Chapter III: On Trial
And that was it; the end of my filly life as I knew it. Never once after that did I ever play a game with my blessed Uncle Monty, never again did we run through the leaves together in the fall, never again was I to sit in his warm lap and hear one of his entrapping stories, and never again did I have a moment of true joy in that house.
My life became a flash of dinner parties, dresses, galas, proper etiquette and sophistication, all at the hooves of my parents. They enrolled me in an all mares academy when I came of proper age; one of the best, next to Princess Celestia’s Academy for Gifted Foals, or so they said. I hated every second that I spent in those mundane school uniforms, and I was appalled every time they sent me to that awful school and the way it forced their sophistication down my throat. They never once asked if I was uncomfortable in those uniforms, never gave a second thought to my obvious embarrassment in them, and never once did they consider as parents the feelings and thoughts of their own daughter.
What made it all the more unbearable was that I had no sanctuary; no safe heaven to hide in. Uncle Monty had been sent to die in a bed, and my hatred for my parents spread into all of the vain of Canterlot, so I never made any real friends. I was completely alone, doomed to the oppressive life under the tyranny of my parents rule.
I was trapped in an endless maze of grandeur and agony, with no exit to be found. I was suffocating under the constant pressure of their sophisticated dictatorship that they had over my life. My parents were unknowingly killing me from the inside out.
“Good morning, madam Sicarth!” I heard an over joyful Jeffery call through the depths. There was the brief sound of something sliding open and I felt an instant warmth fall across my back. I tried to retreat further into the blissful deep, but then my world started shaking lightly and a voice said through the murky water of my brain, “Come now, madam. It is 8 O’clock and that means time to get up. Your parents won’t approve of you sleeping in again.”
“Mmpp,” I grumbled and swam deeper. I could taste the sweet, mindless nothingness of sleep and its smothering embrace when a voice whispered in my ear, “Miss Sicarth, please.”
“Jeffery, I will pay you double whatever it is my parents pay you as our butler for five more minutes.” I said, the embrace pulling away from me, my mind desperately reaching out for it.
“Such bribery is clearly prohibited in my job description, I’m afraid.”
“Fifty bits.”
“And it is now time for to get up, madam.”
“Eighty bits.”
“Up, up, up, Miss Sicarth. You don’t want to be late for what your parents have planned for you today, now do you?”
“One hundred bits, Jeffery, and that’s my final offer.” I said, pulling the covers over my head in a last attempt at evasion.
I heard an exasperated sigh come from Jeffery, and I thought he was giving seriously considering my offer. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice, madam.” The embrace, which had begun to return, was suddenly and violently shattered and the depths ripped away as I felt a gust of wind fly up from underneath me, bringing the cold touch of air to my skin. I opened my eyes to see my blanket deserting me and fly away to land on the floor, a magic halo guiding its path.
“Are you awake now, Madam Sicarth?”
“Very.” I growled, shivering lightly from the cold.
Sleep no longer an option, I slowly rose and sat up in my bed, rubbed my eyes and took in my surroundings. The brief moment of warm sensation that I had felt earlier had been Jeffery opening the balcony door curtains; letting in the sunshine which had fallen on my sleeping form. I made an effort to stand, but the momentary grogginess of waking caused my head to spin, and I fell back onto the bed until my head cleared.
“Now, if that will be all that you require of me, madam, I will excuse myself to attend to other duties.” Jeffery said, looking at me.
“Yeah, go ahead. Go… do whatever it is you need to do.” I said, still a little dizzy.
Jeffery left the room, leaving me to my grumpy self. After much more grumbling and complaining about the ridiculousness of waking at this hour, I finally gathered enough strength to get out of bed and get dressed for the day. Most ponies don’t normally go around wearing clothes throughout their everyday lives, but my family never made any claim to being normal. My mother always insisted on me wearing a cape or dress or at the very least a hideous head garment of some sort even if all I was to do that day was stay indoors. She said it was “Tradition to always maintain the Royal appearance.” or some other kind of crap nonsense. I don’t much care for clothes; they restrict my movements and force me to always watch what I am doing to avoid getting them dirty or staining them at dinner and let’s not even get into what would happen if I wore one out on the muddy streets. They were simply a bother, as far as I could see. That, however, did not excuse me from having to wear them.
I trotted over to my walk in closet and opened the door, dreading what Mother had hoof picked out for me to wear today. The light from outside streamed in as the door opened and fell upon a simple, yet somehow elegant black flowing, sleeveless gown resting in the chair that sat in the middle of the closet. I picked it up with magic and draped it over my head, slipping into the shoulder straps and felt the cool silk brush against my flank. Underneath the dress I found a beaded pearl necklace and strapped it around my neck. Luckily for me, there was no head piece.
I turned to the floor to wall mirror and had to admit the black dress added a nice touch of grace in combination with my white flank and long, black hair. But the pearls, they had to go. I couldn’t stand having to deal with the weight of them around my neck and the spaces in between the individual pearls itched and pinched my skin. If Mother asked, I would just say that I didn’t see any pearls, thank you. I looked again at my reflection, and found that the simple black silk and the way it fell over my back supplied a certain degree of beauty to my overall features, and I had to question my mother’s choice in this particular garment. I had only worn it once before on my…
I shoved my face into my hoof. “Idiot,” I mumbled. I had forgotten that today was my fifteenth birthday. My heart instantly sank, and I longed for the depths again; maybe I could go back to sleep, wake up, and have it be any day other than this one. Like all events in my life at the time, my birthday was something I had learned to despair over. Other than being yet another reminder of how little my parents actually thought of me, it meant that I was one year closer to being of proper age to be married, or as I liked to call it, being paired off with a complete stranger at my parents demand.
My parents had always thought so little when it came to my birthday, the day that I was physically brought into their lives. Instead of throwing parties or taking me places, they would simply have a cake with my name written on the top that I would get a piece of after dinner. Instead of presents, they would order something and have sent it through the mail, then make Jeffery take it up to my room where it would wait for me until I turned in for the evening. I was lucky if I even saw them at all on my birthday, seeing as they always claimed to be too busy. They never even once uttered the words “Happy Birthday”, at least not in my presence. It was like it was just another day with a few extra matters to attend to. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was no Happy Birthday for Viniam.
There were a couple of slow knocks as I gently rapped on the oaken door.
“Come in,” said a voice from the other side. It was a low, pathetic voice, wounded and given up on life. It was the voice of defeat.
I eased the door open and stepped into the dimly lit room, cringing at the gloomy setting that was only pierced by a thin sliver of light that came from a small gap in the curtains.
“Oh, Vinie, it’s you,” Uncle Monty said from his bland bed, sitting up as his saddened expression instantly brightened. His eyes that had once sparkled with life and dominated his features had faded, like a dying star in a bloody dawn. “What are you doing visiting an old relic like myself?”
A smile crossed his lips, and the light flickered lightly. By all appearances he seemed happy, but I knew the sad truth. He was only putting on the effect of happiness for my sake. I could see in those amber eyes of his that he would cry himself to sleep every night, and that every moment stuck in that bed of his was like being imprisoned in chains. I could see that this was the darkest place he had been in.
“I brought you your breakfast,” I said, hovering the tray I had carried from the kitchen in front of me. The white cloud of my magic moved as I pushed the tray forward and set it in his lap.
“Well, that’s very kind of you.” He said, looking down at the tray. “But isn’t this something Jeffery should be doing?”
“Oh, I see how it is.” I said, glaring jokingly at him. “Well, if you don’t want breakfast, so be it.” With my head held sarcastically high, I picked up the tray and started for the door.
“Wait!” Uncle Monty called just as the tray was out of reach. “Please don’t take that away. Meals are all I have to look forward to these days.” I set the tray back on his lap.
But he just stared at it. He looked at it, lost in time for several minutes, sitting in silence. “How come you never visit me anymore?” He finally asked.
I couldn’t help hanging my head in disappointment. “I try, I honestly do. But between school and the training that Mother and Father have scheduled each day, I never have time. It’s like they don’t want me anywhere near you. I practically had to force Jeffery to let me bring this to you.” I spoke quietly, feeling ashamed for not making time for him. I was, after all, the only reason he had left to live.
“Hey, now it’s okay.” He reassured me. “A young whippersnapper like yourself shouldn’t be hanging around crazy old colts like me anyways. You belong out in the world, making a difference.”
I laughed lightly. Good old Uncle Monty. Even on his death bed, he still had an ability to make me smile. “But I don’t want the world. I want to stay here with you.”
“Who said anything about giving you the world? You can be in it and not of it, you know. Besides, what would be the point in that, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why wouldn’t you want to make a difference? If you hang around me all the time, you won’t be able to, and miss your chance like I did. I’m old, Vinia, old and dying. I’ve wasted my time. Don’t be like me, don’t waste your time. Promise me you won’t.”
“Why? Why do I need to promise?”
“Because Viniam,” He said solemnly. “If you don’t stand for something, try to make a difference, this life will drag you down and make you fall. Promise me, my Little Vinie, promise me above all else, that you won’t fall; that you will make a difference.”
“I promise.” I said.
Two words. Two simple yet powerful words that forever bound me; a binding I willingly made. Two words to myself and Uncle Monty spoken for the purpose of future good. If only I had kept them.
But he took me at my word and I heard no more on the subject.
Uncle Monty turned to look down at his tray which consisted of a glass of water, grapes, and other breakfast fruits such as sliced pineapples and cantaloupes. There was even a rose sitting in a small vase off to the side to add that special touch. It was also the first thing to go.
“So,” he said, biting off everything except the stem. “What incredible tasks of grandeur do your parents have planned for you today?”
“I honestly can’t say.” I replied. “Yesterday, they said they needed to go over something with me, but I have no idea what. “
“Hmm.” He said, looking up from his tray. “You didn’t by chance bring a fork, did you?”
“What?” He hadn’t exactly been in his prime at the time I was born, and he was even older now. He may have been capable before his imprisonment, but these days using magic for even the smallest of jobs took too much strength and mental strain from his old and weak mind. He was forced to do things manually that he otherwise would have used magic on, such as picking up food to eat. “I’m pretty sure I brought one up.”
“Ah, well, I can just do with my good old hooves, I guess.” He said, picking up some of the grapes.
But as he lifted them towards his mouth several of them fell out of his hoof and rolled off the bed. They cascaded down the blanket and descended to the floor, some bouncing underneath the bed.
Uncle Monty looked at me, and then at the ground, then back at me. I stared back at him. “Well, I can’t get them.” He finally said.
I rolled my eyes and began picking all the ones around the base of the bed and placed them back on the tray with my magic.
But he just continued to stare back at me. “What?” I said.
“What about the other ones?”
“What about them?”
“Well, aren’t you going to get them?”
I looked back at him in confusion. “Why should I? They went under the bed.”
“Yes, and there they will rot and attract all sorts of insects and parasites.”
Something was very peculiar about the way he was acting. First, he had asked me about my day, but then brushed it off by asking for a fork, which I was positive I had included. Then he made a big deal about a couple of grapes, something he would have otherwise immediately forgotten. I looked into his eyes to try and glean some insight, but I might as well have been staring at a brick wall for all it got me. I decided I would play along, just to see where he was going with it.
Lighting my horn in a magical display of soft white light so I could see, I poked my head underneath the bed. Most of the grapes weren’t hard to find, but one had rolled a fair length away, coming to rest next to a small box wrapped in glistening red paper and tied with a sparkling gold bow. Forgetting all about the grapes, I grabbed the box and crawled out.
“What is this?” I asked, holding up the box.
“Oh, my goodness,” My uncle said, putting his hoof to his mouth in an expression of mock surprise. “Now how did that get there, I wonder?” He leaned back ever so slightly, and the strip of light coming from the window glinted off a silver lined fork poking its way out from under the blanket. I smiled as it all fell into place.
“Come on, Uncle Monty. You didn’t have to do this, really you didn’t.”
“Of course I did. Now, go on.” He motioned the present closer. “Open it.”
I pulled the bow off and let it fall to the ground, anxious to see what it was. I ripped the red wrapping paper off and popped the lid open, parting the packing paper to reveal an old pair of glasses. They were black rimed with purple tinted shades that evoked an emotion in me that I had never felt before. It made me feel indestructible, like I could accomplish anything or climb any mountain; a feeling of invincibility. It felt like my destiny.
“Wow,” I said.
“Happy birthday, Vinie.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It used to belong to…Well, that’s not important. What is important is that now it’s yours.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, mesmerized by its beauty.
“Well, go on,” Uncle Monty coaxed. “Put them on. Let’s see how you look.”
“How?” I asked, looking around and noting the lack of mirrors in the room.
Uncle Monty shoved the rest of his breakfast over the other side of his bed, the fruit slices and glass of water clattering to the ground. He held it up, tapping the shiny surface. I put the glasses on, and my world was instantly plunged into a sea of deep purple and light pink that presented my surroundings in a way I had never experienced before. It was like being immersed in a dream of reality; a cloud of lavender that made everything seem…better, somehow.
I peered through the lenses at my reflection and laughed. The glasses looked like something from retro times and turned me into an aristocratic hippie in comparison to my dress. “I look ridiculous.”
“Oh, rubbish.” Uncle Monty replied from behind the tray. “You look divine, like a queen.”
I took them off and placed them back in the box. “Thank you, Uncle Monty. It’s perfect.”
“Glad you like it. Now you take good of care of them, understand? They used to belong to somepony very special to me. I suppose you could say they still do.” I smiled again as I understood what he meant behind that phrase.
We spent the next hour just talking about nothing in particular, spending time with each other as we had longed to do over the years but very rarely had the opportunity due to my overbearing parents. It felt good to carry on a conversation that in some way wasn’t about tradition or the royal ways as I did with my parents, but rather just to talk and share each others' company. But, like all the good moments of my life, it didn’t last forever and eventually Uncle Monty started dozing off.
“You need to go to sleep.” I said.
“What?” He replied, his eyes snapping open after almost falling asleep for the third time. “Oh, don’t be fit; I’m as ridiculous as a fiddle.” He mumbled, his eye lids dropping once more.
I walked over to the side of the bed and gently lowered his half conscious head back to his pillow. “Shh,” I whispered, pulling the covers over him. His eyes finally closed all the way, and his breathing eased to a steady rhythm that rose and fell underneath the blankets. I leaned down and kissed his wrinkled brow. “Sweat dreams, you crazy old colt.”
“Crazy…colt,” He murmured, a small grin etching its way across his face. And with that, he was out like a light.
Carefully easing the door open so as not to wake him, I carried my present out into the hall and slowly pulled the door shut behind me. I looked up and down the hallway, but nopony was in sight and the hall loomed before me, dead and quiet. I double checked to make sure my parents weren’t lurking just around the corner, and walked down to my room. In the silence and solitude of the walls, I sat down on my bed, my thoughts going back to what Uncle Monty had said and the promise I made.
I took my present out of the box again and stared into the lenses, looking for a hint or a clue that would help me. What had he meant by taking a stand, making a difference? That if I didn’t, I would only fall, like a lost ship about to perish in the waves of the night? Was I that ship? And if so, who was the night? I looked deep into the glasses, but I was only met with a pair of green eyes staring back at me. Defeated by the unknown, I lowered the shades and let the matter drift from my mind.
I went over to my dresser and opened the jewelry box that sat on the top in the middle, a light, crystal tune playing as I brought the lid up. I lifted the glasses up and looked at them, admiring their raw texture and the way they glistened under the daylight, and then set them in the back of the jewelry box.
I could never wear them; both Uncle Monty and I knew this. If my parents ever so much as found them, they would probably throw them in the trash saying something like “It is uncivilized to dress in such an embarrassing manner.” But I couldn’t help but smile. Uncle Monty had once again made me feel like pie in the sky when the rest of my life was a torture.
Even with Uncle Monty’s strange words maybe, just maybe, it was going to be a good birthday after all.
I stared down at my name that was expertly crafted in a bright, cheerful blue frosting set in a pure white background with elegant blue, frosted edges. It was beautiful, and had clearly taken hours if not days to accomplish, having been made with the utmost care and precision. It made me feel like vomiting.
There were no candles and no notes were sung in celebration; but instead I sat alone at the table, unmoving and unresponsive, looking down at my birthday cake. It mocked and laughed up at me, intending to be special but harboring only bitter loneliness. My parents hadn’t even waited around, but had gone off to take care of other business, leaving me alone in the hall. I couldn’t control myself as a single tear trailed away from my eye.
There was the far-off sound of a door opening, and I quickly dried my eyes as Jeffery came to stand next to me. We stayed that way for several moments before he finally spoke. “Uh, perhaps you would wish for me to cut you a piece, Miss Sicarth?”
“You know, Jeffery,” I replied, pushing the tray away from me. “I had a big dinner. I think I’m going to skip desert this year.”
I heard him sigh behind me as he processed what I meant. I could feel him looking at me and I knew that he wanted to offer me some words of comfort, but after a few minutes he said, “I actually have come to fetch you at the request of your parents. They ask of your company in the lounge.” He then exited the room, leaving me alone once more.
My company, oh how wonderful. I thought. I could only imagine what they wanted from me this time. Perhaps they somehow knew about my visit with Uncle Monty earlier, and it would be easy to deal with as I had gotten in trouble for doing so in the past. Or maybe it was yet another lesson in the fine etiquette that I lacked, in which case I would just grit my teeth and bear it like I had all the rest. But yet, there was a lingering feeling in the back of my head told me it wasn’t that simple.
Gladly removing myself from the melancholy atmosphere of the dining room and my ridiculing food, I went through the side door that led to the lounge and, consequently, my inauspicious talk with my parents.
Dismal, drab and dark are the only words that can accurately describe the lounge. There was very little furniture, with only a sofa and a chair facing opposite of it in the center and a few end tables set next to them with low lit lamps perched on their tops. Uncle Monty’s chair had been removed long ago. There was a large floor to ceiling window behind the sofa that would have illuminated the entire room in bathing light, but the drapes were always drawn, giving the room a gloomy mood. In many ways, it was like the unwelcoming sensation of being in a court room.
My parents had yet to arrive, so I trotted over to the chair where I would usually sit with my parents across from me with Mother on the sofa and Father standing guard by her side. Because it was set directly across from the sofa, I was always in the spotlight, and it gave me the awkward feeling that I was being put on trial.
I only had to wait a few moments before the doors at the other end of the room parted and my parents entered. I stood when I saw them, as I had been taught to do so when addressing my “elders,” and Mother gracefully made her way over to her seat.
All rise, the dishonorable Judge Martha Sicarth now presiding.
After she had taken her seat on the sofa and Father respectably taking his position next to her, they turned to me to begin the proceedings. I sat back down.
“Good evening Viniam,” Mother said to me in her direct monotone. “I trust you received the special addition to your dinner in light of celebratory events?”
“Yes, Mother, I found-”
“Ah, ah, ah. Vinia, if you are going to address me, then you must do so properly.”
Gritting my teeth in silent aggravation, I took in a breath and raised the sound of my voice an octave. “Forgive me, I am sorry.” I lied. “I found dinner to be delightful.” Lying twice in a row to my parents always had serious consequences, but now even more so as I was being sworn in. That is, if they ever caught me.
“Good,” Mother replied. “Now we can move on to more important matters.”
Hear ye, hear ye, the court is now in session.
“Now Vinia,” Father began the trial, presenting the evidence before me. “You understand that every year we indulge you in the, well, quite frankly, frivolous pasttime of offering you a gift once a year, as the lower classes do.”
“Yes, Father, and I’m truly thankful for it.” The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was all thrown out the window, thanks to my lying tongue.
“I’m glad you can see the way of it. The act of gift giving really should not have the merit that it does today. It is simply a way to spoil a child from the inside out. However Vinia, you have, unlike most of the younger generations, have had plenty of the proper training and up bringing that your mother and I feel you are trusting enough to handle the responsibility of the practice.”
“And again Father, I am grateful for that.” I might as well have been a crooked witness with a fixed story with all the falsehoods and half-truths I was spewing.
“Over the years,” Mother said, beginning the prosecution. “We have given you various trinkets and trifles, have we not?”
“Yes, you have.”
“And have you been pleased with them?”
“Yes.”
At this, Mother smiled. “Good. Then you will be thrilled with what we have to tell you today.”
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see where either of them were going, but it couldn’t be anywhere good. Just play it cool. I thought. They have got nothing on you. Just let them hear what they want and you’ll be fine.
“Vinia,” Father said.”Today, you are fifteen years of age. Are you aware of what that means?”
“No.” I plead not guilty. “I’m afraid I don’t.” This was yet another lie. I knew exactly what it meant.
“Well it means quite simply that you have come to the proper age of courtship.”
Objection! “Don’t you think I’m a little young for such commitment?”
“Why of course not!” Mother overruled. “It has always been the tradition of Sicarth mares to look for a candidate for the role as husband at the age of fifteen. That way, when she comes of full age, she will have already found a suitable spouse whose family she will marry into when leaving the Sicarth household.”
Keep cool. I told myself. You can get out of this.
But no matter how I looked at it, the whole conversation didn’t make much sense. They had first started in about the gifts I had received in the past but were now doing a one-eighty, going on about the proper way to acquire a good husband and the tradition behind it. There was only possibility that came to mind, and my cakeless stomach churned at the thought of it.
There was a brief pause as Mother and Father looked at each other, unsaid words of excitement passing between them, then turned back to me. I suddenly felt very threatened and my hooves began to sweat as the look in their eyes confirmed my worst nightmare.
“Vinia,” Father said, smiling over the hidden evidence that he presented before the court. “Although we are not in the habit of approving the action of gift giving, this year we have decided to offer some marvelous news that benefits you extremely as your gift this year.” He paused, his smile beaming with pride, and then continued. “Vinia, it is my honor to announce to you today that your Mother and I have found such a suitable colt for you to court as your future husband.”
I sat in silence, my gaze falling to the floor. I had to think fast if I was to escape the airtight case that my father had just made.
Deep breaths. You can do this.
“Well, Vinia, doesn’t this news please you?”
I sat up in my chair and met my parent’s eyes, building a false look of confidence to help sway the trial in my direction. “Mother, Father,” I said, nodding at each in turn. “I understand what tradition says, but I do not feel that this is the right time for me to be looking for a husband, much less accept one that you offer.”
Both of my parents stared back me, bewildered. “What exactly are you saying?” Mother asked. “Do you not trust the judgment of your parents?”
“I’m saying that maybe I should wait until I find the pony that I know I’m meant to be with, the one I know I’ll truly love and-”
“Stop right there.” Father said slowly. “You said ‘truly love.’ What do you think that means?”
I thought carefully and chose my next words wisely so I wouldn’t bind myself in nets of my own making. “I mean the one whom I will love unconditionally until my dying day.”
My parents sighed in disappointment, and I could feel a lecture coming. I should have just kept my big mouth shut. If I wasn’t going to be found guilty before, I most certainly was now.
“Vinia,” Father began calmly. “I am afraid you have been woefully misinformed on the matter.”
“And I can take guess as to whom.” Mother grumbled to herself.
“You see,” Father continued. “This ‘true love’ you have spoken of simply does not exist. It’s nothing more than a gross misdirection of affection and that itself is fleeting. One day, as all ponies do, you will die Viniam. It is a fact of life. But if you spend your entire life chasing after this fleeting affection, what then will be your legacy? How then will you be remembered and revered, even after death, if that is all you have?”
“But Father,” I said in a desperate attempt to shift the weight of the scales in my favor. “If true love does not exist and it is simply a foolish pursuit, why then would you have me be married?”
“Why, for the sake of tradition, of course.” Mother said, demolishing my argument. “It has always been the respected practice of Royal families to be joined in matrimony as it signifies power and order in their lives as well as ensuring the further reproduction of the pure race.”
I could see where they stood on the subject, and there was no convincing them otherwise. Arguing would only bring another nail in my trial’s coffin.
“I hope you understand our line of thinking.” Father said, concern written on his forehead. “Many ponies go through life go pursuing this lie, never knowing the truth of it. You have come to see that, haven’t you?”
I nodded my head in compliance.
“Now,” Mother said. “Returning to present matters. Are you aware of Celestia’s nephew, one Prince Blueblood?”
The name sounded slightly familiar, but honestly I didn’t even know that Celestia had a nephew. “No, I am not.”
“He too has recently come of proper age to begin courtship. He comes from a long line of pure blood as well as being of the unicorn race. Because of these attributes, your Father and I have decided, with the permission of Prince Blueblood’s parents of course, that he will make a fine husband for you. It has been arranged that you will begin your courtship in two months time.”
Having nothing left to me, I dipped my head in acceptance of my awful fate. My heart screamed injustice, but there was nothing I could do, and I felt a bit of it die that day.
“Vinia?” Mother said when I hadn’t replied. “Why are you not happy? You will be marrying royalty. Surely this is good news to you.”
I looked back up. Lie. Just lie. It’s your only way out. “Of course this is good news to me. I just wish to remain respectable and not make a scene in front of my parents.”
“Excellent.” Mother said, rising from position on the sofa. “However, your Father and I have other business we must attend to.”
I rose as they left, then departed for my room. Once I was there, I laid back on my bed, spreading myself over the silk sheets. I stayed that way for hours; lying there, absorbing the silence and thinking about what my parents had bombarded me with that evening.
It was something I had feared would happen for a long time; that my parents would, with total disregard to my feelings, pair me up with a complete stranger. What was worse was that even their intentions weren’t in the right place. They hadn’t said anything about it, and would have probably denied it if I had asked, but I knew the only reason they were forcing me into a relationship with this Prince Blueblood was part of a plan to get the Royal title once again added to the Sicarth name. I was to be married to him and become his Princess, and likewise the Sicarth’s would once again be associated with royalty.
I had long suspected my parents would try to use me to get back the title, but up this point I had had very few clues as to how. And now I knew. But I couldn’t condemn this poor Prince for their actions. I had never met him before and for all I knew he could be quite the gentlecolt. My parents, however, had just earned all the hate my depraved soul could muster.
I sighed, the weight of the world on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and welcomed the depths once more. But just before they embraced me, my thoughts wandered back to the trial.
The verdict? Your Honor, we the court find Viniam Mary Sicarth guilty of treason against the standard of tradition in the first degree, which is punishable by death.
Happy birthday to me.