I, too, was taken. Screaming. And in pain. Perhaps it's one of the most…interesting aspects of my life that changed me. Irrevocably.
I'd rather forget those times. Never should they have happened at all.
Not just because of the vile things done to me. Or the fear of the future I couldn't yet see…
My family. He died there. Saving me.
It would've been better had I continued feeling disgusted by him. Scorning him. Hating him!
He was, after all, the brother who disappointed me. Sometimes harassed me. Ultimately turned his back on me…
Perhaps, in his need to atone, he swapped places with me. And let me go.
A disgraceful martyr saving me…What horror. What generosity.
And it all began with the simple act of eating.
What was it like again? Seven years ago.
Feels like a lifetime…
***
The servants wrapped me in the softest silks and ushered me into the dining room. I didn't watch; they were always there.
But the table was set with clear vases and delicate china; the napkins pressed and tied as hot food steamed upon white porcelain and flowered platters.
My seat of black-cherry was pulled for me; the servant unobtrusively stepping aside.
I sat there. Waiting. But the silence, it was burning…
What was I waiting for? I clenched my hands within my lap; watching bitter wine fill my glass.
It dripped and dripped. And I took it, downing the liquid quickly. No use waiting. My father, he wouldn't be coming.
The butler walked quietly to my side. "Young Master."
I waved my hand. "What is it, William?"
"The Master sent his regards." He bowed, hardly daring to look at me.
If the servants pitied me, what would my brothers say? They, too, would laugh and sneer.
I steepled my fingers, laying them beneath my chin. "It is to be expected, William. Continue with your duties. Do not disturb me again."
"Yes, Young Master."
The door closed. I lifted my knife silently—
And put it back down again. Father…he wasn't coming.
But father never came when I called.
And, well, mother just couldn't be bothered. I couldn't blame her. Father's prolific indifference was shameful enough as it was; his courtesans corrupting the house with flowery stenches and sour wine.
Mother, in his absence, had withered; her skin pale and skinny; her expression hard and cold…
Every night, every night she cried…but even with her guards and gardeners and hostlers and stable boys and the occasional toiletry maid…yes, even then, father turned a blind eye.
Oh, how she'd look at me then!
I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. Did I, who resembled him, deserve such desperate contempt?
Her eyes were glossy at times. I asked Melvin once. My brother, he wouldn't tell me.
But I heard the gossip of his servants. Lust, they whispered…debauchery.
I looked up those words. Such disgusting words…
I slammed the book closed; my hands covering my paling face. How could mother—?!
But when asked again, Melvin just looked at me silently. Then patted me. Gently. "She's just lonely." He said. "Trapped. And in despair…" He whispered, looking far into a distance I couldn't reach.
I couldn't know it then. He, too, felt such utter despair…
Her bedroom opened silently on certain mornings. And the servants pretended not to see what went on inside…
I never spoke of it again.
I took up my knife once again. Eight on the verge of nine. And I so desperately wanted to—
The door crashed against an elegant beige wall. "There you are, Ethan!"
I stiffened. This abrasive way of speaking—
"I was looking for you everywhere, brother…" A thin arm wrapped around my shoulders, hugging me from behind.
I shrugged him off. And he blew a kiss, sitting in the seat opposite. "What is it, Edward? I'm eating."
"Ah, don't be so hasty to kick me out, brother! Didn't you want to see that famous play everyone's talking about now? You know, that one! The…" He lowered his voice. "…one about our dear princess…you know what I'm talking about! That one!"
I looked at him from the corner of my eye.
"Oh, come on, Ethan! It's what everyone's talking about recently. Her affair with that barbarian Prince! I promise it'll be worth your time—"
I slammed a hand against the table top."You are going to drag our House down with your idiocy, big brother! How could you be so foolish—"
"Oho? Is it not someone else…," Another, softer palm gripped my shoulder in passing, "…who's ruining our good name?"
No matter how light, those eyes bore down on me, grating me like cheese—
"I suppose it wouldn't do for this House to lose another son, is that not right, Ethan?"
I cringed—
But masked my face with father's indifferent blue eyes.
I was the only one who'd inherited these eyes…
And mother's noble blood flowed within me. Father would never let her plummet from that position.
She was his wife, after all.
"…Don't speak of Melvin, Jacob. You are not worthy."
"Hmm…?" The chair creaked; my recently labeled oldest brother grabbing the knife from my hand—
To indelicately stab my breakfast.
It hardly made a sound at all as he sliced the meat finely. "That one didn't even last the second round of the tournament."
Slowly, the knife with its bearings made it to my lips. And the sauce dripped and dripped onto the plate like blood—
The delicate white turning into a filthy, disgusting brown.
But I opened my mouth. Placed my lips over the bloody offering. And chewed.
I chewed silently. The knife, it was pointing right at me while I sat there so stiffly…
He gently placed the knife back down upon the napkin, and sat primly in the seat next to the foolishly grinning Edward.
"Oh, never mind that! I want to play, damnit! Is that so difficult a request? It's the story of the century! How could we be the only ones to miss it? Brothers, we just have to go!"
He shoveled meat into his mouth, noisily masticating.
Disgusting. Disgusting. They were all so disgusting!
But Jacob held out a hand. "Edward. He's right. Do you know what mother would
say if she heard you? Don't be foolish, brother, or you'll end up just like Melvin. He died so miserably. Simply because he wished for something he couldn't have."
Jacob looked at me…and smiled.
"It's not in the House's best interest to beseen around the muck. You—" He said, pointing at Edward, "—can't go."
I dropped my eyes. It was for the best. No matter how much I wanted to refute Jacob…
He, at least, could control this wild beas—
"I'm going."
Jacob sputtered; the wine splattering against the perfect white like rain.
I watched it bleed. And felt nothing. Let them be the ones to end our line.
Only then would father see the idiocy of siring children with thatwoman…