The Kingdom of Secrets and Ruin

Dalliah

There is no doubt in my mind that my father has been turning in his grave these past few days, however shallow it might be.

Not only is his unwanted daughter the last of his name, but she is serving the man who stole his throne and took his life. And unfortunately I seem to only add to the expected disappointment by somehow I find myself hating the king more each day, which given the fact that his worst offence was done a month ago, this definitely shouldn’t be the case.

But I can’t help it.

I scrub his floor, change his linens, bow and scrape to any member of his court that finds themselves passing me by,

(all of which I could have lived with as long as I didn’t have to see him) yet seeing him is all I ever seem to do these days.

If I am dusting a room, that’s where he must write his letters. Clearing a table? Time for a tea break apparently.

It’s relentless and it’s getting to the point where that face of his is etched in my mind from the moment I fall asleep to the second I wake again. His voice is ringing in my ears from dusk til dawn and my frustration only seems to build with time as I hold back an exasperated scream.

Ingaret is terrified for me, especially as my supply of makeup continues to run it’s course towards completion, while Marjorie tries to hide the resentment of my being favouried over her due filling in on the one day she fell ill.

It’s no secret between us that this is a role that I’d love to trade with her, but the fact that I’m now on the books being paid more than her due to my position, is enough for anyone to have a bad taste in their mouth.

I mean I only started working five weeks ago while she’s being doing this all her life.

Maybe buying something for her with my new found financial freedom will help calm the waters some more, and it’s not as though she’s being hostile or anything. It just makes our complicated relationship even less predicable, something I dislike when sharing a room with a person as well as a life threatening secret.

The days I spend working upstairs now leave little time for me to sneak out into the garden and feel the breeze upon my face. It’s as if these thick stone walls are closing in on me sometimes and dreaming of running away after saving up enough coin is all that gets me through.

Because that’s an option now.

Being paid weekly, for the first time in my life means that I have opinions. I have experience, albeit limited experience and I have money to my name. This puts me in a better position than I was in over a month ago and for the first time I’ve allowed myself to hope.

Yes my life right now is less than ideal. I’d rather chew glass than hear that royal monster call me his ‘Doll’ one more time but maybe there’s a reason for my bad luck. Maybe fate felt sorry for me and is offering me a way out, I just have to earn it… the hard way.

“You know Doll, I’ve been trying to put that scent out of my mind for days now but I never seem to manage it.... Put me out of my mystery and let me know what it is?” Ruairi, (as I can no longer find it in myself to label him as king) breaks his silence for the third time this hour, but with this line of questioning I can’t help but jump slightly as I pull my outstretched duster back in towards my chest.

Does he think that I can afford something as whimsical as a scent? Even as my days as hidden princess, I was never gifted something like that and I clench my jaw as I realise what he must mean. The leaves from my attempt on his life remain crumpled at the bottom of my front pocket as I have yet found the time to remove them safely.

The evidence of my guilt, or at least guilty thoughts, weigh more than a lead iron and I feel myself opening and closing my mouth while wondering what on earth I could say to draw attention away from his potentially naming the smell.

How could he have noticed? It can’t be that strong if the other servants haven’t brought it up.

“Mysery is the last thing that I wish to impart on you, my lord.” A lie if ever there was one, “But I don’t know what you mean.”

Keeping my eyes glued to the floor has been my strategy this morning for keeping that face from my mind and I can only hope that he fails to comment on it, like he has had no issue with doing previously. Impertinence might as well be this man’s middle name, but it doesn’t matter as I am just a servant. A servant who would give just about anything to never see him again.

“Don’t play coy with me Doll, it’s all I’ve smelt for days and you’re the only one but me that’s been here the whole time.” Ruairi’s left index finger trails along the rim of his ivory tea cup as he tilts his head to the side causally as if we’re friends.

But we’re not and I inwardly sigh with knowing that there’s no way that I can push him off again. Not without crossing the line I have been careful to walk when in his presence, you know, the line between disinterest and disgust.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t know what you mean… I am a stranger to luxuries like scent.” Clearly, or else I’d have realised my mistake sooner and avoided this conversation all together.

My blunder frustrates me and if I have to call him ‘my lord’ one more time, I worry that I might follow in Meghan’s footsteps and vomit into the nearest chamber pot. A more realistic name for him would be ‘My royal pain’ but even that is stretching things when allowing him the title of royalty.

“A stranger to scent?” His eyebrows rise, “There are many times on my travels where I wish I could claim that, but for a woman like you, well, I struggle to believe it” He smirks as he takes a sip of his tea, as if recalling these travels in question and I shiver to imagine some of the things he will have seen along the way.

I mean, he’s the Red King for a reason.

“A woman like myself?” I repeat though, unable to stop the words from leaving my mouth, while simultaneously realising that all I am doing here is encouraging him on, which is the last thing that I want.

But he knows this and continues anyway.

“You know what I mean… A woman of beauty, of wit… it’s not every day you find that in a woman of your class.” He smiles over at me as if expecting me to swoon from his words but instead my breathing hitches as the unintentded blow hits me like a knife in the chest

“My class.” I comment aloud, he knows nothing of my class and would kill to know my birth.

“Have I offended you?” The concern on his face is genuine but I ignore the question, risking that fine line again for the sake of my pride, what little of it I have left as I finish dusting his bookshelf off.

Or my father’s bookshelf, I can never be sure anymore.

“Dalliah, please...” Ruairi’s brows are furrowed by the time I turn to him, and all hints of amusement are gone from the use of my real name. Something I almost expected him to have forgotten at this point.

“You could never offend me, my lord.” The smile on my face as I say this is not for him, but for the future I force to the front of my mind. The future he will unknowingly have given one of his greatest enemies after I escape him and this haunted castle of hell.