"Thinking of running darling?" The man's voice was even larger than his hands. "You can try if you want, but that will only make it worse." A deep laugh escaped the cage of his yellowing teeth and thick black beard. She fought down the bile that rose in her throat. She knew what she had to do, even if she hated it.
"Of course not." She managed to choke out. "I was merely imagining how wonderful my life is going to be. The excitement got to me." She tried to smile, she knew it looked fake, but it seemed to please the man. He loosened his grip on her wrist from painful to merely restrictive.
"The Prince will be pleased to hear that. He is also excited for this day." The man was grinning now, and a few of the other men (her honor guard) joined in. She fought hard to keep the tears from her eyes. Once again she considered escape, but the pressure on her wrist and the five other men surrounding her reminded her that it was a foolish notion. Instead she used her free hand to fiddle with the long flowing dress, and gently ran her fingers over the slim dagger hidden at her thigh. She had been lucky that the Prince had forbidden his men to watch her dress, or she doubted she'd have even this small comfort.
The man pulled her along as they continued their march through the shadows of the forest, and she found the crunch of dead leaves under her feet rather fitting for a day like this. Ahead she could see the small gazebo and the rows and rows of chairs laid out in front of it. Hundreds of people looked to her as she walked, but not a single one was a familiar face. At the gazebo stood the Prince, dressed in a beautiful dark blue suit, looking deceptively dashing. She had to admit that from the outside he seemed like a dream, beautiful, strong, and rich, but she knew better. She'd known from the second she met him.
The way he'd held her face, roughly, and turned her head this way and that. He'd touched her hair, her face, her body, like she was a statue and not a person. He never spoke to her, just at her, calling her "the girl". She tried to speak to him early on, to understand what was happening, but he'd only laughed at her as one would a pet. In fact, since she'd met him, she'd often felt like a pet. He dressed her up and lead her around wherever he went. He never spoke to her, and neither did his subjects, they treated her like a beautiful bird. They complimented the Prince on how beautiful "the girl" was and hands were constantly running over her body and through her hair. She imagined that this is what life as a cat was like, but while cats seemed to enjoy it, she did not. But she learned early on not to complain.
She'd been with the Prince for barely two days when she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't handle being petted and ignored like a dog. In the middle of dinner she demanded that somebody tell her what was going on, and that the Prince show some respect, she wasn't an animal. The Prince had politely excused himself, explaining to the court that "the girl" was having a rough time adjusting to court life. She still remembered his bruising grip on her arm and the vein that stood out on his neck as he lead her from the hall. She didn't return to meals in the hall for five days, which is how long it took the bruises on her face and body to fade. When she did return she sat in calm silence, allowing the conversation to flow around her, and meekly submitting to the caresses of the Prince and his court.
Now, three weeks later, she was dressed in white, and walking down the aisle towards the one person she hated most in the world. The bruises on her back, badges from her escape attempt yesterday, were hidden by layers of fabric, but she felt them as she walked. In a daze she repeated the words when prompted and accepted the Prince's rough and possessive kiss without reaction. Before she knew it she was being swept through the applauding crowd. There was food and dancing and everyone stepped forward to congratulate the Prince and caress her face or hair. The evening seemed to go on forever and it was well after midnight before the Prince took her back to his chambers. Nothing the Prince did was gentle, but she endured silently until he finally fell into satisfied slumber.
When his breath deepened she slipped from the bed. As there were no other clothes in the Prince's room, she pulled on the white dress once more, checking to make sure the dagger was still hidden in the folds. She gently pushed open the door and was delighted to find the hallway empty. The Prince's men were likely taking part in their own late night celebrations. She crept down the hall silent as a ghost and made her way out of the castle. The guards at the gate were distracted by a pitcher of wine and a group of young serving girls. Everyone so focused on celebration that they never thought to turn their eyes to the forest.
As soon as she entered the trees she began to run. The leaves crumbled under her feet and tangled in her dress. Branches pulled at her hair, but she didn't dare slow her pace. She made it to the ruins just as the sun was beginning to rise. She crept through the eroded rooms until she came to the place it all began. She stared through the circular window at the rising son. This was the place she'd fallen asleep, it had seemed so comforting then. When she awoke, to a rough possessive kiss from the Prince, it had been anything but. Her home nothing but ruins, everyone she knew long gone and forgotten. Nothing left for her but a Prince who didn't love her and a court that saw her as nothing but a pretty creature. Since the moment she'd been awoken she'd wanted nothing more than to return to her slumber, to her family and friends. Now she had the chance. She climbed onto the bed under the window and laid down. As the alarm bells rang through the trees, announcing her escape from the castle, she slipped the dagger from her skirt, slid it smoothly through her skin into her heart, and closed her eyes; ready to dream.
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