The Duke Loves Me

Apate had fallen in love.

For the first time in her life, she had laid eyes on such a beautiful human specimen and she felt that perhaps, she had a future as a poet if the man standing before her were to be her subject.

The Marquis barely noticed the sallow girl in pink in the corner as his gaze shifted from one person to another in the room. His gaze landed on his parents who he bowed to and, subsequently, was bowed to by the Dalbright family. The Marquis was in a hurry. Before the Dalbright could broach up other topics of conversation,

‘Pardon me, Lord Dalbright. Lady Dalbright. But I must leave this evening for my estate needs my attention. The northern lands of Dalhurst have gone through a storm and my people need my attention.’

Leaving would have been certainly rude but rank ruled higher than decorum and conversations had soured anyways. The Baron and Baroness gulped down any words of disapproval and bid the family of the Duke goodbye.

That night, Apate only slept when the first sliver of sunlight broke the pitch black sky at dawn for she had been kept awake by thoughts of what it would be like to be near the Marquis, to hold him in her arms, to be held in his arms. And for the first time in many years, she didn’t chastise herself for thinking so because such a reality didn’t seem to good to be true. Her father had called her into his salon the hour after the Marquis and his family had left and with gritted teeth, spit out what the Duke had ordered him to do.

The next Tuesday, Apate set off with a small purse and a heart full of hope toward the Duke’s estate at Dalhurst.

A small part of Apate had dared hope that perhaps, just perhaps, the Duke had wanted to choose her as a bride for his son, perhaps he was charmed by her ‘simplicity’ as the scullery maids liked to call it. Perhaps, the fates had finally decided to smile at her.

Alas, such flighty thoughts were soon grounded in reality when the Duke…gave her an assignment, an assignment that truly, firmly established that he barely viewed her as a woman, let alone a prospective bride for his son.

When Theodore finally brought Amelia home during Apate’s twenty-second year, her infatuation for Theo had grown into an obsession fed by longing and tormented by aloofness from Theodore. Sometimes Apate had felt that he saw right through her as if she didn’t exist.

In her 23rd year, she had begun to nurture sheer hatred towards Amelia, the hatred that had begun as a small seed of jealousy when she had first laid her eyes upon Amelia’s fair face. Amelia Carrington, the daughter of the Marquis of Caldrew, was known as the fairest rose of Beachton. Her heart-shaped face framed by long, luscious golden locks turned many heads, and broke many hearts. Many poets had written verses and epics inspired by Amelia’s ocean-blue eyes and heart-shaped red lips. A perfect little nose sat atop her face that gave her an air of innocence that had driven men wild during her coming-out ball. Theodore only believed in having the best for himself and Amelia was, without doubt, the most coveted maiden in Beachton despite being a young girl of nineteen.

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When Apate turned twenty-three, three days after Theodore and Amelia’s wedding, something in her switched. She ruined Amelia’s dress. Amelia’s maid was blamed and banished.

When Apate turned twenty-six, she had managed to turn all the nobles in the estate against Amelia.

When Apate turned twenty-seven, her hatred had only grown and Amelia had survived two murder attempts at that point. The burglars who had attempted so were caught but mysteriously died in prison.

When Apate turned twenty-eight, Maximilian, Commander general of the army of Beachton caught Apate pouring cyanide into the pail of water for Amelia. Her quarters were soon torn down and searched. Pages upon pages of insidious planning were discovered and when Theodore, now, Duke of Beachton, stormed into her prison quarter, arm in arm with Amelia, Apate snapped and lunged at Amelia. But Maximilian’s sword had been quicker than her.

Apate screamed in pain as Maximilian’s sword pierced her body. He swiftly pulled the sword out, as if to exert maximum pain on Apate’s dying body and Apate began panting at the sight of the glistening maroon blood coating the sword along its length.

‘Theo…Theo, how could you? Theo…I loved…I loved you.’, Apate managed to throw out these words but this did nothing to displace the sheer contempt in Theodore’s eyes but his grip on Amelia became even tighter. Apate’s gaze shifted to Amelia’s face and her heart refilled with the green poison of envy for even in such a time, Amelia’s fair face, frame with golden lock, scrunched up in anguish looked as if God himself had adorned her eyes with pearl-like tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Amelia buried her face into the duke’s arms, and both Maximilian and Apate looked away as if the sight was perhaps too intimate, too painful for them, and Apate closed her eyes shut to welcome death.

In This Life, I Will Not Love You Anymore

A searing pain spread through Apate’s body as she twisted and squirmed as if her limbs were bound with ropes her body weight down by weights. Apate heard a booming voice that reverberated through her whole body.

‘You will be paid for your moment of kindness. I have taken mercy on you and my mercy is my promise.’

And she opened her eyes again. Apate sat up straight on her bed, panting. Was this all some kind of a nightmare? Why did her head and heart feel so heavy, then? Memories kept racing through her head. She shot up from her bed and ran towards the small sack of her belongings. She pulled out her mother’s silver mirror and held it up in the moonlight.

Her face was still as pale and gaunt as ever but the wrinkles deepened and forged by time had disappeared. Her skin was taut, like that of a young maiden. Her eyes shifted to the large pink satin dress carefully folded and placed on the stool beside her bed. It looked the same way that it had seven years ago, its satin material catching a small sliver of moonlight filtering through the window beside Apate’s bed. Such a sight and the feel of the satin under her skin had burned a hole into Apate’s memory forever, for she had woken up that fated night countless times to run her hands over the dress.

Apate came to a shocking realization. She was alive. She was alive and had gone back in the past. She had gone back seven years in the past.