Part of me has always known it would come to this. I have put off the subject for so long, pushing it aside whenever it had come up, and even left the room when the conversation felt like it would steer in that inevitable direction.

I don't know why I avoid it this much. Maybe a part of me hopes that by not addressing the problem, it will simply go away. Maybe I hope that I can stay this way forever, frozen in my childhood, living as close to a 'simple life' as any person of my stature can.

However, I face the problem head on now. And this time, I can't avoid it.

My name is Evelynne Irene and I am going to be married to someone I don't know by the end of the year.

I stand facing my father, every bone in my body wishing that I were somewhere else. My hands clench at the blue fabric of my dress to mask their trembling. 

He is sitting in front of me, his throne elevated so that my eyes are level with his knees. I choose to stare up at him, not daring to look away, our gazes locked. 

"I don't think an arranged marriage is a good idea," I say, keeping my voice as controlled as I possibly can.

"You do not have a say in the matter," he snaps back, voice spitting out the words. 

"I think I do," I say in response. Immediately, I know the words are a mistake. My father is the king, the most important person in the entire kingdom. People who speak against him don't live for long and he never accepts any form of resistance, even from his own family. 

Unfortunately, I was born with a quick temper, which gets me in trouble more often than not.

The king stares back at me, his ice blue eyes cold and resentful. His dark hair is peppered with gray, cropped short to his skull. A gold crown sits on his head, red rubies glinting and angry. There had been many days the King was seen without his wedding ring. But not once, never one single time had anyone remembered seeing him without his crown.

I so desperately want to rip it from his head and throw it to the ground. But I control myself, staring into his eyes and keeping my hands clenched at my side.

"I've told you that I don't want to be married to someone whom I have never met," I say, once the silence stretches out longer than comfortable. I struggle to keep my tone polite and controlled.

"No one of our stature has that luxury, Evelynne," he says back, tapping lightly against the armrest of his throne, fingers tracing over the wooden dragon heads carved into the arms. They stare out at me, emerald eyes sparkling as if they are anticipating what I will taste like. 

"Besides," he continues. "You will grow to love whomever I select for you. Even if you do not, it is your duty."

This makes a cold fire flicker in my chest, stirring up memories. "Father, love and duty have absolutely nothing to do with each other. But you wouldn't understand that, would you?"

By the time I realize what I have said, it's too late. I have no time to move, no time to react.

The goblet collides with the side of my face, my head snapping to the side. Tears prickle behind my closed eyelids, pain pulsing from my cheek. When I pull my hand away, my fingers have a thin coat of red blood.

The king, my father, had just thrown a goblet at me.

I find myself thinking the words that I had often repeated as a child, the words that got me through each and every day of my life. They have always been a comfort, but now they feel empty and hollow. 

'I will not cry. I will not cry. Show him no weakness.'

The king is still seated, his face expressionless. One hand smooths over his beard.

 "You will go to your room and not leave until I have called for you."He waves his hand at the door, shifting in his chair slightly, as if facing me at this moment is so far beneath him that he wouldn't even bother to try.

The cold fire that had burned in my chest is now gone, replaced with a deep darkness that I can't control. I turn away from him and walk away, movements stiff.

Only when the doors shut behind me do I let the tears trickle down my face, the salt burning at the new cut on the side of my jaw.

'What am I going to do?'

I trudge down the hall, ignoring the fact that two guards are following close at my heels. He can send as many guards as he wants to watch me for all I care.

"You don't have to follow me, you know," I say to them. I see their expressions darken at the tone of my voice and guilt prickles in the back of my mind. It isn't their fault that they have to watch me. It's mine.

The two guards were simply following orders, forced by the king to do his every bidding. I know that if I ordered them to leave, they might. But I also know that the king will be infuriated that they left their post. I decide not to put them in that position, continuing to walk.

I take the longest possible route to my chambers, passing through the courtyard on my way around the castle. The guards that follow don't dare to question me, simply there to make sure I don't do any of my 'usual stupid stunts' as the king likes to call them.

This castle has been my home for all my life, and I have hardly been outside its walls. My entire childhood had been spent exploring these grounds, climbing these walls, finding each nook and crevice in the darkest halls that no one goes to. 

But the courtyard has always been one of my favorite places, trees and flowers lining the stone paths. 

I pass by the tree that I fell out of when I was five. I rub my arm at the spot where the bone broke. That was the last day I was allowed outside on my own. Across the courtyard is a little fountain that I used to throw coins in, making wishes that I could be anyone but myself. I had dreamed I was a seamstress or a horse tamer, a poet or a minstrel. 

More memories of my childhood assault me, but I don't pause to think about them.

Reentering the castle, I take a corridor to the left and climb a set of narrow stairs. I have to dodge a servant carrying a pile of laundry, but I make it to the top, pausing at the entrance of the next corridor.

This wing is the smallest of the castle, with only two rooms and one washroom. It's close to the servants wing and also the farthest away from my fathers room. I chose it specifically for this reason, knowing that my father would rarely come this way.

I remember the day I told him I wanted the wing, remember the way his brow furrowed and his tone sharpened.

"Why would you want to get rooms smaller than the ones you have now?" he asked.

I had told him it was because the old rooms reminded me of Mother. It wasn't a complete lie.

Coming upon the rooms now gave me huge relief. This is my favorite part of the castle, small and simple, not touched by the bad memories of what used to be.

I push open the door at the end of the hall, stepping into my room with a sigh. Someone else is already in here, standing by the wardrobe in the corner. They turn around and I smile when I see it's just Rosella.

Rosella has been my servant since before my mother died. I can't remember a time without her, and honestly I don't want to. Even when my life had been at its darkest, Rose had always been there, lending a helping hand and an encouraging smile.

She is more than my servant, is a friend that I know I can trust for as long as I live.

Her pale skin is dotted with freckles and her red hair is pulled back from her hazel eyes, which light up when she sees me. It only takes a moment for her glowing smile to fade away when she looks more closely at my face.

"Evelynne!" she gasps, setting down the skirt she is carefully folding and taking a step forwards. "What happened?"

She asks the question, but I can guarantee that she already knows the answer. It's nice that she asks anyways, but I honestly don't feel like explaining, so I sit down on the bed and lean my head against the headboard.

Rose wastes no time, running from the room and letting the door shut behind her. I just close my eyes, letting my mind wander. I don't open them when I hear the door unlatch again, not even when a cold cloth is pressed to my cheek. My face stings and burns, but I make no noise.

This is how our encounters always work. I go about my day, have a meeting with the king, and come back to my room with various bruises and cuts. 

Rose is always waiting, ready for the fallout.

I don't know what I would do without her.

"He told me I would have to marry," I say finally, letting my eyes flutter open. She can't hide her obvious concern. 

"You knew this already," she says with a little frown. "You told me only last week that it was a matter of time before the subject was brought up."

I nod with a wince. I also distinctly remember telling her that I would rather jump off of a tower than marry, but I keep this thought to myself.

"I just... the king said I would have to marry by the end of the year," I say. My voice cracks and I dig my nails into my palm.

'Show no weakness.'

For some reason, this rule is always harder with Rose. Usually, it's no trouble for me to keep my emotions in check, but when talking to her everything seems to come bubbling to the surface. 

"Why do you constantly defy him like this?" she asks. 

I hope the question is rhetorical, and I don't answer. She finishes wiping the blood off of my face and takes a step back. Her brow crinkles with concern and I feel a flash of guilt.

Everything I do results in someone else's pain, whether it be her or my father's. 

Wordlessly, Rose begins removing my corset, her fingers pulling at the ties in the back. She helps me remove the restricting object and moves the dress to the side, passing me a nightgown.

I begin to dress myself, eyes turned towards the floor. I know I should say something, but I am not sure what.

I stumble over my words. "I'm sorry. I just... He makes me so angry!" I say finally. I may not be eloquent, but I know that I have gotten my point across to Rose. Hoping she will drop the subject, I turn myself away from her.

"Ev, I know he upsets you. I know how hard it is, but you can't keep doing this. One day, he's really going to hurt you," Rose says, picking back up the discarded skirt and placing it in the wardrobe. "I hate seeing you this way."

My head snaps up and my eyes meet hers. More anger bubbles in my core. "Be careful what you say, Rose. You're still simply a servant."

I have known Rose a long time and I can tell when what I say hurts her. Seeing the pain flash across her eyes now makes my stomach turn.

"Sorry," I mutter, closing my eyes again so I don't have to look into her own. "I'm sorry."

Silence. My heart pounds. 

Finally, she answers. 

"It's alright, Ev. I just hope you feel better soon." Rose's voice is soft and gentle. I can still hear the hurt in her words, but I am relieved that I hear no malice or anger there.

She is so good to me that it makes my heart ache.

When I open my eyes again, Rose has left the room and I am alone.

Any anger that was left has now dissolved, leaving an empty feeling inside of my chest. It takes me a moment to realize what this feeling is.

I am afraid.