I made some small revisions to this chapter because it didn't seem quite
right, nothing big though.
Basil walked into his chamber. While her nurse was away, Gweneida had snuck up into his room. She sat on his favorite chair awaiting his arrival. She was seven at the time and small for her age. Her feet were too short to reach the floor, and she swung them as she gazed about her in wonder, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Even though she had make an obvious attempt to tame her hair and smooth her gown, both were in disarray. Basil stared at her. Never before had she come into his room alone, though several times a nurse had brought her in demanding Basil punish her for some mischief.
Once she noticed his presence, her face lit up. She stood up and gave his legs a tight hug. "Hi Papa! I've been waiting for you forever! You will never guess what happened today." He had been too shocked to answer, just gaping and his child. "I rode a horse! A huge horse named Daisy. Isn't that exciting Papa? Isn't it?"
Basil had no idea what he should say to her. He nodded and pondered what to do with her.
"I fell off Daisy though. It hurt and I wanted to go play, but nurse said that you would want me to get back on. So it did! Are you proud of me Papa?" Her purple eyes filled with hope. Eyes that were in a face identical to Thalia's
Basil knew he had to get her out. He turned her toward the door "That is nice. But your father is busy." She protested and clung to his shirt, but was unable to thwart his will. With a trembling lip and eyes filling with water she dashed away.
Once she was gone he slumped down, shaking. He had not been in such close contact with his daughter since she was a baby. If only Gweneida did not look so much like her mother, then maybe he could stand to be in the same room with her. But she resembled Thalia; matching except for their colorations.
He would always miss his wife. As the years passed, the pain of losing her was no longer so sharp. But it was still there, dulled but persistent. He had never considered remarrying. He did not need a male heir. Gweneida would make a fine queen; after all, the people loved her as much as they had her mother. There was no reason for a new wife.
That night Basil was unable to fall asleep. For hours he tossed and turned. Just as he was about to give up his attempt to rest, an angel walked in. She had to be an angel, why else would she appear in a cloud of blue sparkles. She was beautiful. Her flaxen hair was long and silky, her pale blue eyes fringed with long pale lashes. Not a single freckle marred her fair skin, nor a wrinkle.
He was enchanted with her and walked up to her, clothed in nothing but a shirt. Without hesitation he touched her. Then kissed her. She did not protest. The intoxicating hours with her were the only ones he could forget Thalia. Soon he decided he could not live without her. He wanted her every night. Wanted to be in her presence every day. They were married. Few nights after their wedding did he get to experience that drunkenness again.
***
All Faenach's life, she had been mocked, living on the streets and begging for food. She was always hungry. Always cold. Sometimes she was forced to steal, but she preferred that to begging. Until she turned thirteen, and started selling her body. Her beauty came to good use then, and ever since she had been grateful for it. Without her beauty she would be nothing. Night after night she let herself be degraded, swearing that one day she would have revenge.
Her luck turned when the aging wizard came to her for service.
"Time ta pay up old man. Two bronze pieces, or half a silver piece." Faenach had told him.
Instead of getting out his wallet, which was full, Faenach noticed with envy, he turned toward her and looked at her curiously. This did not surprise Faenach. Many men tried to get out of paying. After the first one got away with not paying for her services, Faenach never let another go. She insisting on pay first, unless the client was of higher class than usual, because she could not risk loosing him to another of her trade.
"You better pay, old man. I ain't afraid of ye! Either ye pay, or ye suffer the consequences."
Instead of backing down (she could be very intimidating when she liked), as most of the others did, he smiled. "I do mean to pay you, my dear, but not in coins. What do you say to coming to my house and becoming my mistress? I get you whenever I want, and in return you get to live in my home. Also you will be the one who is served, instead of the one serving," he said in a cultured tone.
Faenach looked at the wizard through narrowed eyes. If the man was serious, the offer was an opportunity to get off the streets that she might never get again, but if not, she would not get paid for her evening of work. Still, it was worth the risk. Anything was worth the chance to get revenge. "A'right, you got yer self a deal. But if ye break yer promise yel be sorry."
That night she slept in a four-post bed instead of the cold ground. And for supper she ate a hot, filling meal, instead of scraps from the trash. Faenach did not regret her decision. She put up with the wizard at night, and during the day she watched him at his work through cracked doors and open windows.
One day he caught her spying. But instead of sending her away, he invited her in and explained what he was doing. She became his unofficial apprentice.
Faenach thrived on the tidbits of magical knowledge she learned, and became more and more powerful. And closer and closer to revenge. When he gave her the mirror, it proved her worth.
In preparation for the spirit conjuring, the room had been made pitch black, all the door cracks covered, and all the windows draped. Then she had started to chant. The candles that were arranged around her burst into flame, revealing a dim purple mist that was beginning to take shape. Slowly the spirit solidified. And before the spirit could refuse, Faenach had forced it into the mirror, trapping it there for as long as she pleased.
Her first demand was for the mirror to show her the king. To get revenge on all of the people who wronged her Faenach would need political power and money, not just magic. She would need to become queen.
For months she watched the king. She sat before her mirror hours at a time. Soon she knew him better than he knew himself. Knew his weaknesses, knew his strengths, knew how to become his queen. For the last time Faenach would have to sell her body, but this time she would get a lot more than a few coins
***
Nothing changed after the wedding. Gweneida had hoped that having a mother would make her father love her. At night she would lay in bed imagining her new mother hugging her and kissing her. Although Gweneida never saw her face she imagined it to be lovely and kind.
Her every hope of a family was dashed as soon as she saw the new queen. Indeed she was lovely, the most Gweneida had seen in her life. But she was not kind. Gweneida could sense her dislike as soon as the cold blue eyes rested on her small purple ones. Even though a smile was plastered onto her face it never reached her eyes. Those eyes took in the loose strands from Gweneida's simple bun of hair, and the almost unperceivable dirk stain on her skirt. For hours the she had stood before the mirror and attempted to dress neatly for the occasion, but as always as soon as she left her room dirt had clung to her from every direction. Even though Gweneida was not a clumsy child, she was very dirt prone.
Gweneida still ran around the castle among the servants, and still did as she pleased after her father married the queen. Then one day she walked in from playing to find her stepmother standing in front of her. Faenach sniffed and looked down her nose at her. Gweneida smiled politely and tried to push passed her. Faenach stopped her by pinching the corner of her sleeve between her fingers. Toughing as little of her as possible.
"You are disgusting." Faenach sneered. "How can you call yourself a princess when you look like a peasant. Go change this instant." With those few, but cruel words, she turned on her heel and left. Leaving her in the same way she would leave a out of favor servant.
Tears ran down Gweneida's face, leaving clean stripes on her dirt stained cheeks. She ran up to her room, through herself on to the bed, and cried. She was not sure if her tears were ones of sadness or anger, but she suspected they were both. It took a long time for her to exhaust her store of tears. When she lifted her head, she felt better, but spent. She sniffed her nose against her sleeve and slumped out of bed. Her feet dragged over to the wardrobe. She slipped on the first dress that her hand met. Then she forced herself over to the mirror to wash.
The face that looked back at her was one of a stranger. Her hair was falling out of its braid, her eyes were red and puffy. The dress she wore was too large, hanging like a bag over her small frame, and worse of all was the look of misery on her face. It was not the face of a royal princess. Just then, Faenach walked in. The first expression that crossed her face was one of annoyance, but it was quickly banished and replaced with one of apology. She drew Gweneida into a stifling hug. "Oh my dear, I am so sorry. I did not mean to be so harsh. You know that I only want the best for you. Don't you?" Faenach's voice was all sweetness and sincerity. If not for the calculating look in her eyes, Gweneida would have given in to the embrace.
Instead she nodded. Somehow she found the strength to not begin a new fit of sobs. When she did not say anything, the room held a heavy silence. Faenach was the first to give in to it. She gave Gweneida a peck on the check and left.
Gweneida watched her go, her eyes suddenly dry. In that moment she knew that Faenach did not want what was best for her. And that her burst of temper showed her true character, not her apology. For the first time in her life, Gweneida was scared. She trembled back to her bed and sat down. Pulling at her hair, she was taken over by a sudden wave of helplessness. She was now aware of the horror that awaited her at her stepmother's hands. There was no one to stop her. None of the servants had the power, and her father would never care enough.
Just as she was about to panic a sense of coldness washed over her. The feeling was unfamiliar at first, but soon she found comfort in it. She gave into the blissful feeling of numbness and drifted away.
Basil walked into his chamber. While her nurse was away, Gweneida had snuck up into his room. She sat on his favorite chair awaiting his arrival. She was seven at the time and small for her age. Her feet were too short to reach the floor, and she swung them as she gazed about her in wonder, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Even though she had make an obvious attempt to tame her hair and smooth her gown, both were in disarray. Basil stared at her. Never before had she come into his room alone, though several times a nurse had brought her in demanding Basil punish her for some mischief.
Once she noticed his presence, her face lit up. She stood up and gave his legs a tight hug. "Hi Papa! I've been waiting for you forever! You will never guess what happened today." He had been too shocked to answer, just gaping and his child. "I rode a horse! A huge horse named Daisy. Isn't that exciting Papa? Isn't it?"
Basil had no idea what he should say to her. He nodded and pondered what to do with her.
"I fell off Daisy though. It hurt and I wanted to go play, but nurse said that you would want me to get back on. So it did! Are you proud of me Papa?" Her purple eyes filled with hope. Eyes that were in a face identical to Thalia's
Basil knew he had to get her out. He turned her toward the door "That is nice. But your father is busy." She protested and clung to his shirt, but was unable to thwart his will. With a trembling lip and eyes filling with water she dashed away.
Once she was gone he slumped down, shaking. He had not been in such close contact with his daughter since she was a baby. If only Gweneida did not look so much like her mother, then maybe he could stand to be in the same room with her. But she resembled Thalia; matching except for their colorations.
He would always miss his wife. As the years passed, the pain of losing her was no longer so sharp. But it was still there, dulled but persistent. He had never considered remarrying. He did not need a male heir. Gweneida would make a fine queen; after all, the people loved her as much as they had her mother. There was no reason for a new wife.
That night Basil was unable to fall asleep. For hours he tossed and turned. Just as he was about to give up his attempt to rest, an angel walked in. She had to be an angel, why else would she appear in a cloud of blue sparkles. She was beautiful. Her flaxen hair was long and silky, her pale blue eyes fringed with long pale lashes. Not a single freckle marred her fair skin, nor a wrinkle.
He was enchanted with her and walked up to her, clothed in nothing but a shirt. Without hesitation he touched her. Then kissed her. She did not protest. The intoxicating hours with her were the only ones he could forget Thalia. Soon he decided he could not live without her. He wanted her every night. Wanted to be in her presence every day. They were married. Few nights after their wedding did he get to experience that drunkenness again.
***
All Faenach's life, she had been mocked, living on the streets and begging for food. She was always hungry. Always cold. Sometimes she was forced to steal, but she preferred that to begging. Until she turned thirteen, and started selling her body. Her beauty came to good use then, and ever since she had been grateful for it. Without her beauty she would be nothing. Night after night she let herself be degraded, swearing that one day she would have revenge.
Her luck turned when the aging wizard came to her for service.
"Time ta pay up old man. Two bronze pieces, or half a silver piece." Faenach had told him.
Instead of getting out his wallet, which was full, Faenach noticed with envy, he turned toward her and looked at her curiously. This did not surprise Faenach. Many men tried to get out of paying. After the first one got away with not paying for her services, Faenach never let another go. She insisting on pay first, unless the client was of higher class than usual, because she could not risk loosing him to another of her trade.
"You better pay, old man. I ain't afraid of ye! Either ye pay, or ye suffer the consequences."
Instead of backing down (she could be very intimidating when she liked), as most of the others did, he smiled. "I do mean to pay you, my dear, but not in coins. What do you say to coming to my house and becoming my mistress? I get you whenever I want, and in return you get to live in my home. Also you will be the one who is served, instead of the one serving," he said in a cultured tone.
Faenach looked at the wizard through narrowed eyes. If the man was serious, the offer was an opportunity to get off the streets that she might never get again, but if not, she would not get paid for her evening of work. Still, it was worth the risk. Anything was worth the chance to get revenge. "A'right, you got yer self a deal. But if ye break yer promise yel be sorry."
That night she slept in a four-post bed instead of the cold ground. And for supper she ate a hot, filling meal, instead of scraps from the trash. Faenach did not regret her decision. She put up with the wizard at night, and during the day she watched him at his work through cracked doors and open windows.
One day he caught her spying. But instead of sending her away, he invited her in and explained what he was doing. She became his unofficial apprentice.
Faenach thrived on the tidbits of magical knowledge she learned, and became more and more powerful. And closer and closer to revenge. When he gave her the mirror, it proved her worth.
In preparation for the spirit conjuring, the room had been made pitch black, all the door cracks covered, and all the windows draped. Then she had started to chant. The candles that were arranged around her burst into flame, revealing a dim purple mist that was beginning to take shape. Slowly the spirit solidified. And before the spirit could refuse, Faenach had forced it into the mirror, trapping it there for as long as she pleased.
Her first demand was for the mirror to show her the king. To get revenge on all of the people who wronged her Faenach would need political power and money, not just magic. She would need to become queen.
For months she watched the king. She sat before her mirror hours at a time. Soon she knew him better than he knew himself. Knew his weaknesses, knew his strengths, knew how to become his queen. For the last time Faenach would have to sell her body, but this time she would get a lot more than a few coins
***
Nothing changed after the wedding. Gweneida had hoped that having a mother would make her father love her. At night she would lay in bed imagining her new mother hugging her and kissing her. Although Gweneida never saw her face she imagined it to be lovely and kind.
Her every hope of a family was dashed as soon as she saw the new queen. Indeed she was lovely, the most Gweneida had seen in her life. But she was not kind. Gweneida could sense her dislike as soon as the cold blue eyes rested on her small purple ones. Even though a smile was plastered onto her face it never reached her eyes. Those eyes took in the loose strands from Gweneida's simple bun of hair, and the almost unperceivable dirk stain on her skirt. For hours the she had stood before the mirror and attempted to dress neatly for the occasion, but as always as soon as she left her room dirt had clung to her from every direction. Even though Gweneida was not a clumsy child, she was very dirt prone.
Gweneida still ran around the castle among the servants, and still did as she pleased after her father married the queen. Then one day she walked in from playing to find her stepmother standing in front of her. Faenach sniffed and looked down her nose at her. Gweneida smiled politely and tried to push passed her. Faenach stopped her by pinching the corner of her sleeve between her fingers. Toughing as little of her as possible.
"You are disgusting." Faenach sneered. "How can you call yourself a princess when you look like a peasant. Go change this instant." With those few, but cruel words, she turned on her heel and left. Leaving her in the same way she would leave a out of favor servant.
Tears ran down Gweneida's face, leaving clean stripes on her dirt stained cheeks. She ran up to her room, through herself on to the bed, and cried. She was not sure if her tears were ones of sadness or anger, but she suspected they were both. It took a long time for her to exhaust her store of tears. When she lifted her head, she felt better, but spent. She sniffed her nose against her sleeve and slumped out of bed. Her feet dragged over to the wardrobe. She slipped on the first dress that her hand met. Then she forced herself over to the mirror to wash.
The face that looked back at her was one of a stranger. Her hair was falling out of its braid, her eyes were red and puffy. The dress she wore was too large, hanging like a bag over her small frame, and worse of all was the look of misery on her face. It was not the face of a royal princess. Just then, Faenach walked in. The first expression that crossed her face was one of annoyance, but it was quickly banished and replaced with one of apology. She drew Gweneida into a stifling hug. "Oh my dear, I am so sorry. I did not mean to be so harsh. You know that I only want the best for you. Don't you?" Faenach's voice was all sweetness and sincerity. If not for the calculating look in her eyes, Gweneida would have given in to the embrace.
Instead she nodded. Somehow she found the strength to not begin a new fit of sobs. When she did not say anything, the room held a heavy silence. Faenach was the first to give in to it. She gave Gweneida a peck on the check and left.
Gweneida watched her go, her eyes suddenly dry. In that moment she knew that Faenach did not want what was best for her. And that her burst of temper showed her true character, not her apology. For the first time in her life, Gweneida was scared. She trembled back to her bed and sat down. Pulling at her hair, she was taken over by a sudden wave of helplessness. She was now aware of the horror that awaited her at her stepmother's hands. There was no one to stop her. None of the servants had the power, and her father would never care enough.
Just as she was about to panic a sense of coldness washed over her. The feeling was unfamiliar at first, but soon she found comfort in it. She gave into the blissful feeling of numbness and drifted away.