The Beast of Yeller Wood

Chapter 18

 Yep, I am just the work Wattpad author updater ever. It has been at least a month since I updated this story. First excuse is school, I am so mind blowingly busy. I get up at FIVE IN THE MORNING for God's sake, so cut me some slack. I am busssyyy. Second excuse is that I was really into my other story Vertiginous, I haven't updated that one recently either because my insane schedule. I will try harder to update both. Sooo keep waiting loyally, and don't forget to vote, comment, and subscribe! Gimme some extra motivation people!

                We travelled rapidly through the waning daylight, a messenger sent word that the infection was setting in. We race through empty country roads upon galloping steeds, the scenery flashing by in a nauseating whirl. I cannot even imagine what the poor horses beneath are going through, just riding has taken a toll upon me. We stop before nightfall in a large clearing and pond. There is mad rush to prepare the royal tents and all of the rest of the party accompanying me. Fires quickly emerge from sparks and roar with ferocity. Large chunks of meat are thrown over the fire on a spit, the scents of roasting meat waft through the air mingling with the thick smoke.

                The sun sets in a mellow display of pastel colors behind the trees. This place reminds me a little of home, and the more we had traveled today the more it reminded me of it. The trees became thicker and more similar to the ones at home. I sighed at the thought, wondering what had become of my mother. She probably sold off most of our things at moved to Nool to be with her sister. Yeller probably treated her like a monster; they probably treated her like they would treat me. Thinking she might be a witch herself.

                I sat upon a cushioned stool sitting regally as if this was my throne of grandeur and power. I exuded grace and authority as if I was bred into this. When in reality I was a commoner village girl now a lavish queen. I acted as if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I always put on this act outside of my bedroom quarters, this was my one job. Pretend as if I was the strong affluent queen whispering political strategy into my husband’s ear, when I was truly a prisoner…a victim almost. This was my only duty as queen, other than bear children I suppose. But that is womanly duty, not simply duty as queen. My single queenly duty was to be queenly. I watched looking exceptionally bored as they raised my grand tent. Did one woman need all of this for one night out here? I guess they thought so. The tent was constructed in good thick fabric woven to endure rougher outdoor conditions, dyed in the deep crimson with details of gold that were the colors of the Bith crown crest. A flag is raised with our crest of a regal lion and other symbols supposed to convey ancient and deep supremacy. It all was rather silly in my opinion, how are feelings of obedience, nostalgia, and patriotism supposed to be conjured by some symbols and colors?

                I try to remind myself that I am queen and should be regarding this flag as honor and the line of royal blood itself. It is worthless, especially when they announce they are finished raising my tent with trumpets. And I am greeted by a couple more toots as I enter. I suppress a heavy eye roll with all of that ridiculous fanfare attached to my title. If they really only knew the real queen I was. All of the kingdom would call me their Prisoner Queen and they would laugh at me not able to bear the kingdom’s child. Only the sympathetic and kind hearted would pity me. I wouldn’t be a mystery; I would be a joke to all of Bith. For now, thanks to the grace of God I remain the mystery and enigma of the kingdom. I seat myself on the excessively pillowed cot; I must admit I am weary from not even a day’s travels. This journey shall wear me, as tomorrow is a full day and we are expected to arrive at nightfall at the Felucian border. Such lengths of time being kept in my bed chambers have weakened not only my soul but my body. These sorts of things before would not even faze me, now I feel like an old woman at the end of the day. My hands are no longer calloused, but delicate soft white skin. There isn’t a fleck of dirt beneath my nails now neatly groomed. My soul is worn, yet my body quite the opposite in the scheme of things. I don’t carry wood or pails of water daily, no longer do I garden radishes, and I don’t cook every evening.