Envenheim 181

Paris avoided me around the castle for the next three days. Even when I went directly to him, he would leave the room with some excuse. I wondered if he was offended by me rejecting his affections. The only time we would see one another was at dinner while he made negotiations with the foreign king.

I still didn’t know how to feel about Paris; he wasn’t the sort of man I ever had in mind for a husband--but I needed him to love me if I ever wished to free the moth slaves. Paris had all the power, and the only way I could ever achieve my dream was through him. If I had been thinking, I would have let him make love to me. It would have only furthered my goal, but…

Gods, it was like selling my body for power. I wanted to respect myself more than that—I wanted to give my body to someone I really loved.

Like Caerwyn.

It was strange to have only known a man for a short time and to know he was the only one I wanted. That almost-kiss he gave me counted for all of the ones Paris had given me and was twice as invigorating.

Maybe I just needed to know Paris better; maybe I could convince myself to adore him as much as I did Caerwyn. But It was hard to do when he was avoiding me. It was also hard to do when I knew nothing about him except that he and his father didn’t like one another and that he seemed to always have a rather dour disposition.

While the foreign king was at the castle, I tried to settle into a natural rhythm of daily activities befitting a queen.

Ever since I had gotten better and stopped sleeping in until sundown each day, I found myself things to do around the castle. Some of the things, Terry told me, were unbefitting of a queen to do.

“You don’t have to clean, Mimi… There are slaves for that.” Terry told me.

“I’m bored! All I do is read and sew and crotchet and gossip with the human nobles!” I replied tersely.

There was a group of human women I liked to accompany in the garden. They were oftentimes jealous of my four arms because they allowed me to multitask. I would read and at the same time I would crotchet with my free arms.

“My Lady! I am so jealous! You are able to knit and grow your mind at the same time by reading! What are you making?” A blond noble lady by the name of Elizabeth asked me.

“Oh... I’m just making something for the king.” I explained. “It’s a knitted blanket.”

Elizabeth was a kind, human lady. She was chubby, but pretty, and the other ladies liked to talk about her weight behind her back. It seemed like she was just as rejected by them as I was.

“Oh! How cute! I think it’s very sweet that you love the king so much despite the two of you being so different!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You know, I’ve heard that the foreign king here—Tomoya, is his name, I think?—I heard rumors from one of the slaves that he and his wife are having issues already! Supposedly they have no great love for one another and she won’t let Tomoya consummate the marriage! Quite scandalous, don’t you think?”

I looked down. I understood how the foreign queen felt.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

As I got older, I began to realize that women, both human and moth, were just tokens to be traded and fought over. I loved cooking dinner for Paris, keeping his castle clean, mending his clothes, and, if I loved him as much as I loved Caerwyn, I would love making love to him and being his wife—but I was given to him against my will, and not out of love for him. I seemed to have been sold to him as a cruel joke that his father found funny.

When I was younger, I thought being a wife and mother was the loveliest profession one could ever have. To devote yourself to another entirely—to raise his children and take care of a family, was my greatest desire. But, it was something I thought would happen of my own affections with someone I loved. How foolish I had been to ignore the way the world worked. Even if I had married a mothman like I thought I would when I was younger, he would not be one picked of my own desires. I would ever be a man’s token, and never his wife.

I sighed while knitting. Even if my own desires would never come to fruition, I could at least try to free my people.

I wanted my plans to move forward faster.

Later in the day, as I cooked dinner with Terry, my sister, and the moth slaves, I began thinking of ways to make relations between me and the moth slaves improve. They hated me so much they tried to kill me—and it made sense. Moths were very much tied to their honor (but in different ways than humans were), and, from what I remembered of our religion, it stated it was okay to kill yourself to get out of a shameful situation.

I thought of Elizabeth’s gossip earlier.

I grinned while cooking. Maybe I could spread some gossip of my own.

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Later in the day, as I was serving the foreign king and Paris dinner with the help of Gerta--my feet had been very tired for the past few days and I wished to have help this time around--there was much wine drunk by everyone at the table. Since negotiations were practically finished, they did not have to keep their minds clear any longer during dinner.

Paris drank many glasses of wine and was in a foul mood as he had been for the past three days. He was deathly quiet as the nobles around him asked for glass after glass of wine and made idle conversation.

Many of the nobles were looking at my half-sister.

“Do you think she’s as much a lady as the queen?” One whispered.

“Her fur looks as smooth as chocolate, and look how shapely she is… I’d like to take her back to our kingdom.” Another whispered.

Gerta looked extremely uncomfortable, but kept serving them wine and food dutifully. I worried about her and watched her closely.

While Gerta leaned over to pour more wine for a noble, he grabbed her by the hips and dragged her down to his lap. "What a beauty! I see what you see in them, King Paris!"

Gerta tried to struggle free from his grasp as heforced his lips upon her repeatedly and tried to unbutton her dress. She screamed and wept and it seemed I was the only one who noticed what was happening. Paris was miserably gazing into his wine and the other nobles were being loud and obnoxious.

She was only a slave to them, after all.

I flew to my sister’s side and smacked the man as hard as I could across the face. I then pulled my sister hastily out of his grasp. “Get your filthy hands off my sister!”

The man stood up and loomed over us while Gerta held me close for comfort. “What gives a moth whore the right to touch a noble?”

I trembled under his shadow as he returned my slap. He hit me so hard it burned, but I did not back away. I stared him down with tears gracing my eyes.

Paris--who had finally noticed what was happening along with Tomoya and all the other nobles at the table--rushed to my side and took me protectively into his arms. “Did you just hit my wife?”

The noble—drunk out of his mind—looked at Paris and answered, “she is a moth! You can treat them as you like.”

Paris trembled with rage and lifted one of his hands to strike, but thought better of it and put it back down. He turned to Tomoya. “My wife will not be treated like this. Are you going to punish your man or shall I call off the alliance?”

Tomoya spluttered, “of course he will be punished. Shall I have his hand cut off, My Lady?”

Gerta whispered in my ear, “I want him dead! I want him dead!”

I patted her back. I didn’t want to ruin Paris’ alliance over this and I wanted to keep relations between the moths and the humans good. “Cut his hand off, please.”

Tomoya nodded. “Tomorrow, it will be done.”

I told Gerta to get some rest and I waited on the nobles by myself for the rest of the night.