Sweeting- Old English for "sweet one"
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Penny
I can feel myself forgetting me.
Moonlight streaming in through the open doors of my bedroom lets me see through the small, torn piece of paper held up by my shaking hands. Scribbled in craggy, faded lettering, is a word that keeps slipping from my mind.
Penelope Sanchez
I recite the words out loud in subdued tones, hoping that by enunciating them, I'll remember their meaning. In my mind, I know it's my name, I wrote it down days ago when the forgetfulness began, but to my eyes, the words seem like nothing more than pretty letters arranged in a hurry.
The pad of my left thumb swipes gently over the first word. Here, in the palace of Lovely, they've been calling me something else, I can't remember what. It's like my brain has been turned to putty, a big gelatinous mess with no use whatsoever.
Sighing, I walk back to my bed, taking a slow look around the bedroom. It's breathtaking, about the size of a house in the village below, with tall, looming walls tapering into a gentle dome, varnished a light cerulean and decorated with intricate carvings of gold.
Beautiful pillars with elaborate designs on their top and bottom extremities hold up the vibrant ceilings painted like the Sistine chapel, offset only by the more simple arches embedded into the walls below. They're outlined by thin golden frames and decorated by mirrors, where I catch my startled reflection by the grand canopy bed frame. With thick, white frames and a downy, cream comforter inlayed by silver shavings, the bed would have seemed out of place had its many pillows and magnificent designs not given it an appearance of luxury.
It's all very beautiful, but it's not my home. I have several guards escort me everywhere and watching my every move-- the palace is more like a pretty prison than a welcoming home. I can't remember how I got here, only that I woke up with a splitting headache in a comfortable bed, surrounded by petals of daisies, roses, speedwells and a scroll tightly tucked into my left fist.
This castle is not my own, neither is the family living in it. The rulers of the province of Lovely are kind, and their daughter, princess Allura has taken a particular liking to me, but despite their best assurances that I'm safe within the confines of their home and kingdom, I can't shake the feeling that there's more to my situation than I know. Than they know. No amount of goodness can help me remember who I am.
A soft rap at the set of doors across the room makes me look away from the solemn girl in the mirror, its muted sound echoing through the domed ceiling. Pushing my thoughts to the back of my mind, I smooth down the bodice of my dress before standing and walking across the bedroom, wondering if my late night visitor is the princess seeking out my special company. She's made it a habit to come into my bedroom through the balcony every night, her only deterrent the large, clear doors that I occasionally lock.
Without realizing it, I'm walking as fast as I humanely can to reach the doors, feeling my heart accelerate at the mere thought of what we'll be doing in a matter of minutes. My mouth tingles with the memory of her soft lips the day she woke me.
My eyes had fluttered open, my vision blurry for a second as her retreating face came into focus. Satiny, cherry locks framed her pale face in long, semi-wavy patterns. It was drawn to one side in order to aide her in leaning down and pressing her lips to mine, but I could still see its texture and vibrant sheen in the wake of her hovering shadow.
She peered down at me through long, russet lashes, big brown eyes admiring me from up close with a look I still can't quite piece together. It was a mix of awe, appreciation and longing, but something else waded in the background of her glance that I couldn't exactly decipher. Her cool, earthy scent mixed with the floral aroma of the petals scattered around my body, distracting me from her adoring ganders for a moment before she bent down and kissed me again.
One of her hands came to rest on my cheek as she whispered sweet nothings in my ear between caresses. I would've enjoyed it if it wasn't for the fact I had been lain perfectly in a bed with flowers in my hair. As if I'd been dead.
"I thought the heavens had decided to be greedy and kept you from me..."
I didn't have the chance to respond as she continued to silently marvel at me, whispering to me how elated her mother and father and the rest of the kingdom would be once they too, found out I was alive. Traces of a smile tinge my lips at the memory before a second soft rap pulls me from my thoughts.
Reaching the door, I place my palms on my ribs, braving a look in the mirror on a nearby arch. I'm still confused, still loosing bits and pieces of information I didn't know I had, but as I catch the flushed expression on my face, I realize that for now, I can enjoy the princess' blissful caresses and sweet attentions without worrying about my looming future. I can always do that tomorrow.
I open the door holding my breath, hoping my dress looks just right and my skin the right amount of flushed as I find the princess clad in armor, gingerly holding a rose with an intact stem in her right hand. When she looks at me, her eyes take me in, wavering on my chest before returning to my face.
She remains silent for a moment until she finally clears her throat, averting her eyes from my rising breasts.
"The moon writhes with envy, fair Eithne," she croaks.
Her voice is thick, the tension between us intensified by her continuous and brief glances at my chest. Her drawn brows and unsettled expression cause a blush to burn a path up my neck towards my cheeks, making a small part of me feel powerful for having the ability to make the solemn princess falter in her confidence.
"I've --uh-- brought you a token of my battles today."
She hands me the flower, training her gaze to the inside of her palm as she delivers it.
"Oh, thank you."
My voice comes out in a breathless whisper, feeling as though I'll melt on the spot from how good she looks. Fresh from her exploits in the province of Dolor, she dons heavy iron armor and a sword, her face florid, streaked with soil and sweat with strands of her hair adhered to her temples. Her skin glows from exertion, further ruddied by her nervousness-- she's never looked so beautiful.
She's always charming, usually sending me pretty smiles during dinners and casting me sly glances when she believes no one is looking, but tonight, something about her seems even more enchanting. Maybe it's her inability to look me in the eye or perhaps her hesitancy to step into my bedroom the way she normally does that makes her even more attractive, but whatever it is, it makes the brush of our fingers feel charged with something more, something far stronger.
"It smells a lot sweeter than the ones you gave me while ill," I sigh, inhaling the dampened pedals. She must have kept it in a firm vial for it to still retain its drops of morning dew.
With a swallow, she extends an arm, gesturing to my bedroom. Stepping aside, I open the door further to let her in, feeling my breath catch in my throat as no sooner have I closed it, than she's encircling my waist with passionate embrace, lips impatiently sweeping the back of my neck in quick, succeeding pecks.
A soft laugh escapes me as her hands meander backward, fingers deftly beginning to undo the laces of my dress.
"Anxious, are we? Aren't you the least bit concerned we'll be discovered?"
Her fingers stop, traveling down to my waist and circling around it towards my abdomen, languidly tracing a line down to the apex of my thighs and back up with the tip of her right index finger.
"It wouldn't matter. Isn't a wife to enjoy the love of her bride to be ?"
A sly smile tinges my lips when she places kisses on my shoulder blade, now exposed from her earlier efforts.
"Not like this," I laugh, lacing my fingers with hers on my right hipbone.
"We'll be married in seven days time, sweeting. If by then the palace is not accustomed to your late night cries, then their ears are made of lead."
A snort erupts past me, confidence like that only comes from one source in this kingdom.
"I'm afraid all the lead in the palace is not as weighty as your ego!"
In one swift move, the princess dips me below, her free hand wrapping around the front of my dress and tugging it down. She fastens her gaze to my breasts, slowly looking up seconds later to settle her fervid leer on my blushing face.
"How much do you wager?"