Dear Julietta,
I am about to become the Prince's whore.
His royal highness does not bestow upon me the title of wife, lover, or even conquest. No, his majesty does not offer me the acknowledgment of legitimacy; he merely thrusts fool's gold into my unwilling hands.
How thoughtful of him. To take my freedom and leave me here to give my innocence to a man I have never even met; a man who is rumored to be little more than a figurehead on his better days. He has taken a girl barely past her childhood and presented her with the ugly reality that she is little more than an object he decided to buy.
Because his highness only deserves the best. The prince always gets what he wants. He wants soft curves and blue eyes to welcome him to his bedchamber when there is not fresh meat at court panting after him, then that is what will be waiting for him. He wants a whore. That is what he will get. An enslaved whore.
Julietta, there is no point trying to hide the matter with pretty fabrications and lies, my role here at the palace perfectly fits the definition of a consort: Payment in exchange for warming that stuck up, pretentious snob of a boy's bed.
It's a wonder they can fit a crown on his swollen skull.
And I am being handsomely paid, if not in a direct way; the splendidly furnished rooms, brand new wardrobe, and gourmet meals, all scream of payment for services yet to be rendered…although I have no doubt that his royal highness will be visiting me any day now. I will simply have to wait for lonely duchesses and scullery maids to be less plentiful. Hopefully they would be fruitful and multiply, I am perfectly content alone in my bed. Or maybe he will forget about me. It would not be unlike royalty to forget about a pathetic little nobody like myself. Mayhap I was a passing fancy. Like a spoiled child the prince had pointed at his new pet and shouted, "I want" only to forget me in my gilded cage. I am not sure if the slight would even manage to sting. Escaping some boorish prince's hands would fill me with a happiness that would blind any insults. I would gladly give back every gift he has given me for my freedom. I would even clean my own chamber and save him the task of calling for a maid. Maybe Victoria was right when she told me I was an ungrateful heathen, however I cannot help it. Every present his royal highness has ever bestowed upon me is not equal to my independence. He can take them back, including his hastily scrawled note that was laid upon my pillow the night I arrived.
Yes! The insolent tadpole left me a love note! Amid a posy of wildflowers (that he so very obviously must have picked himself) there was a small card daintily placed for me to read. They must have thought his eloquent words would steal my heart the moment my eyes drank them in.
"I know this bedchamber pales against your beauty, but I hope it will be adequate.
Until our meeting
-Alexander"
Pah. Who ends a romantic note with the word adequate? His handlers probably told him what to say. The pickleheaded dolt.
Anyways.
If I am entirely honest the rooms I have been provided with are very charming. Lush burgundy drapery and throw rugs walk hand and hand with fixtures awash in gold. The adjoining room provides a small settee and petite chairs arranged artfully around an ornate fireplace, a bookcase along with a few other recreational objects promise hours of entertainment. I even have my own washroom, complete with enough paraphernalia to make even a pig farmer smell like a rose. The surprisingly large windows bathe everything in a golden light when the sunrise arrives at dawn, and the light continues to glitter when it touches all the golden and mahogany furnishings throughout the day; certainly a sight to behold. It is a suite built for pleasure and comfort. Rooms that have everything a girl could ask for. Even the enormous wardrobe was full when I arrived.
Filled with dresses that a girl of my standing has only ever seen from a distance, the wardrobe lovingly cradled fabrics that most commonly clung to the forms of girls someone like me should be waiting on. If I was born with a weaker spirit the bouquet of silks and ribbons that overflowed from the cabinet would have won me in and instant.
Nevertheless, his majesty (or his keepers) was sure to provide more offerings to tempt my self control. He knew if clothes fit for an angel did not do the job the dinner of roast beef, sweet wine, and sugar spun deserts that arrived on a silver tray soon after my arrival should have knocked me to my knees. My mouth waters just remembering, if his royal highness keeps feeding me meals like he has been I will not fit in the lovely gowns he has had made for me. Perhaps then I will be returned to my father's fife. I am sure a crown prince would never wish to have relations with a woman who would not fit in her corset.
But, Julietta, the jewel among his gifts was resting on my vanity. Twas a necklace holding a small sapphire nestled in an elegant twist of silver. It is not overdone or gaudy, as I would have expected, merely eye catching in quieter more graceful manner. The blue stone nearly pulsed with light almost begging to burst free from its depths. I felt an instant connection, and had to restrain my willful hands from snatching it from its resting place. Would not be wise to grow attached to any of this finery, somehow I will free myself of this predicament. I have I have no wish to become some spoiled prince's plaything no matter what he presents me with, and his majesty will soon learn that although he has trapped me here I am not and will not be happy in my golden prison. I was entirely content with my life before this point, and sweet trinkets aren't going to change the fact that I was kidnapped to be here (That story is a whole other letter indeed). Regal or not, his Royal Highness Prince Alexander de Hallivard has no right to hold me here against my wishes…
Although he does have the means.
The two guards outside my bedroom doors go exquisitely with the upholstery.
They also appear to be semi intelligent and quite fleet of foot.
Curse him.
There lies the problem.
The prince may not hold my heart, my mind, or my will. But he holds the power to keep me here.
And that means I'm out.
He wins.
Things are certainly not going my way.