Author's Notes: This combines two sections of Chapter 2, and is about 2,111 words. Please tell me if that's too long, and I'll cut down on the length of future parts. Also, he isn't what I would call charming. :P
"Why
are you trying to kill me?" gasped Eremia as the metal and leather corset
around her waist tightened. She wheezed, struggling for breath, hands grasping
one of the benches of the castle's outfitters room. Suits of armor, as
well as spaces and pegs for them, adorned the walls around her, their helmets
all seemingly staring at her. Some had holes for wings on their backs,
but most retained the typical qualities of a bulky, metal, polished suit
of armor.
"Your
parents have let you be too free-spirited," chastised the plump maid with
bright red overalls, a black, wide shirt, and a gray cape, as she tugged on the
ropes holding Eremia's corset together, grunting in the process. "In
such events at these, you must be well-dressed and...well-mannered. None
of this running about and yelling at everyone who does not please your
fancy. I would have you learn swordplay as well, but I'm told you're a
mage, and swords are not too your liking. Still, I have the
loveliest...scabbard for you!"
"That
would be...fine," retorted Eremia, blonde hair flitting over her green
eyes, causing her to brush it aside, "...I'm decent with a sword, but
it...does not interest me. The dress, though. It seems
so...restrictive." Sweat dropped down her face as she rolled her
hand over the blossoming blue fabric that seemed to envelop her. It was
clearly too large for her, so her maid had had to stuff it around her arms,
making her shoulders seem bloated.
The
attendant, complete, breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back, clapping her
hands for the girl to return around and stare at her reflection within the
mirror. "Not as much as it could've been," she noted with
reprisal. "Your parents had forbade me from using a hoop-stay or
anything too embroidered or elegant. Ah well, it is not as though it is a
ball to honor the 18th birthday and formal coronation of the King of
Wyandanch. Dearie me, that would require so much more style, particularly
from the daughter of his dearest allies."
Eremia
nodded, trying to adjust to her restrictive outfit and tight corset.
"Wo--wonderful." In all honesty, beyond her freckles and simple
frame, she didn't look half bad. Of course, she despised the pain and
frustration of getting such an outfit one. The prospect of wearing it for
most of a day seemed dreadful.
Regardless,
the maid seemed pleased, asking for Eremia to stretch out her arms to either
side so that the maid could see her own handiwork. "However, with
our little struggle against the soldiers of Bois, that bastard Alliance, I
don't know how well attended it will be. Still though, I fear you're too
underdressed. Yet, if my King commands me to make you suit from rags, I
would be compelled to do so, even if it rots my soul."
"This
King, Wielde," said Eremia in concern, somewhat hastily. "He's
not one of those hopeless romantic types, is he? I'd rather not leave for
home with a marriage proposal because he had 'love at first sight.'"
The
maid huffed at Eremia's air quotes while peeking at the seams of the dress and
walking around Eremia to analyze the outfit. "The King Wyandanch is
a charming young man, if a bit shy and reserved. If the men are not of
your style, I assure that the ladies will be simply splendid--"
"I'll
come for formality, not romance," shot back Eremia with a pleading gesture
and a small laugh. It was incredibly awkward talking to a woman that she
hadn't known existed before today, much less her position as a stylist.
At least she had a colorful outfit, complete with the lesser used of Exedor's
royal colors. That wasn't common fabric to find in this area, so the girl
assumed that her parents clearly thought highly of this lady's
significance. And, if such was the case, she had to bear with it.
The
stylist, complete with her investigation, stepped back and formed a picture
frame impression with her hands. "What suits you, then. I will
be in attendance, naturally, and I'll sweep the handsome fellow who has been spurned
by you off of their feet. Now, your outfit is complete, I do believe, but
I would like you to test it out. You should walk about the castle for a
time, get used to the corset and dress. Consider it practice."
Eremia
had been about to breathe a sigh of relief, but now it was stifled by
horror. And the corset, of course.
******
If it was possible to
move by the sheer force of one's internal range, Eremia would've traveled
halfway across the country in the short amount of time she walked across the castle.
She was fortunate that she was wearing her stitched-together leather shoes
(which were not seamless, and a little odd in appearance), with accompanying
socks, but the dress was terrible to walk in without looking awkward, arms
uncomfortably stuck to her sides due to the puffy shoulders making it hard to
move them easily. Then, of course, was the problem that it felt hard to
breathe in the dreadful thing. The jeering comments and lewd whistles
from the occasional guard that felt as though they were distant enough from her
to harass her without invoking her anger did exactly that. Normally, she
would be more than happy to shout at them and force them to run off, or perhaps
call upon her parents to inflict punishment, but a greater source of fury had
reached her ears, and it had to be dealt with.
By the time the girl
reaches the corridor, she was seething. Teeth were clenched in rage,
which forced to stop every few steps to take in a deep breath and persist with
her persistent march. Eremia had the grace enough to walk around a maid
cleaning the floor in front of her, though the malicious part inside of her had
wanted to kick the pail as far as possible into the room that was her
destination.
"Jonah!"
shouted the girl as she stepped into her younger brother's room. He was
in the midst of talking to a tall, imposing gentleman with gray, military-cut
hair, sunken eyes, and a small mustache. He wore a black leather suit
that complemented Jonah's, though his had a greater accompaniment of silver
buttons, and had the old and wrinkled skin under which was a tapestry of
muscles and a tan that had faded slightly with age, yet not enough. Here
was their appointed servant, Yorew.
The young boy, previously
speaking to his servant in firm and hushed tones, shifted when he saw his
sister, and leered at her while he relaxed in the bed's blankets.
"My favorite sister! I thought you would come." In the
meantime, Yorew turned, bowed respectfully, and never took his gaze away from
her. It was unnerving how a man with such sunken eyes could act like he
was staring into her soul.
She despised his
manipulative and evil little voice, and the way it seemed to drip off of him
like honey. "Do you care for your King at all? Why do you keep
up these silly antics?"
Jonah laughed. It
was surprisingly bitter and conniving, which was odd - normally, it was gleeful
and conniving. "You know exactly why. But, I didn't wish you
to come here to chat. I have a plan, and I thought you would be perfect for
it."
It was Eremia's turn to
laugh. "Another one of your plans? Those childish pranks you
played? Those were fun when I was five. Now, they're just a
nuisance, and you're becoming one as well. I'd say that you'd best stop
whatever plan you have now, as it isn't going to work, and it will only dig
your hole deeper."
"Hmph, I had hoped
my second-in-command would need about as much persuasion as my
confidante," mused Jonah is disappointment. "No matter; I just
need a conveniently timed event to stun you." He paused, as though waiting
for one, and sighed when none such happening came.
The girl huffed at him
and approached him, pointing an accusatory finger. "Why have I had
to do this for all these years? Why have I, out of the kindness of my
heart, had to take the blame for your little games? I'd hoped you'd grow
up, learn, change, and become an intelligent and dignified man like our father,
but I underestimated you and your stubbornness. What will it take for you
to learn?"
"Nothing,"
snarled Jonah, pupils growing larger for a brief second while he grabbed
Eremia's hand fiercely. "I don't want to be a foolish pet under your
pretty little reign. I will be my own king of my own kingdom, and I'd
rather it be a bloody and vicious land. I'm tired of being inhibited
by sucking up to those beneath me and those above, and I say that
somebody has to pay for all of these years that you've all tried to control
me."
Eremia took a step back
in horror, and Jonah seemed to freeze as well. He let go of her arm and
looked upon his in surprise and dismay, while the girl ran into her servant,
who placed his large hand over her mouth before she could say a word.
There was only a dim scream as Eremia heard the sound of the wooden door being
shut and the metallic sounds of the padlock being inserted and locked.
Yorew let go, and she spluttered out a few breaths and angry, indecipherable
words.
"Now!" said
Jonah with satisfaction, although he seemed unnerved, "you're stuck.
If you call for help now, they'll come to see the king's daughter having the
stupidity to be locked up with her brother. How scandalous would that
be?"
The girl was dismayed
now. The last place she wanted to be was in this room, with these
people. Throwing herself off of the balcony could hurt her, but it was
easily a better choice. "Not as much as conspiring to destroy your
father's kingdom out of anger and vengeance." It was then, of
course, that she realized Yorew was still standing right behind her.
Jonah brandished his puny
little knife and pointed it at her. "Fine then, threats of violence
it is. You're simply not being reasonable today."
Eremia frowned.
Yorew was too close. She could try to use her magic, but that would take
too long, and he could easily tackle her before then. Or it would blast
at both Jonah and Yorew enough to potentially kill them. At best, it
could knock them out, but she'd rather not have her brother's brains splattered
against a wall. There was no way for her to run to the balcony, or slam
the door open, or do anything other than scream. She was trapped, and, as
long as Jonah kept Yorew next to her, she was effectively his hostage.
Unfortunately, Jonah
recognized this as well.
He smirked as Eremia
sighed and bowed her head. "I guess I must follow you," she
conceded. "I'd like to say that you've gone too far, but that would
be underestimating it. And shame on you, Yorew, for, as always, doing
everything he asks of you. You were meant to be our servant, not just
his. Or, better yet, have some free will and a voice of your own.
Why do you follow this idiot?"
Yorew was not a man of
many words, and remained silent as Jonah retorted, "Because he knows who
is in need of a willing servant." Eremia hated how the boy
emphasized the word willing. "Rather than a princess's puppet.
Come then - Yorew has brought with him the ample sum of money that he's paid,
and we have some food in hand." He pulled out a sack from beside him
in the bed, within which the contents had likely been mashed together
during their brief travels. "The King and Queen will think you have
skipped dinner to study, as you normally do. I have a simple escape plan
in mind, and my loose-fitting prayer robes should fit you just fine.
While that outfit of yours is...dashing...it would be too distracting."
Eremia was repulsed.
"Turn your perverted little self away, then. Hand me those clothes,
Yorew, and see if you can undo this corset. I'm glad to be rid of it,
even if I despise the reason behind such. Then we'll discuss your
misguided strategy and petty plans."
"Oh, have no
fear," replied Jonah, staring out past the sliver of light in between the
curtains. "With you here, I will succeed. Just you see."
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