An Allegiance Made

The sight of King Phelypeaux turns my already sour stomach, the sickness sitting heavy like an ever-growing stone. He is so old, so ravaged by an unkind time. Life has been carved deep into his sallow skin, troughs bisecting a visage that could never have been handsome. It’s more than just his appearance that inspires such loathing in me; ugliness seems to ooze from within him, coating him in filth that clings to his flesh, slick, oily rot.

I have little knowledge of his reputation, but I must assume it is lacking.

His bright, cold eyes skim past me, two small, wet jewels sunken into a collapsing face.  He sees me without seeing, uninterested in someone so below his notice. He only slows as his gaze lands upon Euphrosyne. There is something animal in his features -too sharp, too small, too out of scale with the rest of his head- that makes his assessment unnerving. The sudden light in his hard orbs sets my teeth on edge. I clench my jaw hard, biting down against the bile threatening to escape my throat at the lecherous curiosity sparking to life in this indecent man.

Wolf sighting lamb.

I can feel my lady shift beside me, her shoulder pressing to my side briefly in an uncharacteristic vie for comfort. It is tell enough to solidify my suspicion: she is as unsettled as I by this perversion wearing the crown of a King. I move closer, hoping my warmth, my steadfast presence will offer her the solace she so seeks.

“Mystery of mysteries,” his voice is rust, scraping out his mouth as he speaks. “This hidden rose before me. Welcome to the Crystal halls. Welcome to my Kingdom.”

His six wives hardly glance our way. Each of their beautiful faces are closed off. Broken.

Euphrosyne lowers as custom dictates, bending to the will of this man who intends to take and take and take.

I lower too. Kneeling as I pledge myself to this afront.