Seven Kings to curse them all

Freaks of the Court

Victor loaded his crossbow. It clicked in place, string taught and arrow millimetres from slicing through the air. He pursed his lips to hush the hunting party, his finger held up to keep them behind him. Finger hovered over the trigger, a red grouse strutted into view. He didn't hesitate. One squeeze and the grouse was dead on the composting leaves. The hunting party cheered. 

"Well done" Charles clapped Victor on the back. Victors paige, George Hughes, ran into the shrubbery and picked up the dead bird and slung it over his shoulder. Victor swung back up onto his horse and flicked back the tails of his coat, shiny black riding boots slotted back in the stirrups. Charles handed his bow and arrow back to George and got up onto his horse with less flare. The party trotted down further into the woods. Six chestnut hounds with slobbery mouths and crusted eyes lead the way, in search of bigger and better game. 

"They've got me some foreign princess. From Mayana" Victor seemed disgusted. As if to be from Mayana was equated to having a foul odour. 

"Whats wrong with Mayana, they have the best wines." 

"Six regions. This country has six regions and they couldn't find anyone better here?" 

"Well they want you to marry someone with power i suppose. An alliance." Charles trotted alongside Victor so that they could speak more privately. 

"They showed me her portrait. Strange facial shape, like an upside down raindrop. Yellow skin." he spat the words. 

"Whats wrong with that? Many men would say she was exotic perhaps." 

"Exotic. What do i want with an exotic wife? Some strange gangly discoloured children." 

"Well gods i wouldn't say that. Ive heard nothing but praise about her beauty. Hazel eyes and long jet black hair that shines in the sun, like silks. Only the other day George mentioned how she is rumoured to sing so beautifully she could send the whole castle into a trance. She's an expert horse rider, avid hunter as well" the praise seemed to be endless. 

"Yes well the Princess Odette seems to have an admirer already. No need for me to take her away from you." 

"Think of how rich she would make you then. Their army is unmatched. It may bind two great royal households under your rule." 

"No it wouldn't. It would muddy ours and for what? A couple martial arts trained soldiers?" 

Victor was in a foul mood, Charles could see he would make no real strides if he pushed the subject. Instead he turned to Lord Bratten whose round belly bounced as his horse trotted behind the pack. Lord Bratten was high lord of Ellereath and knew forests better than any. But, hunting was surprisingly not his forte. He much preferred the comforts of home or luncheons or casual swims in his estates lakes. 

"Have you seen much of my father lately?" Charles inquired. 

"No my boy." Lord Bratten frowned "But he's never gone for long." 

"Thanks uncle." Charles hid his disappointment well after all these years. 

Victor reached out to one of the party members and motioned for his pre-loaded crossbow. "Spots" he whispered for Charles' attention. Pointing the crossbow at Georges feet he pulled the trigger. George yelped in pain as it landed right on his toe. He fell to the floor and whimpered. Victor cackled with laughter. Gripping his stomach as he throwing his head back. Charles let out a light hearted laugh but dismounted his horse and went to aid the bleeding paige. Charles knelt down and stopped George from pulling the arrow out of his foot. 

"It'll speed up the bleeding up and cause more damage. We better keep it in until we get back." 

Charles and another one of the paiges took some hunting string and tore some fabric from the paiges shirt to wrap up the wound. Lord Bratten offered his whisky to sanitise the fabric, which they used. They slung George over the back of Charles horse and tried to set off back through the city of Tourmaline back to Whitestone. 

"Where do you think you're going Spots?" Victor refused "I haven't finished hunting." 

"But if he looses any more blood or gets an infection..." Charles didn't want to scare George more by finishing his sentence. 

"Well then he can ride back alone. Lord Bratten you will give me your paige and we will carry on." Victor continued off following the dogs who were picking up some scent. The party didnt hesitate to follow. But George didn't have his own horse. 

"Take mine George." Charles sighed and slapped the horses back so that it bolted away back to the castle. George still in pain welped a thanks. 

"Come on boy, get up on mine." Lord Bratten let his nephew on and they hesitantly followed the party. "Bloody sadist." 

"Uncle" Charles hushed him "thats blasphemy" 

"Only if you tell them." Lord Bratten reminded him. 

When the party arrived back at the castle Charles had become so enraged at Victor that he stormed to his room, taking long strides as he cut past people. Charles threw off his coat and untied the strings that secured his high collared shirt. He needed to be comfortable, to relax. His footmen quickly came at his call with a bowl of warm water, olive oil and towels. They laid it down on the side table for him before leaving. Charles began to lather his face, hands and arms in the oil scrubbing away the thick pale makeup that covered areas of his body. He scrubbed the anger away. Scrubbed harder and harder with the towels that his natural skin began to redden. The patches of darker skin were exposed, the sharp lines where skin changed from pale to dark now saw the light. 

Charles had been born different. At his birth the nurse had gasped and initially warned his mother not to touch her newborn. The nurse feared that the child had been born with a disease. Charles was instead born with vitiligo. Charles mother had tried to explain it to him when he was still little, confused why he looked different to everyone else. He asked her why it looked like he was born with white skin that had tanned in patches and streaks across his body. She had no explanation, instead she liked to tell him that the gods had created him in their unique image; one that did not fit to one colour, one that stood out and demanded attention. That he was a painting; a work of art. As he grew older and wiser and more warned of the world Charles knew that nobody else saw him that way. Indeed the only reason he had been picked to be part of the Princes inner circle ten years ago was because Victor had taken him in as a joke, as something to gawk at and tease.

Charles threw the towel down into the bowl of water which was now chalky white. He looked at himself in the mirror. "Spots" the nickname rang in his mind still. "Freak. Diseased. A cow" the other taunts rattled his brain. He took his pocket knife and dug it into the wooden table, lifting up a fragment of the wood. He knew that he could say nothing, no matter how much it hurt him each time. He knew that Victor did more than shoot the foot of those who mildly annoyed him. To tell him what to do, to hurt him or embarrass him. Charles valued his head more than his dignity, even though he found it hard to reconcile this truth.