The King's Whore

A couple year's back I started writing a random story that popped into my head -- at the time, no real plot had come to mind, no real trail for the story to follow. I wrote it out, shoved it on one of my random blogs (of which I have too many, and have finally deleted most), and forgot about it. Since no-one really read that blog, there was no feedback, which only further assisted in me forgetting about the tale.

As I went through collecting the posts I wanted to keep, I stumbled across it again. As I read it over, I realized that I actually like the story a lot, and the plot has started formulating in my mind. However, because there are so many stories I have that I need to work on, I'm not sure if putting them aside for this fresh one is a good idea. Thus, I am looking for feedback -- not on the actual writing itself, as I just randomly pounded it out one day and left it as it was -- but on the start of the story itself. Does it sound like something you would want to read? Is it intriguing enough to captivate you without giving so much away that there would be nothing left worth reading it for?

Any and all feedback is welcome.

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Prologue

Whoever said freedom is the one thing man cannot take away from you clearly lived a posh and protected life. That’s not to say they never experienced death and destruction, or that they never witnessed pain and sorrow, but rather that they'd never experienced what it’s like to have everything stripped away. To have your pride broke, your soul shattered, and to watch your loved ones lose their lives. To have those you once called friends become your greatest enemies.

It’s not an enjoyable experience. Many a man and many a woman have gone through such an ordeal and lost everything. Everything holding them together is shattered and they find there is nothing for them to cling to in order to make it through the day. The give up and give in, either living out the rest of their days in broken silence, or bringing their life to a short and brutal ending.

People wouldn’t fight wars in the name of Freedom if it wasn’t something that could be taken away or lost by the hand of others.

Most of the world takes freedom for granted. They’ve never experienced what it’s like to have it ripped away from you. They become complacent about their freedom, and begin to treat those lacking it with an attitude suggesting that they are at fault for losing it. That they allowed themselves to be captured and have life stripped away.

I was one of them once. Even in my poverty I became complacent about freedom. I took each and every moment of it for granted. It was as it should be, and there was never any fear it would be taken away. Even in witnessing it happen to others I was still naïve enough to believe it would never happen to me. Oh, if only I hadn’t been so stupid. Somehow, my knowledge of what might be faced could have potentially protected me from the present I now find myself in.

Wallowing in the past however, never helped anyone change their present. I will not fade away to be remembered only as someone unfortunate enough to lose. I will not take my own life to escape the hell I have been thrown into. But I will fight. I will figure out a way to win my freedom back, and I will walk away from this the victor.

Chapter One

The fireworks flashed brightly outside, crackling and booming as they showered over the festival. Villagers cheered and danced; moving to music that barely drifted to my tower window.

Were I any younger, and slightly more naïve, I might have convinced myself I was actually a princess, trapped up in this tower until the love of my life found and rescued me. For whatever reason, growing up prevents one from being able to believe in such listless fantasies.

The sad truth was, being locked in this tower, unable to leave unless summoned bore me the only freedom I had these days. At least in the tower, I could think my own thoughts, and fill my time how I wanted. Here, for the little amount of time I spent in this dank and damp room, I was able to be myself.

The bright colours reflected off the lake as more fireworks showered down over the celebration. This was the closest I would ever get to that festival again.

“Why are we the only ones in the palace not to attend festivities?” a shakey and quiet voice spoke from behind me.

Adelle, a girl several years younger then me pushed past and stood on her tiptoes, sighing as she took in the view. Perhaps she was young enough to still entertain the princess fantasy. She had only been there for two or three days now. It was the first time in a year the king had brought in more than one woman to satisfy is lusts.

“Because we are the disgrace of the land,” I replied bluntly. Sugar coating the truth would do no good. “We are the kings’ whores, whom everyone knows exists, but no-one ever sees, save for those who fetch us and lock us back away.”

Adelle’s shoulders slumped a little, and she lowered her feet back to the ground. She turned toward me, face pale and thin. “The king told me I’m not,” she retorted, though the tone of her voice suggested she was still trying to believe it.

My heart sank a little bit for her. She truly was a child, being used and broken. At least I was old enough to know the difference between truth and lie; to find something true worth clinging to, rather than fantasies.

“How old are you Adelle?” I asked as I walked to our small desk and lit the candle which gave our only light in the room.

“Thirteen.”

I shook my head slowly and walked back over to the window, pulling the curtains across to block the view of the celebration below. The king had never taken a girl younger than sixteen before.

“I wish I could tell you that the king speaks the truth, but that would do you no good. We are the kings slaves; his toys, and we are nothing more to him. He will use us, break us, and toss us out with the trash as he has done to the women before us.”

“He told me he loves me,” Adelle murmured, running a hand through her long, curly auburn hair. She looked back up at me with wide doe eyes, the brown in them appearing black in the candlelight. “Is that not worth something?”

“No, it’s not. The king will say what he wants in order to make you behave, to make you do his will.”

“He has barely laid a hand on me!” she protested.

I shrugged my shoulders and moved in front of the mirror. My skin was paler than it used to be, an almost grayish colour setting in. I had not been outdoors in nearly two years, and my body was beginning to notice.

My weight was certainly dropping as well. I had not noticed it before, but my collar bones were beginning to stick out. I was not too surprised though; here I was treated like a slave. I did not receive the same doting behaviour the king’s mistresses did. After all, I wasn’t a mistress. Not even close.

“Pray then, dear child, that he never does.”