Ukatis, Capital city of Axilla
Royal Palace
Cora watched her husband as he paced the floor of his study. Horace was irritated with her, as he so often was when his wife stepped out of line. As people, they fundamentally clashed when brought together; he wanted a submissive, subservient bride, and she struggled to balance her duty with her need for freedom.
Horace von Cholmondeley III looked as though he were about to wear a hole in the carpet beneath his boots. Several paces away, Cora's gaze followed him carefully. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation of any sudden movements. When he stopped and turned sharply on his heel towards her, she flinched.
"You did not tell me that you'd be away with your band of…ill-behaved monks, Corazona."
His voice rumbled in warning, low like the thunder that signaled an impending storm.
"And to Faron territory, of all places. You were well aware that travel to that province necessitates special permission, and yet you've not only gone there, but you've brought offworlders into our private business. Are you even aware as to how this reflects on our family? On me, to have a wife that would willingly defy protocol for…what, her own whims? A feeling that something was wrong?"
Horace stood in front of her now, a hairs breadth away from his wife. He knew how his proximity and stern tone unnerved her, and he played those to his advantage. A sense of unpleasant satisfaction crept into the hard features of his face when Cora swallowed and hesitated.
"My feelings on the matter were correct, husband." Insistent as her words were, there was still a soft, yielding quality to them. "The river near Anatol was…infected with something sinister. It caused the forest to die, and the animals to become crazed. We had to investigate, and we were able to-"
Horace lashed out, gripping either side of Cora's face with a harsh hand to silence her. The act lifted her head towards him, ensuring that she'd see his scowl of displeasure.
"Enough. I thought I've taught you to hold your tongue, wife. Whatever the matter is, or was, it does not concern you. I fear that I've allowed you too much freedom as of late; I think it is time that you end your little good-will expeditions into the rural provinces."
Horace shook his head in disappointment.
"It has been over half a year since we've been wed, and our union has yet to produce any signs of an heir. The court is displeased. Such a task will become easier with you remaining in the capital."
Releasing her face, Horace took a step back and appraised the young woman before him. Head bowed, she appeared sufficiently meek and he grunted his approval.
A few leisurely steps brought him towards an open window. They were still in the summer months, and it was not uncommon for the night air to balance between pleasant warmth and a cooler chill. A slight breeze billowed the gauzy curtains, swirling them beautifully around the Prince as he lifted a delicate glass to his lips and looked out into the courtyard.
"I do not care for how you speak to me, Horace."
The quiet voice of his wife soured the wine in his mouth. He half-turned towards her, a challenging eyebrow cocked.
Cora's anger simmered low but hot. Animosity had defined their relationship even more deeply than duty. In truth, she'd never been comfortable with their arranged marriage, but she was insistent on bearing it for the sake of her family and her people. But Horace was a violent and controlling man, and her limits were being tested.
The voice of Crenical von Ascania, a dark spirit trapped within the knife strapped to her thigh, echoed in her mind.
This man cares not for our people. He would make a terrible ruler; a stain on the storied history of our world. The violence he's shown you is the violence he will enact unto our home.
Cora took a moment to appreciate the words of her ancestor. She did not always trust what he had to say, but Crenical's dedication to his people was undeniable.
"It needed to be done, Horace. You may dislike me and my behavior, but the dark nexus—which is what it was— was causing harm to our people and the land. The crown ignored this for years, and if I had not coordinated with the Alliance, the problem would've only gotten worse." Cora took in a deep breath, her tone firming. "So go ahead and beat me again as you've done before—it will not stop me from doing what I can for the good of our people."
Dark brows arched as Horace observed his wife, the red marks on her face where he'd grasped her, the passion on her words, and the determination with which she held herself.
"Very well, wife." He acquiesced smoothly.
Horace delivered a slap to his wife's face that caused her to teeter to the side. The sting, the taste of blood, the puncture where her teeth had pressed into her lip were nothing to Cora anymore. It was routine.
"Despite nearly a full year of marriage and you've still not learned your place, Corazona. I am disappointed. Perhaps, though, I am at fault for not disciplining you an in effective manner." Horace sighed, casting a look of discontent over his wife.
"I did warn you, Corazona, didn't I? Every step out of line will be another stroke against your family. Now, they will pay the price of-"
Cora's fist crashed into Horace's jaw. Stunned, the Prince stumbled with his back towards the window, managing to grip the frame to steady himself. The wine glass was not as lucky; it crashed to the floor in a delicate shatter. Before Horace could recover from the shock, his much smaller wife was upon him.
"You will not touch them," She hissed, seething with unrefined anger. Fists balled and teeth clenched, Cora jabbed a finger into her husband's chest. "If you have a problem with me, you shall approach me, and no one else."
Horace reeled back, one hand still gripping the window ledge as the other came to cover his mouth. The trickle of blood against his lips and the taste of iron were enough to throw him into a rage.
"You wench! How dare you strike your Prince and husband! And after I'd been so kind to ignore the rumors of your infidelity that have swept the court like wildfire."
Cora's heavy breaths stilled. Ice flowed through her veins, bringing an alarming chill to her entire body except for the burning of her face. So he had found out about the brief tryst she and Makko had shared in the Ascania gardens after the festival—that, or he'd pieced together some gossip in order to attack Cora from another angle. The court never did let the truth get in the way of a good story.
Exasperated, Cora didn't bother with trying to backpedal or beg for mercy. Instead, she leaned into it, glaring at Horace through the bruised swelling around her eye.
"If I was unfaithful to you, Horace, it is because you are nothing short of a selfish, spoiled brat of a man-child with nothing to offer a woman or our people. Perhaps if you had a shred of warmth or capacity for affection, I wouldn't have needed to seek solace in the arms of a man who'd shown me more kindness in one night than you ever have for the duration of our entire marriage!"
With ire burning in her eyes, Cora leaned forward and continued to berate a stunned Horace.
"I tried to be a good wife to you, even after you stripped me of everything that brought me peace and happiness. I suffered your marriage bed. I did not complain when you struck me, when you mutilated my flesh with a hot iron, when you made a fool of me by calling other women into your bed."
The release of anger had Cora breathing heavily, ignoring the disarray of her hair and clothes, leaning into the unladylike harsh tone that she spat from her lips like venom.
"And why did I endure it all for a man like you, Horace? For someone who had all the luck in the galaxy to be born into royalty without a lick of charisma or compassion? Because I believed that it was my duty. That if I kept quiet, it would bring prosperity to our people. That we could lift them into the modern age and give them all of the things that they deserved. But you-"
Her gaze steeled on him, noticing an odd stumble in his footing as he clutched the window frame. A small, vaguely sad chuckle slipped from her lips.
"You would be a terrible ruler, Horace von Cholmondeley. You don't really care about our people, do you? All you want is to be King. That's it. You just want to feel powerful, and you'd let a thousand peasants die if it meant that you could sit on that throne after your father and rule over ashes.”
Horace had stared at his wife as she went on her tirade, not out of fear but shock. No one had ever spoken to him in such a manner, nor had he ever been struck by someone beneath him before. Riding to his feet, he hardened both is posture and his expression.
"For all of your chatter, you seem to have forgotten one detail, wife; I am in control here. You, and everyone beneath me, breathes by my whim. It is I who decides who eats or who starves, who lives and who dies. I hope that your little monologue was worth it, dear wife, for it will not happen again."
Horace took a deep breath, a cruel smile curling his lips.
"You will obey me, Corazona. If force will not work, then I know what will. Your sister, Fantine von Ascania , is on her way to the capital to become my new concubine."
His words hit her like lightning. Even as a stunned silence fell between them, they still hurt. Something wild surged through Cora—a furious and frantic need to protect her family. Her siblings.
"She's fourteen."
Raising her head, Cora hissed and stalked forward. Horace frowned at her tone, but otherwise didn't move to stop her.
"Kings of the past have taken concubines at younger ages. Be grateful that she'll have the opportunity to live in the capital and serve me. Given the current situation, perhaps she'd only be fit to be the wife of a poor farmer."
His words did not pacify Cora. They enraged and sickened her, whipping up a dangerous storm of emotions inside. They bubbled to the surface, past the cracked facade of a proper noblewoman.
"Fantine is a child. I do not care what Kings have done before you; you will not lay a hand on my sister!"
Cora couldn't remember who had shoved who first. The ensuing struggle had been a blur between them, all fists and hands and snarls and blood. At one point, Horace's fingers had wrapped around her throat and she managed to charge him with her shoulder. He'd lost his balance, and for the first time, Cora watched true, visceral fear flash across Prince Horace's face as he fell to the courtyard below.
I'm the aftermath of it all, Cora would spend several days in a cell beneath the palace, waiting for her execution date to be set.
