as a low laugh suddenly caused the entire group of men that now surrounded me to grow quiet. And then 'he' entered—a man so intimidating that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I had never seen him before and it was evident from the way that the other guards stared that they had not either. Who was he? He laughed again before clapping softly as if he were perusing a performance.
"Making sport, gentlemen?" He asked the men in a low, cautious tone as they all shifted uneasily. He was a big man. It was also evident that he was a man of authority as well by the way he strode across the area toward us. I growled. My anger was still boiling over.
"Another louse? A scour on you, sir!" I cried as he laughed again upon reaching me. Lord, he was big! Was he to torment me then? He lifted an inquiring brow.
"Are you always this insubordinate?" The man asked me softly as I looked over to the side of the bailey, avoiding the intense stare I felt boring now into the side of my head. Insubordinate? I suppose just by surviving that I was insubordinate. Most would have crumpled by now under the years of pain I had endured. Two long years.
"Yes." I finally answered with strong conviction, tired of the constant battle that I had been waging for years. A person can only handle so much torment, so much turmoil before they snapped. I didn't snap, I exploded. He didn't say anything at first in answer to my reply, and as I stood there, I realized rather belatedly that I had probably made the situation worse for myself by fighting the system. Still, I didn't even blink as I stared back at him stoically. His expression changed then, as if he had come to a decision based solely on an internal battle he had been waging since he walked into the courtyard—a final conclusive decision that made even his eyes glow before nodding. I took in a deep breath as he turned away from me and willed myself not to cry. I wouldn't stoop to that level right now. This was it. I knew it. My end had come, and I was prepared to meet it head on with a stoicism that would rival any warrior's. The man turned back toward me again.
"Release her!" The man shouted suddenly and I froze. What? Wait a minute! What? I released the breath that, up until now, I had not realized I had been holding. What was happening here? The guards at my back hesitated—staring at each other over my shoulder uncertainly before shifting nervously from foot to foot. Who could blame them? No one knew this man. No one knew what authority he had. He seemed to be the devil incarnate in his black pants, slightly open white shirt, and small golden hoop placed strategically in his ear. He was not the norm, dressed differently in a style most notable to the pirate. He was even now growing irritated as if he wasn't used to having his authority opposed, although the only sign of his agitation was the subtle darkening of his eyes and face. It even made me shiver, and I was almost immune to violence at this point. He looked around at the men, letting his gaze pause momentarily on each face before lifting his head.
"I said release her!" He yelled again, his voice echoing throughout the bailey while jerking a medallion tucked securely into the folds of his shirt out into the open light of the courtyard, allowing the sun to glint off of the metal ominously. It was the king's crest. The motion was followed by a collective gasp as people went down onto their knees. The guards immediately shoved me away before fumbling quickly for the keys that unlocked the chains around my ankles and wrists. I, myself, was too stunned to notice their mumbled apologies, their deep bows, and worried glances. The only thing I could do was gape as realization hit me like an arrow slicing through my heart. Gabriella's betrothed. It was the prince—the dark prince. The Beast. And yet, he was releasing me. Fear coursed through my veins as I wondered, rather curiously, why. What were his plans for me? I was not, I repeat, not going to leave my imprisonment here for another imprisonment elsewhere. I just wasn't.
"I won't do it." I spoke out suddenly, regretting the impulse instantly as every head in the room turned and silence infiltrated the once chaotic fumbles. The prince looked over at me curiously, a slightly amused expression flitting across his features.
"Do what, my lady?" He asked softly, now that the need to yell had been eliminated. I was too flabbergasted by the fact that he had addressed me as 'my lady' to even speak for a moment. That salutation had never been an option for me and it caused me to freeze in astonishment as I rolled the sound of it around and around in my head. He had to be toying with me! I sighed deeply, gathering my resolve and my courage around me like a shield before staring him straight in the eyes.
"I won't trade slavery for slavery." I announced to the horrified gasps of those present. I could hear the muffled whispers of 'how dare she's' and 'flog her now's' as the prince advanced. He merely smiled softly as a different sort of gleam entered those expressive eyes. I recognized it immediately. It was admiration. And where his addressing me as a lady had surprised me, the admiration plain flummoxed me. He advanced even closer then, and yet I didn't cower. I wouldn't. His size intimidated me even more as he drew nearer for he towered over my diminutive five foot two frame at a good six foot something level. He was enough to be classified as a giant in my book. And he was big—his body honed by the battles he had been involved in. It was downright frightening and arousing all at the same time. It made one wonder what scars he had hidden on his person. But, I wouldn't cower. I refused to blink. He stopped only about a foot away.
"A slave making demands?" He asked me curiously as I looked up into his face confidently. My mind and my heart were wounded and scarred. Death did not scare me, and I let that show in my expression.
"No, merely a citizen asking for the freedom she deserves." I replied as the entire bailey filled with riotous yells of 'half-breed' and 'traitor.' I wouldn't blink. It wasn't worth the fear.