The Concubine (4 page)

“As you wish, Highness.”
As we near the palace stables, I spot your silver blond head, your stoic mask painted on your patrician features, your eyes stray to my own and then snake back to your Queen. You’re there in two long strides, by her side, your hands reach for her waist and with effortless ease you settle her to her feet. Twinges of jealousy tug mercilessly at my heart as you bend your head and cover her awaiting lips with your own. 
I jump from my horse and land on my feet, as much as I believe myself a masochist, I will not fall to baser levels of voyeurism. I lead my steed to the stables, leaving you and your Queen to yourselves.

If I’m not careful, I might turn into a bitter old woman, with nothing to keep me company in my old age than stupid memories and hopeless dreams. 
 

***
 

Not long after, I can feel the warmth of your body against my back, trapped between you and Gedle. I stiffen slightly and hold back a moan as your hot tongue licks that space behind my ear.

“Did you miss me?” how much would you hurt if I were to whisper 'no', my king? 

“Yes,” I find myself breathlessly uttering.

Will it always be this way? This unstoppable cycle of simple touches, softly whispered words, and I fall weak and wanting at your feet, never you’re equal, never your partner, always the wanton, weak willed concubine, slave, whore? I wear each title so well that I sometimes forget who I truly am. 
My palms are flat against Gedle’s perspiring coat, I can feel the thrumming of his pulse, the rushing of the blood in his streams and I wonder for but a breath of a second which one of our hearts is beating faster, louder, nearly deafening.

The beads of sweat start from the pores in my palms, then travel up my arms, trickling down my neck, like a lovers tongue it trails down my back and disappears into the crack of my buttocks.  All this happens within minutes, and then I feel my knees buckle, my eyes roll back and then your voice, muffled and panicked, calls out to me. I feel your comforting embrace tightly enveloping me before surrendering to darkness. 
 

***

I know I am in your bed, because your scent is the first thing permeating my sleep fogged mind and I smile, the aroma is a slight welcome to my spinning head. I make to rise, but weakly fall back, my head cradled by a bevy of pillows.
“Imprudent woman.” 
“Hello to you too, Kivar.” I am the target of his fierce scowl for only moments before he reaches out to settle a cool hand against my forehead.
“What happened?” and where is Marik? I silently finish. He removes his hand and rolls his obsidian pools at me.
“Just like you to forget.” he walked away to return soon after with a goblet of something dark and menacing. 
“Drink it.” He hands me the goblet, the stench it emits turns my stomach.
“What is it?” 
“It will keep you from embarrassing yourself further. Swooning at the king’s feet like some dimwitted commoner. I had believed you with more sense than that.”

I guzzled down the sickening concoction with half an ear on his tirade. One I had heard many times before, with only the slightest variations.
“Since when do you brew potions, Kivar?” Curiosity urges me to ask. Kivar was the royal advisor, of all the five years I have known him, the man had not once indicated his wisdom in anything except matters of the kingdom 
“Since when have been prone to swooning?” he counters. 
“I did not break my fast this morning,” I lied. I had a breakfast of sour bread and orange marmalade, and a cup of honey brewed tea. His eyes narrow on my flushed face but he does not push the issue. A small favor.
“Do so next time. The king has better things to occupy his thoughts than worry about the eating habits of his whore.” 
“Oh how I do enjoy that razor sharp tongue, Kivar.”
“If you are feeling well, the king has ordered your presence for dinner.” Dinner? Have I slept the entire day away? 
“Please give my regrets. I will not be joining him this evening.”

His gaze pinions me. “I would advise you not to play these games. Whatever it is that you are doing or planning on doing, I suggest you put an immediate halt to it.” 
“And whatever is it that you think I am doing, Kivar?” when he fails to respond, I continue. “I suggest you keep your advice for Marik’s ears only, he has more need of it than I.”
 

“You dare to address the King so informally?”
“What do you suggest I call him then when he seeks pleasure from me? It would hardly do if I were to pant and moan “Your Majesties” everywhere. Hardly romantic.” I’ve never been so impertinent. Kivar in all his faults did not deserve my rampant spite. 
“I’m sorry.” I say after a moment, despondency shoving the fight out of me.
“Our Sovereign is impetuous and brash, in many ways he is still a child. Do not allow his ignorant mistakes to embitter you. You are far stronger than that. Even if he does not love you as you love him, I am sure the child growing inside you will.” With those parting words he spins on his heel and heads for the door, leaving me utterly stunned.

***

The night air, despite the intermittent summer breeze, is eerily still. Seated at your divan, head upon my raised knee I watch the dance of diaphanous curtains upon the evening breeze, a welcomed distraction from tremors racing through me. I feel you, your restless, rampant energy hangs heavy in the air. You’re pacing, to and fro, to and fro, right at the corner of vision, a caged animal anxious for freedom.
"Do not go." I whisper, my eyes still on the beguiling dance of the curtains.
"I have no choice. The situation requires my immediate attention." I know 
your every move. At this very second your fingers are through your hair, the knit at your brow growing ever deeper, your eyes like storm clouds.
"You always have a choice, and you are choosing to trek miles away from the 
safety of your kingdom to speak with rebels who await your demise.” My voice reveals a calm I do not feel.

"I will not cower from my enemies!" I turn my head to look at you and with no will of my own and I am at your side.

"You are the furthest thing from cowardice, Marik. But the kingdom 
needs a king now more than ever." I take your large hands within my grasp and bring them to my lips. "You cannot think to leave us to fend for ourselves, my king." The tears come of their own accord. “We would not survive.” I allow the fear combating in chest to come through. Falling into your embrace I cling to you like a child. “I will not survive.”
"Nothing will happen to me." You frame my face." I will return to you, my own." You drop a kiss on my lips your thumbs brush away my tears but not the ache, not this nauseating feeling of dread within my soul.
"Marik, I beg you do not go." I pull away from you, and wrap my arms around 
myself, you make to approach me but I step back. "Trust in what I say, something dark and horrible awaits you beneath the high mountains of Noria. Send your army, half of Noria’s army if you must, but you must stay. Rule the kingdom from your throne." My heartaches, oh how my heartaches.

"I tried ruling my kingdom from a throne and now I will fight if I must to keep it."
"You are not a knight! Just a foolish boy with the stubborn will to get himself 
killed!" In a panic I hurl at you things I do not mean.
"And you, my beautiful whore, are out of place." You’re stalking me now, every bit of you menacing and I retreat.
"Do not touch me!" My order falls on deaf ears as you push me down. The bed breaks my fall and immediately I scramble to escape you.
"You are hardly in any place to order me about." Your hand clamps around my ankle and you brusquely tug to bring me to you. My struggles are put to an instant halt beneath your hulking frame. My arms are drawn above my head, my wrists bound by your unyielding grip as you settle your weight on my thighs.
"Is this how you will take me tonight, Marik?" I pant, meeting your fearsome gaze.
"If I must."

You deprive me of your tenderness in your ravishment. Your kisses hard, your touch cold, you tear at my clothing and still I fail to respond. My gaze averted, focused on anything but the cruelty in your eyes, I pray that it will be over soon.
"Fuck." So undignified for you to be so crass, the word is whispered angrily against my cheek and in mere seconds I am relieved of your weight. "I will not suffer you my touch. I will seek my pleasure with someone far more willing.” You’re gone before I can protest. The resounding crash of the door behind you leaves me aching. I lay in your bed, my tears silent, only for me and my unborn child.
 

***

I wanted to tell you, give you reason to stay. But you left with the yawning rays of dawn. No whispered goodbyes, no kisses to keep. Simply this gaping emptiness in the wake of your departure. The palace felt it, your wives felt it, even your people felt it and yet none of them felt it more than I.
Endless hours turned into endless days awaiting your arrival, awaiting word of your victory. But none came as nights grew longer and days shorter. Despair crept like a plague through my being, and each day that passed the gleaming blade of the bejeweled dagger looked ever tempting.
"I will not be held responsible for your foolishness.” Kivar, sweet, insufferable Kivar, his clip tone pulls me from self-imposed misery.
"Has word come?" I set my paint brush down to look upon him with hope and when he shakes his head the wound in my chest bleeds a little more.
"How are you feeling?"
"I could be better." I rest my hand along the slight bump of my abdomen. 
 

What an uproar it had caused when the court had finally come to the realization. How furious Krea had been when she’d seen my delicate condition and how protectively Somia had come to my aid when she demanded I abort it.
Kivar has been a constant form of comfort. Odd that he seemed even more protective of me in your absence. He, along with Somia have rallied to my side in the face of the resentment from nearly everyone in the palace.
"How is the child?" he walks behind me, his eyes fixed on the portrait I have drawn, one in the hundreds of you.
"Growing."
"Yes, well come inside, the air grows cold." I accept his help in guiding me to back to palace.
Dinners, I ate with your second wife, who prompted me to call her Somia.  In our mutual anguish of missing you, we’ve formed a tentative friendship. We spoke, but never of you. We spoke of her home in Sry, of my art, of everything and nothing, but never of you. She treated me with the respect not many concubines received from her, maybe because I was your favorite. Within her company I was an equal, we laughed and teased as if we were long lost friends, as if I have known her all of my life. Her malice was non-existent when I spoke of my child. She only smiled and regarded me with something akin to envy but never malice.
 

***

I come awake with a gasp, my hand flies to my abdomen. Something isn’t right. Another gasp escapes me, my heart crashes against my ribcage upon the initial blast to the palace walls. I’m instantly out of bed, racing towards my chamber door.

Chaos greets me. Screams, cries of despair pours from every direction. The inhabitants of the palace are in a panic as they scramble to escape the havoc. I hold tightly to the frame of the door as another tremor hits.
"Lealin!" Kivar races towards me. He hastens me along as he wraps a hooded cloak around me. 
"What is happening?" I scream over the cacophony, but he does not answer. We’re running like life depends on it. My heart races painfully in my chest but I grit my teeth and keep up with Kivar’s long strides.
 

We stop suddenly and we hide in a small alcove. He keeps me behind him, my back to the wall he turns and puts a finger to his lips. I nod anxiously. We listen to their approaching footfalls, their booted feet trudging through the debris. Fear like ice cold water sloshes through my veins rendering immobile. I can’t breathe and with aching desperation I try to combat the haziness of my vision. The blood is rushing to my head and I know I’m going to faint. 

"Not now.” Kivar whispers harshly. I pray to the deity to give me reprieve and sigh with relief when it passes.
 

We wait for an eternity after their receding steps before emerging from our hiding spot and racing in the opposite direction of where the rebels had gone. It was an endless maze, an endless turn of stairs and dark corners when we finally made our way to the servant quarters. We were almost free, nearly at the entrance when Kivar’s unyielding grip slackens.
 

They’d found us and subdued Kivar. Through the bevy of rebels he screamed for me to keep going, turn and run and leave him to this unknown fate. But I couldn’t and that was my ultimate downfall.
 

Something sharp and wet darted through the layer of the cloak and poked the backside of my left arm, numbness raced through my core and as I felt my body tumble forward I tried so hard to fall on my side and prayed that my child would survive.
 

***
 

There are fingers sifting through my hair, whispering gradually downward to brush at my cheek. I wake from the darkness of slumber, bleary eyed to find that you have not miraculous returned to me. He looks upon me with those watery blue eyes, his touch upon my skin, one of familiarity. My flesh burns in protest, revolted at the thought that this man would dare touch my person. In my attempt to withdraw, he lashes out to keep me in place, the hold of my arm in his grasp nearly painful.

“Do not look at me so.” He chastises, a skeletal finger sweeps across my brow. “Nothing but happiness should ever mar this face.” He grasps my chin and I look upon him with disgust, refusing to show a modicum of respect. “And I shall be the one to make you happy. In time you will come to accept the reality.”

“What reality?”

He fails to respond but rather stands to take the goblet by the bedside. “Here,” he invites, once more at my side. “You must be thirsty. Drink.” He bids, holding the goblet out for me. At my refusal, he hedges forward with a smirk. “Come now, little one, you must be parched.” Yes my throat ached terribly, pleading to be quenched I succumb.

With bound wrists I am unable to take the goblet from him, so I accept when he holds it out for me to drink. The coolness of the water is balm to aridness of my mouth and for a small, fleeting moment I am grateful for it. But sanity quickly returns and with it my ire and ever growing concern for the child in my womb. My eyes stray to my abdomen and I am comforted in the small bump protruding from the sheets. I ache to feel it. My fingers itch to settle on the bump that has become so familiar these last four months. But alas, my arms are shackled by iron chains to the dark posters of the bed.