Black Blood

‘Melissa, change the sheets when you’re done. There’s blood on them again,’ my husband says to our overworked maid. The blue suit fits tightly around his trained body, and his brown hair waves along his ears as he walks out the door.

‘Excuse him.’

‘Thank you, your highness,’ she responds, taking a step back once she finishes tying up my dress. I stand up from the stool, straighten the black linen fabric, and glance at the soiled sheets. I wish the blood were caused by monthly affairs, but that’s never been the case for me. My wedding night was two years ago, and the sheets still turn red every day.

‘Thank you, Melissa,’ I say reluctantly as I make my way to the door.

‘Your highness.’ In my peripheral vision, I see the lady bow before she heads to the bed. She gives me a final look before she starts pulling the blankets off the bed.

I slowly make my way to the dining room.

The long corridors are adorned with dark and gloomy art. Paintings are supposed to be beautiful, but when I look at the dark paintings of battlefields, dead flowers, and skulls, I see nothing beautiful. The castle is shrouded in black and blue, the colors my father loves. There are few cabinets and decorations in the hallways; most have only chandeliers on the ceiling and a black stone floor. The few curtains for the lonely windows are dark blue. You could call it a cliché, a dark castle for a dark king.

When King Floridus von Dira died of riose, my father, his eldest son Nicholas, inherited the crown. He married my mother, Senera Sila, the daughter of the richest magical family.

My father was already known as the prince with crazy ideas. Some called him a narcissist, others a different thinker, and some a genius. He had extreme ideas when it came to the rights of magicians. He placed his own race above any other. It did not do his popularity among other peoples any good, but there was not enough reason to overthrow him. It was a fire that slowly simmered without strong flames.

I believe my mother was the one who kept my father’s flames in check. There were times when extra oxygen came to the fire. I have seen crockery flying against a wall regularly and often covered my ears not to hear the screams.

I knew my father as the busy king who occasionally made time to run through the halls with his children. That kind family man disappeared as soon as death came to take my mother. It was never clear what caused the very friendly and beloved woman’s death.

One thing was clear: the fire had all the room to spread. That family man had died and would never return.

My father’s hatred of other peoples is no longer expressed only in words. Every people has its own limitations; werewolves may hunt only in limited areas of their own land, vampires have a blood limit, and elves may not leave their land. They all pay the highest prices for their land, and there is no trade.

As soon as I walk into the dining room, I see the one I hoped to avoid for as long as possible. With his reading glasses on the tip of his nose and the newspaper open in his hands, the king sits at the extended wooden dining table. His black suit with various pins sits neatly on his body and his black-gray hair is slicked back.

The dining room looks tidy again too. The candlesticks with blue candles and the tablecloth full of red wine stains from last night’s dinner have been cleaned up. The table is empty, except for my father, his newspaper, and his black cup of coffee. The dining room is one of the few places with decoration. Paintings hang here and there, more colorful than in the hallways. Against the back wall is a table with candles and books. On the wall hang swords that form a cross together. In the past, the table was decorated for special occasions, but those times are long gone. We have little to celebrate, and visitors do not come knocking at the door.

‘Celeste.’ I close my eyes for a moment, waiting for his daily unwanted announcement or remark.

‘Father,’ I mutter. Shuffling, my heels tap towards the table. I stand still in front of the wooden chair and look at the portrait of my grandfather on the wall. In the corner of my eye, I see the king slam the newspaper against the wooden table and take off his glasses.

‘You have one simple task, and you can’t even do that.’ I reluctantly look at him at his unexpected accusation. Unfounded accusations often fly around my ears without me being aware of my mistake, but in this case, I know what he’s referring to.

‘I... Um.’ The man takes a sip of his coffee uninterestedly.

‘Why aren’t you pregnant yet? Do you have any idea how many questions this raises with people? It’s not because of Christiaan. You should be ashamed that it’s taking so long.’ I wish I knew how to change the situation. The dozens of visits to the nurse have not helped. I have struggled to get rid of the crazy types of tea, prayed to the gods, and changed my meals, but nothing works. It is my only task as a woman, and even that I cannot accomplish.

‘I will work on it, Father.’ The words leave my mouth mostly to get out of the conversation. The king puts his glasses back on his nose and sighs deeply. The newspaper is indifferently picked up from the table and ignored for my presence.

I look around the room and hesitate to leave, but before I have the chance to find an excuse or an escape, the first men come in for breakfast.

My brother, Elien, walks into the room holding his bodyguard’s hand. Minos is a nice man, even though his job is not always easy. Leading a blind teenager through the castle is not something many men consider their task.

When my parents got married, my father hoped for a son, like every king, but got a daughter instead.

He got me.

My mother barely survived the childbirth; some say she never fully recovered from it. It took five years, six miscarriages, and a bed full of tears before a son was born.

My brother, Elien.

Unfortunately, he was not what my father hoped for either. The boy is blind. My mother had done her job, but it cost her happiness and her body.

Elien walks towards me with a cheerful expression. His black hair sways along his face and his neat black clothes fit perfectly as always. The thirteen-year-old has no idea what is really going on in this building or the disruption my marriage is. He is a child, what can you blame him for. I was like that at his age too; carefree, happy and excited about the future.

‘Good morning,’ he greets me cheerfully. I force a smile through my lips, which I realize he can’t see.

‘Are we finally going for a walk this morning?’ I had forgotten my promise to the boy. The promise I keep postponing as Christaan demands my attention whenever he sees fit.

‘I will ask Christiaan if he has plans,’ I mutter guiltily. Elien nods only before he goes to his usual place at the table. He is used to this answer by now, but there is always a look of disappointment on his face. I want to go to my seat at the table, but am stopped by an arm that wraps around my waist, my husband’s muscular arm.

‘Good to see you again, darling,’ are the words he whispers softly in my ear. We both know that every word is a lie and that he only says it to make me feel uncomfortable.

We tell our children fairy tales about princesses locked up in towers and handsome princes on white horses who come to rescue them. Those cute and hopeful stories are my nightmare, my reality. My fairy tale doesn’t have that hopeful ending or the prince on the white horse who brings happiness. My so-called prince came two years ago, on a black horse, in a blue suit. He didn’t save me from the tower, he locked me in it. He didn’t give me a kiss that made the fireworks explode. He gave me a kiss that enveloped me in darkness.

Two parts of that fairy tale turned out to be true. I married the man on the black horse and with that, I embarked on a new life. A life full of condescension, abuse, and belittlement. I didn’t marry my prince, or rather, my general, out of love or free will.

I entered my father’s office one morning and came out with the knowledge that I would be married within a week. Christiaan was not an unknown name in this castle. The man of rich nobility was known to be invincible, a womanizer, and cruel. All these prejudices were true. What made him the hell he is has never become completely clear to me. A father with loose hands, a mother who died early, and a father who drank himself to death. That’s all I know.

Some fall in love with the man they are forced to marry, I do not. I hate the man to the core of my being. Some would kill for my position. The splendor, pomp, and privileges. It’s not as golden as it seems. Christiaan will inherit the crown and I, I am the breeding ewe that has to provide an heir.

Christiaan walks to the table and sits down without waiting for my reaction. I can finally take my seat just before the dawn members enter.

The men in the blue suits are my father’s overseers and the ones who ultimately determine whether a plan is executed, at least on paper. In practice, the men always nod “yes.” I am not loved by them since as a little girl, I liked to interfere with their affairs. That talkativeness has been beaten out of me over the years, literally.

The servants hurry over to the new guests and pour their regular drinks for each. Not much later, breakfast is served. From toast to eggs, everything is on the table. Like every morning, I take Christiaan’s plate and start serving his regular meal; two slices of toast, a fried egg, and three slices of bacon. I place the plate in front of him and start serving myself.

‘You haven’t forgotten our appointment, have you Chris?’ My father starts talking from across the table. Christian just shoved a bite of toast with egg into his mouth.

‘Of course not, Your Highness.’ Pieces of white bread fly off his plate, which is an unpleasant sight.