Excerpt of the week: "Prince Darben of Onus":
Even
his cry was unusual. It wasn’t the reflective, forceful wail that
announced his arrival into the world, but an unbearable, high-pitched
protest, which proved difficult to tolerate. Queen Dedra seemed to
refuse the instinctive nature of all mothers to cradle the crying
infant close to her bosom, but rather was holding the babe dressed
in swaddling cloth in her weary hands like a heavy, burdensome stone,
falling inside herself as if into a deep well rummaging among
relics for a treasure chest of compassion. Unfortunately, the well
of her heart didn’t run very deep.
She
was pained with disappointment.
Searching
for something within as she beheld the ‘stained’ face of the
cursed cherub, hopeful her eyes could find something to adore. Had
she been born a poor citizen of Onus maybe she would feel
differently. Not all women were fortunate to have children, and of
those who could, many died in the act of giving birth. Frail, young,
malnourished bodies unable to withstand the trauma of childbirth
being to blame. She would be angry with the ‘gods' had she believed
in them. But she wasn’t a peasant born of low grade, she was a
queen, and kings don’t marry beautiful princesses for beauty alone,
but also in hopes of having handsome and beautiful heirs.
Without
so much as a look at her servant Louisa, the truculent queen slowly
placed the crying infant back into her unsuspecting arms. Unsure of
what to make of the Queen’s actions, a baffled Louisa held out hope
for her queen. She just gave birth , she thought. Surely
she suffers from stress and great fatigue.
“Your
Grace, he is still a babe; there is time still.”
But
the naive smile of a young woman considered too old for marriage,
only fit to remain in servitude to the crown, couldn't possibly
understand. None of them could. Peasants! So critical of
the The King and Queen. Try once to walk in the constrictive
attire of Royalty.
She
recalled the well-pleased smile of King Omron after the birth of
Prince Omron II, and the jewelry he so graciously bestowed around her
neck, commemorating the happy occasion. She recalled also the night
he paced anxiously outside of her chambers at the arrival of Princess
Octavia. His eyes couldn't drink deeply enough of her beauty. Now,
it appeared his eyes had had their fill, at least that’s how it
seemed. Maybe his eyes had had their fill of her as well. Absent
this night was the sound of feet pacing outside of her door.
They
could never understand what it was like to be a beautiful queen.
Despite
Louisa’s words, the queen held to no such lofty delusions.
“Remove
him from my presence,” she ordered curtly. Louisa’s gentle smile
receded into an awful sadness as her eyes slowly fell upon the face
of the child whose crying had subsided. The babe was now silent, and
the queen observed with envy the comforting arms of Louisa wrapped
around him. If there was a young maiden more suitable to providing
loving care for her child, it was Louisa.
The
young maiden’s sheer beauty only rivaled her own. But it was the
order of things. She was born into servitude, and her common blood
was never to mingle with that of Royalty. Beauty had many advantages,
but overcoming servitude wasn’t one of them.
“You
can never marry, Louisa,” the queen whispered, staring out into the
blackness of night. “No children shall ever pass through your womb.
However, this night, I have given birth in your place.” Her bottom
lip quivered. “Maybe my heartache will bring you joy,” her voice
cracked.
With
her eyes, Louisa questioned those of the midwives, who were just as
dumbfounded as she. Had the child been as handsome as Omron II or
as lovely as Octavia, would the queen have been so generous with the
fruit from her very own womb? Charity from the King and Queen
was never expected, but charity of this magnitude was unheard of.
She wasn’t a nurse, just a simple servant performing her duties to
the crown. While holding the child close in her bosom, an obvious
question came to mind.
“Your
Grace, the child will need care. Seeing that I have never given
birth, how shall I handle such a delicate matter?”
The
raging storm outside the lofty walls of the Castle of Onus mirrored
the storm of bitterness that swirled just as unpredictably within the
queen’s own heart.
“Find
him a breast to suckle upon among the peasants, and he shall be
placed under your sole care,” she said. With her eyes, she beat
back the judgmental glares of the two midwives. Old, silly women. Who
were they to judge her?
“However,
because his blood is Royal, he shall be treated as such. Is that
understood?”
It
appeared that even charity was conditional. Rolling over onto her
side, her back faced Louisa holding the child.
“Now
you all may leave me; I need rest,” she ordered.
The
two caregivers mournfully looked over at a bewildered Louisa before
bowing to the Queen and exiting the chambers, followed slowly by
Louisa, cradling the newborn in her small arms, when suddenly she was
struck by something and turned back.
“Your
Grace, bid me to trouble you once more, yet, what shall we call the
child?”
The
madness of gods and old folk tales. If they were true, this night,
they had cursed the queen. A flash of lightning illuminated the
simple tears that ran down the face of the most beautiful queen as
she silently gazed out into the night sky. She closed her eyes.
“Name
him 'My Misery,’” she whispered. Now the gods shall be
responsible for his care.
Louisa’s
heart sank within her. She grabbed the lantern before bowing, slowly
leaving with the child from the chambers.
She
arrived at her quarters just down the hall from the queen’s.
Maybe the queen will have a change of heart by morning, she
thought. She placed the child on her humble bed. Louisa held the
lantern close to the infant's small face, examining the scar more
closely.
“It’s
not so bad,” she whispered. The sweet face was interrupted by a
scar from the bridge of his nose to his forehead, on the left side.
She lay next to him on her stomach, slowly placing a kiss upon his
‘darkened’ cheek as her long, brown, curly locks covered the face
of the babe. Her eyes weighed the pitiful things around her rather
quaint quarters. She felt embarrassed. Not even the queen herself
had ever been inside her quarters.
Surely,
such meager accommodations were not befitting of a prince. Her face
hovered above the infant's. “My lord,” she whispered softly, “I
have very simple things, and my means are not much. But to you, I
shall give my all.”
The
sleeping child appeared to stir, responding to her voice. “What
shall be your name?” she pondered greatly as she watched him
sleep.
Usually
the King himself would announce the child’s name, which would have
begun with the letter O. But this was no longer meant to be. But
what difference did it make what name she gave to the child? If the
queen did not approve it, she would have to change it. Suddenly, a
name came to mind. It was the name that belonged to someone she had
once cared for dearly, but whose blood was much too rich to be
mingled with that of a servant girl.
She
softly rubbed his darkened cheek with her index finger. “My Prince,
I shall
hereby name you, Prince Darben of Onus.”
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