“One more shot!” a drunk youth yelled, aiming a slingshot at a naked dwarf. The dwarf stood on a table, covering his cock with his stubby hands, a wide grin on his face. A woman wearing a brown cotton tunic crawled up behind him and balanced an apple on his head.
Everyone in the alehouse cheered them on, raising their cups high, spilling their foamy ale in a rain of debauchery.
Andromeda loved it and cheered the drunk dwarf on merrily. The youth fired the slingshot. The projectile hit the dwarf square in the face. He grimaced, gasping in pain. The apple fell from his head and bounced off the table, falling into the crowd of drunk patrons below, and his hands left his cock as he nursed his red face.
Everyone exploded into laughter, and then the dwarf lost his balance and tumbled off the table. Andromeda clutched her sides, knocking her cup of ale over. “Oh, shit,” she wheezed between her bouts of laughter. She got off the lap of a handsome Pyrridonian man and went to fetch herself another drink.
“Surely that is not the true colour of your hair,” someone said behind her. It was a man, a young broad man, average height, with a small bush of curly blonde hair and a strong jaw, clean shaven. “Is it a western style? I’ve never seen such a thing before.”
Andromeda smirked. She knew what he was referring to. Her hair was chestnut-brown, it flowed past her shoulders in waves, but at the front flowed two brilliant silver streaks of pale white hair down each side of her face. A unique, and oddly beautiful, condition. It brought out the silver in her grey eyes, her mother always said. When she lived.
“Believe it or not,” she said, turning to face him, smiling. “The gods gave me the pale streaks in my hair. I’ve always been fond of it. Touched by Daena.”
“Is that what they call it?” He let a wisp of her hair drop through his fingers. “The Trondic barbarians to the north say pale marks are the sign of a demon-born.”
Andromeda raised a brow. “Is that how you compliment every girl?”
“Just the pretty ones.” He chuckled. “I’m Florian.”
She smirked. “Well, Florian, are you just going to stand there or fetch me another drink?”
“Rich girls like you ought to drink better than ale,” he inspected her closely, but she had also inspected him. He looks Orisian. And not an Orisian that lived a hard life. His knee-length tunic was a clean white lined with blue and cloth of gold, the same colour as his cape.
“How do you know I’m rich?” she asked. The man was right, of course, but it annoyed her. She tried to dress more modestly to blend in around the lower city. She preferred it here, among the plebeians.
“The way you carry yourself, the way you walk. I have an eye for these things.” The corner of his lip tugged into a half smile, and he leaned in closer. “I spent a lot of time around rich girls. And boys. Rich people. You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Meda.” She frequently gave out that name to strangers. Especially in the lower city. And especially to Orisian strangers. “I’m still waiting for my drink.”
Florian looked around. “There’s a winehouse not far from this shit heap we should go to. Less plebeians, more wine. Fine golden vintages from Anaecia or Durnese reds. My treat.”
“I’m fine here, with the plebs and ale,” Andromeda said. “I like them. They’re far more festive than patricians, don’t you think?”
Florian laughed. “You have not seen true patrician festivities then.”
“But you have.”
He curled a brow. “How would you know?”
“You’re an Orisian man in Pyrridon. You wear cloth of gold, and you curl your nose at everyone who walks past you, except me, it seems. You’re a noble. Who are you, Florian? Why are you here?” Andromeda said, now distancing herself a little from the man. Despite the ale dulling her senses in a cloud of dizziness, and her odd misstep, she still had enough wit to be cautious.
“You speak as though I mean to hide myself or maintain a secretive aura. I’m of a noble Orisian family, yes, and wear it proudly. I am from the house of Aventii. My full name is Florian Aventus. As for my purpose here, well, I came to Pyrridon to study philosophy. And after a hard day's work of pretending to listen to my old rotten tutor, I roam the streets, high and low, enjoying ale, wine, and women. And here in this fine establishment, I heard they had good dice games in the back room, which I was eager to try. Nothing so mysterious, I’m afraid.” He held his hands up in a mocking display of shame. He pulled one of the wenches over and commanded her to bring him two cups of ale, shoving a few coppers in her palm. “What about you? What brings a rich Orisian girl to Pyrridon, drinking with a bunch of plebs?”
My, he is a perceptive one, she thought, then wondered if he already knew who she was and was jesting with her. It must be my accent. For she too was of Orisian noble birth. But far more noble than the Aventii dynasty. “Did you win at the dice tables?” She wanted to bring the subject off her, for she had no energy to come up with a lie on the spot.
“I lost a signet ring of solid gold that had been a family heirloom since the near founding of Orisium itself.” He shrugged, casually taking a cup of ale from the serving wench for himself, then one for Andromeda, passing it to her.
“I’m sure your family will be sad to hear it. Though the man who won it from you will be very happy.” She gulped the thick ale down, wiping the foam from her lips.
“Fuck my family, fuck the ring,” Florian spat. “And fuck the man who won it. He didn’t win shit. That room was full of people who’ve never seen a piece of gold in their lives. He’ll have an open throat before the sun rises on the morrow, mark my words.”
“You could have given it to me.” Andromeda smiled. “I like gold rings.”
“Mayhaps I can win it back for you…” He grabbed her hand. “Shall we go and play?”
“You would do that for me?” But just as she was about to accept that offer, two men draped in black cloaks and chain mail walked through the door of the alehouse. Behind them came Hector, the captain of Tyrant Demetrius’s palace guard. His hood covered most of his older, hard face. But his grizzly thick grey beard was on full display. She looked at them glum, knowing her night was over.
“Is everything okay?” Florian asked, looking over her shoulder.
“Not really,” Andromeda sighed, quickly downing the rest of her ale and tossing the cup on the floor. “I’m afraid my fun and games are over. Goodbye, Florian.” She gave the man a long wet kiss, which he accepted without question.
She walked toward the guards, sparing Hector the trouble of having to drag her out kicking and screaming.
“Will I see you again?” Florian called from behind.
She turned her head, still walking away. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows!”
Hector had already spotted her walking towards him and waited by the door. His face as grim and gormless as ever. His massive hand rested on the pommel of his short sword. She pushed past a few drunk plebs to get to him.
“Hector, you’re earlier than usual,” Andromeda said, grabbing his sleeve for balance. Her last few drinks were going to her head now.
The big man huffed. "Your father asked for your immediate return to the palace. You must rise early on the morrow.”
“Ugh.” She waved a hand at him and then pushed past the three men. “Don’t remind me.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Accept my apologies, my lady,” he said as he followed her out of the alehouse into the cool night, the streets lit by small torches dotted around the humble stone houses, and the air filled with songs chirped by crickets. “But those are my—”
“My lady?” Andromeda snapped, grinning, pointing her finger into his chest. “You wound me, Hector. Usually you call me princess. Have I displeased you?”
“Hush now, my lady. We know not who prowls these streets.” Hector looked around, his hard eyes peering through his hood from side to side, inspecting the narrow, winding streets of the lower city. Behind them, two plebs stumbled out of the alehouse, and one of them vomited a green-brown lumpy stream right next to the door. Hector grimaced and spat. “Why must you frequent such establishments? Surely they are beneath you.”
She frowned. “Everyone keeps asking me that. Am I not a lady? I can go where I wish.”
“Not now you can’t. Come now, your father wants to see you.” Hector led her to his horse. “I had suspected you’d be too drunk to sit a horse, so I didn’t bother bringing one this time. You will ride with me.”
Andromeda chortled. “Oh, you know me too well, my sweet Hector. We can be like a prince and princess riding off to our honeymoon!”
He rolled his eyes while helping her mount his destrier. It was a calm, quiet thing, and barely made a noise as she hopped on. Hector hopped on behind her, his arms coming past her waist to grab the reins. His guardsmen mounted up beside him, and they set off through the cobbled streets of Pyrridon, the horse clopping along. “No more talk of princesses in the lower city.”
She laughed, but remained silent. As fun as it was to annoy him, the poor fellow didn’t deserve it. Andromeda was very fond of Hector, and always felt safe around him. He had been a watchful eye over her and her father for as long as they lived in Pyrridon, some two years now. He would sometimes bring her flowers from the palace gardens when they bloomed, and on her name days brought her the best honey cakes from the market. A gentle giant, he was. But Andromeda knew he was dangerous. She’d heard what those hands could do with a sword, or what they have done without one. And yet she found it hard to believe, for she had never seen him be violent for as long as she knew him.
They rode all the way up to the citadel in the night, marked by the great temple to Pyron, with its gargantuan decorative columns lining the whole rectangular structure, atop which a great marble roof sat, which was only visible for the torch light dotting it. It looked more like a shadow than a monument to a god, but she had seen it so many times that her mind could fill in the blanks. The Tyrant of Pyrridon’s palace stood opposite the temple at the citadel, overlooking the whole city.
The palace was quiet when they strode past the enormous marble columns that lined the front of the building. Their lonely footsteps echoing off the marble floors, and solemn white statues of nude, muscular men watched them as they walked by. Hector escorted her to the guest’s apartments within the palace safely, where her father would be waiting for her. A shame you will not enter with me. Of all the places in this city where she could use Hector’s help, it was within that room, not outside on the streets or among the plebs. The true danger was in there, her father, doubtless in one of his black moods.
She had grown used to it, to a degree, but her heart could never stop itself from racing at the thought of entering the room where she knew he would unleash his rage on her. “T-Thank you, Hector,” she said as she grabbed the golden doorknob to the apartments.
Hector bowed. “My princess.” He turned heel with all the grace of an old soldier and walked away.
Andromeda sucked in a deep breath and pushed the doorknob with a sweaty hand. The lavish apartment hummed with the sound of a light breeze coming in through the open window, causing the saffron yellow curtains to dance in the wind. A fire burned in the brazier to the far side of the room, the logs crackling as they spat embers out.
On a chair in the middle of the room sat her father, Erastus. Hunched over, breathing deeply as he stared at the floor with a bottle of wine in his hand. The door clicked as it shut behind her. He looked up, as though it jolted him out of a deep slumber, glaring at her through his sunken eyes, under which deep purple bags hung. “I told you to be back before nightfall,” Erastus mumbled, burping after getting the words out. He gulped from the bottle, the red liquid running past his thin lips, dripping onto his red tunic.
“I didn’t see the sun go down,” she said, walking into the room, trying to skirt around him and rush off into her bedchamber.
“Don’t you get clever with me, you little cunt.” He stood, pushing against the chair to support him. His unkempt brown hair matted with the grime of the day, coming down in fingers over his eyes, and the stench of wine oozed off him. He was a slim man of average height, not much taller than Andromeda. Hector could have snapped him in two, she thought, had he not been of royal blood. “When I tell you to return before nightfall, you return before nightfall.” He was in her face now, his humid wine breath like a fog enveloping her.
She rolled her eyes. The initial, raw fear had passed, because now she was in the eye of the storm. And he was drunk. The man wasn’t as intimidating when he was drunk. Or perhaps the ale made her bolder, as it normally did when she argued with her father. But she knew he couldn’t harm her tonight, not so badly. He needed her. “I’ll return whenever I damn well please.” She tried to shove past him, but he grabbed her wrist.
Here we go.
“You do not speak to your king like that.” His spittle flew into her face. “And you do not defy me on the eve of such an important occasion. You must be presentable tomorrow. Do you understand?”
“Let go of me,” she cried, trying to yank her wrist free from his tight grasp.
“DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?” her father roared, a vein throbbing on his temple.
“You’re no king,” Andromeda spat. You can’t hurt me tonight. “You’re a pathetic drunk—”
Erastus slapped her harder than she expected. It knocked her to the ground and left her with a throbbing cheek and spinning head, though the ale numbed some of the pain. “I AM THE KING OF ORISIUM! You will learn to respect that, you little whore.”
“I have respect, just none for you.”
Her father grabbed her by the throat and dragged her up off the floor, shoving her against the wall. “After all I do for you, for us. I’m trying to win Orisium back for us, my daughter. Our home, our throne, our kingdom. And you defy me at every turn.”
She struck him with a closed fist, catching him on the jaw. His grip went limp as he reeled back, and she gasped for air. “I don’t give a shit about Orisium.”
“Wow…” He gawked, bringing a finger to his lips, testing for blood. “If you weren’t being presented for the Anaecid Shah’s inspection tomorrow, I’d have knocked your teeth out for that.”
“Do it. You won’t be able to sell me off for some distant monarch’s harem then. I might live a happier life.” She didn’t know why she fought him like this. Maybe just drunk, or maybe it brought out her true feelings, her true anger. Her father didn’t care about taking them home. Where is home? Home was always being carted off to the next nobleman’s palace or manse to sell off like some prize sheep.
She had heard so much of this city, Orisium, from the tales her father told. Apparently, it was her home. Yet she had never seen it, nor breathed its air, nor stepped on its soil. It was a figment in her imagination, a fairytale, a utopia where they would be rich and powerful and plebs and noblemen alike would kiss their arses. He only cares for power, and to be something other than a drunken lech.
“Happier life?” He gulped more wine from the bottle, letting the last drops spill into his mouth before dropping the bottle to the ground, where it shattered. “You think drinking with filthy peasants and fucking some poor milkmaid’s husband is happiness? Naïve little slut!” He tightened his grip on her throat again, but she resisted now, and they both fell to the ground, him trying to strangle her, she clawing at his face.
But the more Andromeda clawed, marking his face with red streaks, the tighter he clasped her throat. Her head felt lighter, dizzy, and each breath got caught in her throat, tightening her chest. “F-Father”—she coughed—“I can’t breathe.”
His eyes widened, and he released her, panting heavily. She massaged her neck as she lay on the ground, sucking in as much air as possible. It was a wonder she didn’t vomit.
“A mob of filthy plebeians and traitors slew my brother,” Erastus sighed, slumping himself back onto a stool. “And one of those filthy plebeians stole his throne, my throne, destroyed the very meaning of the crown and chased us from our home. I will get it back. And if that means you have to fuck some foreign king in exchange for his army, then you will do that.”
She pushed herself up, but didn’t answer. Her throat was still red and raw.
Her father glared at her. “You think I haven’t made sacrifices for this? You think I won’t be at the head of a legion, ready to die when the time comes? You know nothing.”
Hot tears blurred her vision. “I know that I hate you.”
“Dim-witted whore,” he spat. “Get out of my sight. We must rise early on the morrow.”
Andromeda ran to her bedroom and burst into tears when she knew father wouldn’t hear her. I won’t let him see me like this. She hated her father, she hated Orisium, and she hated everyone. He had been trying to find her a husband for years now, but there were always complications. ‘Politically unsuitable,’ she had heard once, not that she had an inkling what that meant. She hoped it would be that way tomorrow, but had a grim feeling that when the sun next came up, her life would never be the same.