I have spent my life wishing I were made of mud and stone.
The world considered beauty a blessing. To me, it was a curse.
I prayed scars had adorned my body instead of a silk-like skin. That my face was sculptured with hatred, not delicacy. I wished each strand of my light ash brown hair were dead.
To have an appearance that made women envy instantly and men leer endlessly was no less than a curse for an utterly defenseless woman- beggar.
Everyday, every moment, was a struggle. I huddled against the damp stone of a baker's alley, my fingers trembling, pulling the tattered shawl over my head.
My beauty was a beacon I tried desperately to extinguish, yet even beneath the cloth, it shone through. It was that very glow that drew the ire of the baker's wife.
"Still lurking, you leech?" the woman hissed, splashing a bucket of gray dishwater onto me, drenching me.
"The King arrives today. We won't have the likes of you staining the streets while the knights are watching."
I gasped, my steps stumbling at the unexpected assault, shivering while glancing at the woman who glared.
"Move, before I give you a reason to cry!"
A younger woman joined in, her eyes narrowed in bitter envy too.
"She's waiting for a rich man to look her way, Mama. Don't act so shy, Ardella. We all know what you are selling." She snickered, looking down upon me.
I didn't speak. I couldn't. Words only invited more blows, more pain, more torment.
I simply lowered my head, and scurried toward the edge of the main square, vanishing into the crowd, hoping one day these shadows might consume me.
While I was struggling in the darkness, the horns sounded, a deep, resonant roar that signaled the arrival of the King Alaric of our kingdom, Emberspear.
King Alaric was on the kingdom's march to settle disputes and maintain the prosperity under his sovereign. The march began last week and they still had three more months to cover.
The town fell into a hushed, reverent awe as the Royal Guards paraded in. At the head of the procession rode ten knights. The Obsidian Pillars, the undefeated, unbreakable pillars of the army.
They work directly under My Liege's command, one of the highest-ranking Knights.
Their pitch-black armor polished to a mirror finish, emitting sheer dominance and power that could drain one's energy within a heartbeat.
I watched our protectors from the deepest shadows of an alley, gaining a clearer view of their arrival with a twinkle I never realized existed in me.
My breaths caught in my throat, clutching the stone, overflowing with admiration and longing.
"What a life. What a luxury." An unknown whisper escaped my lips, "... I wish I could have this one day. To be protected. To be untouchable."
The merest perception of how lull-providing the comfort of their status must have made me burn. Once, just for once, I wanted to experience it too.
"How does it feel to sleep on a comfortable bed? Or eat until you are full?" My voice went higher than I intended it to be.
Though I doubt it could cut through the resonance of the cheers and horses. Yet, among the thundering roars and welcoming, one of the Obsidian Pillars twitched.
Lord Kaldric Dawnstride.
His presence was suffocatingly powerful, he didn't look at the cheering crowds. Acknowledgment served as a distraction to his gaze that was fixed sharply ahead, devoid of emotion.
Yet his sweep stopped.
Lord Kaldric's head turned. His heartless, piercing silver eyes cut through the crowd and fell on…. me.
A jolt of pure electricity stiff me. My body found itself immobilized when he saw me among hundreds of people. I felt exposed, as if his gaze had stripped away my rags and seen the fragile soul shivering beneath.
A deep, hot blush burned across my face. Terrified by the sheer intensity of his stare, I pulled my shawl tighter.
Gathering my remaining strength, I rushed into the labyrinth of side streets, my heart thumping madly against my rib cage as I feared it might not leap out of my chest.
Eventually, night fell, bringing a gnawing ache in my stomach.
The celebrations for the King were loud and effervescent, which meant the kitchens of the local manor were overflowing- and overflowing kitchens meant waste.
I crept toward the rear of the manor's stables, my eyes searching the bins for a discarded crust of bread or a bruised apple, anything to fulfil my hunger.
I found a piece of bread and clutched it to my chest like a treasure, my eyes filling with tears of relief that I won't sleep with an empty stomach tonight.
"A thief's hands are usually faster than that."
I froze. My heartbeat amplified to the point I could feel the heat of it against my chest.
Lord Kaldric stood in the doorway of the stables, his massive frame blocking the moonlight. He was only in a dark double breath tunic that strained against his muscular chest, he was terrifying from up close.
The long wavy strands of his dark hair scattered. A thick faux-fur collar-like cloak enhanced his nobility and dominance. Unforgiving silver eyes staring directly with the intent to obliterate which stiff me.
He took a step toward me, his hand resting habitually on the pommel of his sword, frightening me more.
"My Lord..." I gasped, dropping the break and sank to my knees instantly, seeking mercy.
I couldn't hide my face this time; the faint light washed over my ethereal features as I began to fear for my dignity.
"What are you doing in the dark, woman?" he demanded, his voice threateningly low. "If you are a thief, I will have your head before you can breathe."
My composure broke. The hunger, the fear, and the exhaustion of the day spilled over. Shimmering tears tracked through the dirt on my face.
His presence overwhelmed me. I only saw the end of my breaths in them.
"I... I am no thief, My Lord," I sobbed, my voice trembling, clutching my torn clothes fretfully.
"I was only... I was hungry. No one here grants mercy. I have nothing. I only wanted what was being thrown away."
He looked down at me, eyes narrowing. His expression was unreadable but a flicker of repulsion was crystal-clear in them. His jaw clenched.
For the first time in my entire life, a man was… 'disgusted' to see me.
He was known throughout the lands for his ruthlessness. For his unforgiving nature that made his own comrades fear him.
He was displeased by the display of such raw, fragile weakness. He had no regard for my tears. After all, in his world, if you were hungry, you took; if you were weak, you died.
Without a word, he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a heavy ration of dried meat, and a few other things.
He tossed it into my lap as if he was feeding a stray hound.
And once again, for the very first time in my entire time, a man granted me… 'mercy'.
"Eat," he commanded, his voice devoid of any compassion.
I looked at the food, afraid to touch the pouch, wondering if it was a test of greed or not. Swallowing hard, I dared to look up the Lord, hesitantly picking the pouch, my eyes wide with a mix of terror and gratitude.
"Thank you, My Lord." I swallowed, wiping my tears, almost smiling, "Thank you so much-"
"Silence," He snapped, turning his back on me. He couldn't stand a sight of me. His discontent was enhanced by each passing second.
"Fill your belly and crawl back into whatever hole you came from. And mark my words..."
He looked over his shoulder, eyes hardening with a threat that was too real.
"Don't appear before me again, woman."