Karoleah Gregory stood in the warm sunlight of her solar as the people below moved about at the lazy pace that was afforded on a hot day. With her eyes closed, she could almost remember a time when she was free to do what she wished; without the tyrannical husband that was the bane of her existence. The warm breeze in her hair as she hiked through the woods or rode her steed through the mountains; God, how she missed that.
Turning from the windows, her gossamer gown swirling around her legs, she walked towards her ladies, sinking down into a chair and picking up her embroidery. She use to hate embroidery, nothing more distasteful in her life then picking at threads and sewing so carefully. It seemed a waste of a perfectly good day when she could be outside, but now it kept her sane and grounded. It was her punishment for being so defiant and unladylike. She preferred armor and steel to cloth and thread, but there were those that ruled her life now that were determined to cure her of her unhealthy obsession.
How had her life ended up like this? It was question that she wondered a million times a day, every time the needle disappeared into the fabric with a new stitch, and the countless hours she was made to suffer in the bed of a man that she didn't love. This life wasn't her own and it was a life that she wouldn't wish upon the very worst of her enemies. She was like the caged birds that hung near the windows, chirping cheerfully even though they too were trapped and broken.
She glanced up from the knot she was working on as her husband stormed through the room, his black mood sending shivers down her spine as her ladies exchanged looks between themselves, whispering behind their hands as to what he was in a foul mood for. Karoleah stood, placing the hoop on her chair, and walked towards her bedchambers, pausing just outside the door as she heard him yelling his anger at nothing, tossing items around the room and destroying the fine furniture that their wedding guests had bestowed on them.
She reached out a hand to the ornate gold handle of the chamber door and paused, unsure of whether she should enter. She could still feel the bruises upon her skin from his treatment earlier, but something told her that this was the day that she could finally garner information about what she really wanted. With a deep sigh to center herself, she pushed forward, entering the chambers and readying for the onslaught that awaited her.
He had stopped when she entered, his dark eyes turning towards her with a look of disgust and lust. He took in the way that her moss green eyes stared at him, eyes that weren't as dead as he would have liked them to be. They'd been married for three years, but it had been more then enough time to beat every remaining petulant thought out of her until she coward from his raised hand.
"Milord." She murmured as she bowed respectfully to him before she moved across the room and opening the windows to the cool breeze that came off the nearby mountains.
She was perfect, he had to admit. Her pale skin held a slight hint of blue that alluded to her heritage and pedigree. He had to give her father one thing: he certainly knew what he was doing when he picked that slut whore of a second wife. Her long black hair was a mirror image to her mother's and she kept it piled atop of her head in the latest fashion of court; a far cry from the boyish cut and braids that she'd sported when he'd drug her back to court after tracking the renegades to the abandoned villages in the East.
"It has come to my knowledge that you know where they are," the general said as he circled the room behind her, watching as her skin literally crawled beneath her gown and she turned to face him. "And if you do not, then you know where they are heading."
"Gardner, I made you a deal. You and my Uncle would go back on your word?" She asked him with a slightly innocent look on her face that enraged him.
His laughter sent a chill through her body, her skin turning cold even in the heat of the day as he gave her a wolfish grin. "You mistake me for a better man, wife."
"Perhaps I do, Gardner Hawthorne. Perhaps I expect someone who's the commander of a king's army to keep his promise to the king's people." She stared at him with a look as hard as steel as he began to laugh again, his battle scarred face grotesque with a bitter smile.
"My dear, dear wife, a king's people do not rebel against him. You were lucky that he allowed you back into his good graces. He could have let you hang for your treason." A hand reached out and brushed against her cheek as she slunk away, her skin burning at his touch.
Gardner Hawthorne had once been handsome, with rugged good looks that were marred in his youth by an assassins blade that had somehow failed to kill him. Most said that he lost his mind on that day and that insanity only add more cruel lines to his already weathered appearance. A pension for black completed the illusion that wasn't too far from the truth.
