She opened her eyes. The soft early morning sunlight warmed her
through the shear spring curtains on her bed. Her maid was scurrying
about the room opening the drapes and setting out her finest dress.
Today is the day, she thought. A small sad smile came to her face.
Her stark red hair cascaded across her pillow framing her face and
accented her emerald eyes. She held a lock of her fiery trusses in
her hand examining it. She had heard that the king had a fancy for
red hair on a woman. She truly hoped this was not so.
Her name was Serrah, the only daughter to Edmond Visgah, a minor noble in the house of Redvine, and today was her sixteenth birthing day. The day she had been dreading for the last two years. The day when she would be presented to the king for a perspective wife. It was not that she found him unattractive or even him being so much older than herself, it was that she loved another.
Her sad smile widened a bit at the thought of Tomas. He was as wild as the deer in her father's forest and as beautiful. Strong and sleek he was. Almost too tall for his age. She had seen the maids and cooks gather just to watch him chopping wood, all whispers behind hands and wide admiring eyes. They don?t know him, she thought, not like I do. All they saw were straining muscles, long golden hair and Ice blue eyes that hid behind wayward strands of that hair. Just thinking of that made her hands twitch to brush it back to reveal those eyes and boyish grin. She gave a small chuckle at her silliness, unconsciously twisting the lock of her hair around her small fingers. Oh, no, They don't know him at all.
She thought back to two summers ago. His father was hired on as her teacher and Tomas helped in the kitchens and with the cutting of the wood. He was so quiet, hardly speaking to anyone who didn't speak to him first. Most just thought him to be slow of wit, but that wasn't true. No, not her Tomas, he was exceptionally smart. It was just that he didn't have anything to say. Not to them.
She remembered the day that she found him resting against a rock beside a stream reading a book. She had been so shocked that she let out a gasp. He was so frightened that he had done something wrong that he nearly took flight. It had took all she could do to calm him down. She fought back a laugh at the thought of him babbling, babbling! That he didn't mean to startle her and would she please not tell her father. He was so very sorry, sincerity ringing in his voice and tears brimming in his eyes.
After he had calmed, they had talked. Long summer hours had been spent by that rock, subjects varying with their moods. She grew to know him better than anyone. She would sit and watch as he would march about, flailing his arms, blue eyes flashing lightning, ranting about this policy or that problem. Oh, yes, she could see the storms in those eyes. She could feel the heat in his voice. But then, as with all storms, they would pass. And she would be left breathless in their passing. His passion for life was breathtaking to behold. Every emotion, every move, every glance bespoke that passion. He would read poetry to her. Damcus and Jale, Frodrach and Bailey. And she would read to him from The Maiden?s Tales and Camphor or Holley. They laughed and cried together. They sang and danced together. That summer was as pristine in her memory as marriage lace.
Then came the day that they fell in love. Or, better put, their minds realized what their hearts already knew. They were both sitting, leaning back on the rock, watching the sun go down. Summer was starting it's decline and autumn's touch was starting to show in the trees. Leaves of amber and scarlet mixed with the greens. Just like the colors of their hair against the moss encrusted rock. You know, he said, I think... Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head to look at her. She turned to match him. Yes? she prompted. She had seen many things in those eyes, but that night, in the half-light of the setting sun, she saw something new. Her heart had fluttered at that look and her breathing had become a little ragged. I think, he began again, That I love you. And there it sat, fragile and helpless, waiting. His eyes questing hers for a clue. His heart dangling by a thread and the shears for cutting it in her hands. All the raw emotion was almost too much for her to bear. Her mind reeled and her heart soared. Her eyes filled with tears, which seemed to off set the dryness of her mouth.
Then she saw the look in his eyes change, harden. NO!!! She had waited too long to reply. He was turning away. It's ok, I understand, he said with a touch of self-reproach in his voice. But, no! You don't understand! I do love you too!!! Why wouldn't her mouth work? How could she let him go without knowing? He was starting to raise himself from the ground, his arms shaking from emotional strain. No! Wait! she wanted to laugh from the pleasure of finding her voice. Please don't go! I do love you!
He spun towards her, doubt and hope both apparent on his dark face. She sprang from her place by the rock and into his arms. And there they had stood, sobbing, him kissing the top of her head and her nestled against his chest. It had been long after sun down when they had come back to the manor house, arm in arm, stopping from time to time to kiss each other. Every day since she had dreaded this day. She knew it would come and that all the worry in the world couldn't stop it, but the worry had tied her in knots.
Tomas was worried too, oh he tried to hide it with little jokes like "What would a king want with a scrawny little thing like you??, but the fear show in those eyes. She had made up her mind long ago, that if she were chosen she would have to make her love have her. Better that than to have him forever morn the loss of our love. I would never do a thing to cause you pain, my love, she had that first night, but if chosen, she would. She would and the thought tore her heart asunder. I would spare you the pain I will feel, she murmured. For you, my Tomas, my beautiful Tomas, I would feast on my own heart. Though, even, you will hate me for it.
Serrah was just wiping away the tears when the curtain on her bed
were drawn back by her maid.
"Why, Miss Sarrah, you've been crying
again," her voice showing the concern she felt. "Is the bad dreams
again? You've awoken this way every morning for a month gone by!"
"Not all of them were bad, Joselle," she replied, "not all."