Copyright © 2016 by Divine Romance
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
[In other words: don't plagiarize someone else's hard work.]
~~~
Hi! Just a note to remind you that this is fiction! I can't promise that details in this story will all be perfectly historically accurate D:
I've done my best to keep this as accurate as I can, but mistakes probably will pop up occasionally. Other than that, enjoy the story!
x Divine Romance
~~~
I was starving. Not a soul cared.
The nobles and rich do not care for 'dirt-scum' or 'drunk beggars.' Our King is sick and tired. His heir, the Prince, is a pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed fool. At least, I think so. A beggar has no chance at joy, particularly an orphan one. I am destined to a life of dirt, hard floors, cold, starvation, loneliness, and judgement. I am kicked and scorned; insulted and teased; cold and broken.
The nobles and eminent people of status are invited to ball after ball, celebration after celebration, revelry after revelry. The ladies of society dress up in extravagant clothes, with their elegant fans and dramatic hats. The men, in their rich ensembles and gleaming shoes. It sickens me to see such wealthy people who do nothing but laugh at a starving girl.
The streets of Miremwen are a harsh place to live, especially at night. The shadows grow large, the cold becomes icy, and the homes all creak. The castle of Miremwen is the one beacon of light, even if there is a fool living in there. The castle is always lit up with dozens of lanterns. I feel safe falling asleep as I stare at the lanterns.
My name is Rose Culbert. That's it. No fancy long name with a large title. No 'lady' or 'duchess' label. Just Rose Culbert. I have no family and I remember none of them. My parents were executed when I was four... I do not remember why. I do not believe I had any siblings; none of them ever came for me. I was sent to an orphanage, until I was forced to leave on my thirteenth birthday. I have been a tramp, a beggar... scum... ever since. I believe I am nineteen now, but the days fly so fast – every minute of every hour begging for food or warmth – and I have no way to remember what day it is. I know it is 1743. I've counted how many celebrations for the New Year have occurred. You can't miss a New Year party taking place; some noble is always throwing a huge gathering. Six of these huge balls have been thrown since I was thirteen. That must mean I am nineteen, or almost nineteen. I know I was born on the sixth day of October. That was the day the orphanage 'let me go'. I will always remember that horrible day.
My childhood was in that place. It was the one place I felt safe and loved. The woman who ran the place – we all called her Mother – was the only person I trusted. On the morning of my birthday, I woke up smiling and excited. I ran down the stairs, not caring that I was still in my night gown. I flew into 'Mothers' arms and did not notice her sad face. She walked me back to my shared room, telling me she had some gifts for me. I had never received a gift for my birthday before. She told me to get dressed, and disappeared whilst I did that.
She came back to my room with a small satchel in her hand. She told me it had clothes for my future, and a few precious coins. At this stage I was confused. Why was she handing me this satchel, with tears in her eyes? They did not look like happy tears. I was lead to the front door of the run down house. 'Mother' kneeled down to look at me properly. I stared at her beautiful face, beginnings of wrinkles were appearing. I still remember her last words to me. "Child, it's time to let you go. You've grown older, and wiser, and I can do nothing more for you. Leave now, and do not return. I pray that you will find a happy future. I'm sorry." And that was it. No explanation, no comfort, no good reason. The door was slammed in my face, causing the old house to shudder slightly. I was left on that front step, the wind blowing my blonde hair wildly around my face. Betrayal and desperation had pulsed through me. My heart pounded and I had felt dizzy with each breath I had taken.
I never saw that place again. I tried for hours, banging on that front door – begging them to let me stay. The door never opened. I left what had become my home and began my desperate attempt at survival. I slept wherever I could; a tunnel, a drain, a doorstep, in front of an inn. Wherever I could find warmth. The small amount of money in my possession quickly ran out and my beggar life began. Occasionally people would take pity and give me their scraps of food or a scarce amount of money. The satchel 'Mother' had given me had long ago been stolen. I have worn the same dress for two years now, and I walk barefoot. It used to be a fuchsia colour, now it's a dirty, destroyed mess. It is ripped slightly in places where it became too tight, and it barely covers my ankles. It's all I have. My hair used to be a bright blonde, but now it is the colour of dark sand. It hangs in a matted mess around my hips, oil and dirt coating it. My hands are cemented in mud - calluses on my feet. I am not a pretty sight.
I can still re-
"Out of my way, wench." A harsh man's voice cut through Rose's endless reminiscing, causing her grey eyes to snap up. She instinctively recoiled, fearing a beating. The man was tall and buff, his ice blue eyes pierced her with hatred. He looked furious. Rose wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered slightly. Please don't hit me. He spat at her feet and was gone, muttering a few unkind words as he left. Rose sighed with relief and continued wandering around, this time paying attention. Horse-drawn carriages passed her; women in long, beautiful dresses accompanied by escorts giggled and flirted shamelessly. Rose found a building to sit by and held out her hands desperately.
"Please! Money, I beg of you!" She recited, over and over again. One woman took pity and handed her a coin, another dropped a half-eaten apple at her feet. Rose immediately started eating the apple, not caring where it had been before. Her stomach grumbled in hunger, begging for more food than only half an apple. She stood up and started walking again, clutching the coin in her fist tightly. She ignored the ache in her feet each time she took a step and tried not to wince when she stubbed her toe. This was her daily routine. Walk, beg, walk, and beg. It was not much of a life, but it was all she had. She had tried to get a job a long time ago, but nobody wanted a vagabond.
Rose kept walking, to where – she did not know. She never knew exactly where she was going. She had no goals, no dreams... nothing to strive for. Only one to live for – Tilly. Her only joy was Sunday, where she would go to the village church to worship. Even though most people stared at her in disgust, she was not disallowed to enter the church. The sermons there gave her hope, that maybe she was created for a purpose.
Rose walked past a market stall and peered through the throng of people. She smiled longingly at a pale blue dress she could see hanging up. It was stunning but worth more than her own life.
Her head snapped up at the sound of the town crier in the distance, his voice was yelling something, his bell clanging away. Rose could make out nothing of what he was saying, so she started heading towards him. It was usually just meaningless gossip – but she liked to hear the latest news anyway. Something to keep her entertained. She had almost reached him when she noticed a crowd forming to the west. She instantly changed her course and started heading for the crowd, curious to see what was happening.
The closer she grew the more she was bumped and pushed around. Dozens of people were scurrying towards the heart of the crowd, trying to get a better view of... something. Rose frowned slightly, confused at what all the chaos could be over. She took another step, but suddenly she was shoved rather forcefully. Rose fell over quite ungracefully and felt pain shoot up her arms.
"I beg your pardon!" A gentleman said, but he did not offer to help her up. No one wanted to touch a beggar. Rose nodded faintly, avoiding eye contact. The man walked off in a rush, right into the heart of the crowd. Rose stood up, not bothering to dust herself off. It was not like her dress could get any dirtier. The crowd was large but silent, anticipation hung in the air as they all waited for... she was not quite sure what.
She could hear the bells of a carriage in the distance. Rose squeezed through a tight gap between two men, whispering an apology. She continued moving through the crowd slowly as she heard the carriage come closer. Rose stopped around the middle of the crowd, feeling marginally claustrophobic with all the people around her. She was used to being alone. Rose stood on her tip-toes and could just see the carriage arriving. She noticed the royal seal hanging off it and was instantly even more curious as it stopped by the crowd. She could barely see the Knights surrounding the carriage; they were all protecting the horse-drawn vehicle, warning the crowd not to make any threatening moves. A loud voice suddenly boomed around her - Rose assumed it was one of the Knights.
"Prince Tristan has arrived to assess the village's current state." Of course he has, she thought to herself angrily, sarcastically. It was more likely that the Prince had come to the village hoping to woo a lady. He probably did not even know there was such thing as the 'state of the village'. "Bow to your Prince," the voice commanded.
Rose heard the sounds of creaking and could just make out the top of someone's head exiting the carriage. Suddenly she found herself to be the tallest person in the crowd. Men had bent over in respect; women had curtsied deeply – showing off their flowing skirts... and cleavage. Rose was left standing defiantly in the heart of the crowd, staring right at the Prince. The pompous Prince, the player Prince, the pretentious Prince. He did nothing to help others, he deserved no respect. When had the Royals ever cared for Rose, or anyone beneath them?
They had killed her family and left her alone. The Prince simply went around hunting for his next woman, not caring about the emotional chaos he left each girl in once he left. They all hoped to be the future Queen, they all thought they had made the lasting impression. It was impossible, that would never happen. The Prince would never change. Rose would never bow to him. Why should she? It was true, he was handsome. His brown hair was thick and tussled, his eyes were a warm brown colour, his shoulders were broad, and his stature was masculine and gave him the appearance of being protective. But he had a dark, careless heart, and Rose knew she would not be fooled by his outward appearance.
He raised one eyebrow, appearing slightly shocked that she had not curtsied yet; but a smirk was still plastered on his face. Rose noticed the Knight standing next to him appeared quite flustered. "Bow to your Prince," the Knight demanded, repeating his earlier words. Rose stayed standing, staring daggers with her eyes. She heard a few whispers around her as the people - still bowing - peered up at her. The Prince did nothing, but stared back at her with his brown eyes, his smirk slowly fading. "BEGGAR!" The Knight yelled, "BOW TO YOUR PRINCE." Rose inhaled sharply at the threatening voice, but she raised her head up higher. She felt the wind blowing around her, caressing her, as if encouraging her on. For Beth.
"I tell you this," Rose said, loudly and clearly, "I will never bow to the Prince." The Prince raised both eyebrows as gasps and murmurs sounded around her.
~
"Prince Tristan has arrived to assess the village's current state," Tristan's top Knight, Samuel, proclaimed. The Prince sighed quietly at Samuel's remark. This used to be a fun distraction for Tristan – a way to clear his head and escape his thoughts. He had done this countless times – it was a well-rehearsed act. Samuel would speak, the doors would open, and the Prince would step out, smirk, choose a lady, and head home. It was easy. There was always a willing woman, some girl who was desperate to have the title of the future Queen and would do anything to reach it.
Tristan used to find pleasure in it all, yet these days he hardly found any worth in it. Truthfully, he did not know why he had even bothered to do this again.
He was restless. Angry with himself, disappointed with his life. There had to something else, something that would make life worth living. His Father, the King, had encouraged Tristan to seek a wife that would love him and he her. He could not. When he was younger he had not wanted the burden of marriage. And now, with the reputation he had built for himself, he knew it was impossible that there could be a woman out there who would love him. Of course, they'd all gladly say that they loved and adored him, but in his heart Tristan knew that no one would ever truly see past his crown. And even if they could, who could possibly see past the reputation of the Prince who toyed with women?
For the thousandth time in his day he felt regret flow through him. He had made a mess of his life, his future. His mother would be ashamed to call him her son. He was ashamed to call himself her son.
Tristan snapped back to attention as he heard Samuel address the crowd again. "Bow to your Prince." With that, the carriage doors opened. The Prince stepped out, putting on his usual smirk despite wanting to just head back home. The crowd instantly bowed. He scanned the women curtseying half-heartedly but stopped when he noticed something out of place. There was someone not bowing. She was standing up defiantly, staring daggers right at him. Tristan raised an eyebrow, feeling somewhat shocked, but kept his smirk in place so as not to show he was rattled.
Samuel glanced at him uncertainly and then glanced back at the woman. She was not very pretty, obviously a beggar. Her hair was a dull sandy colour and hung down her back wildly in one, big, tangled mess. Her dress was ripped and dirty – clearly too small for her. She was entirely too skinny and she looked cold and angry. Tristan was torn between feeling sorry for the girl and feeling furious that she dared stand against royalty.
"Bow to your Prince," Samuel repeated, louder this time. She did nothing, but continued glaring at Tristan. The Prince's smirk slowly faded as he pondered how to deal with the situation. He heard Samuel take a deep breath and he braced himself, figuring he was about to shout. "BEGGAR!" Samuel yelled, completely dropping etiquette. Inwardly Tristan frowned, annoyed that Samuel was not acting chivalrously as a Knight should, but even more annoyed with himself. It was Tristan, after all, who had led Samuel to believe that he would be angry if the townsfolk did not all obey him. All those years of acting up and treating people like dirt out of grief and anger had done Tristan no favours.
He was about to stop Samuel and suggest that they leave but Samuel continued before he had a chance to speak. "BOW TO YOUR PRINCE." Tristan watched as the woman visibly inhaled sharply, but she did not flinch. Rather, she raised her head higher looking as though she did not fear. Tristan watched as she closed her grey eyes briefly and stood still, as if she was listening to the wind. When she re-opened her eyes, resolve flickered on her face.
"I tell you this," she said loudly. Tristan was shocked at the loveliness of her voice; it was feminine and gentle, radiating beauty and kindness, an almost heavenly sound to listen to. "I will never bow to the Prince," she finished, not a quiver in her voice. Tristan felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He did not know what to do, he was stunned into silence. Gasps echoed through the crowd. Defying orders from Royalty deserved the death penalty – but he did not want to sentence her to death. Tristan had made enough mistakes and heartless decisions in his life, he did not want to add the death of a beggar – probably an orphan – on to that list. Everyone was quiet, waiting for him to do something, so he opened his mouth to speak.
"Is that so?" Tristan asked, his deep voice resonated across the ten meters separating them.
"It is," she answered simply, crossing her arms. Tristan noticed her shiver – she must be cold. Something within him stopped him from simply turning away to leave her to the disgust of the crowd. She was so thin; looked so tired and broken. What had this girl been through? No matter how hard he considered just heading home and letting his Knights deal with her, he could not bear the thought of leaving her here alone. Tristan looked at the crowd and noticed most of them staring at her with revulsion and spite. In a split decision he knew what he would do. He had used and hurt enough women, this would be one that he would be different for. Starting now, he would change.
"Defying the orders of royalty is punishable by death," Tristan threatened for the sake of giving an act. If the crowd thought he would not allow people to go against the law then it would stop people from rebelling in the future and the crowd would be appeased.
"I do not fear death," the girl answered. Again he was in awe of her voice and bravery. Tristan smiled almost imperceptibly and noticed Samuel doing the same. It was a strong, brave, honourable thing to not fear death. But he could not tell her that for the crowd would enter an uproar. He had to maintain their belief that the girl was in trouble, else they could turn against her and attempt to punish her themselves.
"Then I will have to find another way to punish you," Tristan said, putting on a fake smirk. The crowd murmured its approval and he knew they would be no more concern. He noticed the girl's eyes widen slightly, but then narrow again. She was tough. One had to be to survive on the streets, he realised.
"So be it," she nearly whispered.
"So be it," Tristan replied. He turned to Samuel who was looking at him expectantly. "Have her brought to the Castle. Have Eudora tend to her and let her rest. Then bring her to me. I will deal with her from there," he said quietly so that no one else could hear. Samuel saluted, but Tristan could see surprise in his eyes. He watched as two Knights walked up to the girl and gripped her thin arms. Tristan could tell they were not rough with her for which he was grateful. The woman did not fight them, instead she lowered her head as she was taken away from the crowd.
"I will be leaving due to the circumstances," Tristan told the crowd. "Good day." He turned around and headed back towards the carriage, not bothering to watch their reactions.
Tristan took one last glance and saw the woman being led into a second, less impressive carriage. At the last second she turned her head to gaze at him with wide, scared, hostile eyes. He did his best to keep his face blank and watched as she stepped gracefully into the carriage, her ripped dress following behind her.
He stepped into his own carriage and settled on to the seat. Samuel appeared by the side of the carriage, no doubt expecting final orders.
"Ride with me," Tristan said and watched as Samuel entered the carriage and sat opposite him. The carriage lurched to a start and headed back towards the castle. "Do you think I did the right thing?" Tristan asked Samuel, studying his expression. Samuel was a life-long friend who was always open to sharing his wisdom.
"I cannot say, Sir. Beggars are odd ones – often insane and wild. It may have been wiser to end her life; she could try to poison the minds of others against you," Samuel replied honestly.
"No. No, I can't watch her be executed. It would not be right," Tristan told him. Samuel looked surprised.
"Forgive me for my words, Sire, but you are not known for being the most concerned about right and wrong when it comes to women." Had it been another Knight, another day, perhaps Tristan would have been angry. But he could not deny the words of his friend, for Samuel knew Tristan well. Samuel was waiting expectantly for Tristan's response.
"You are right. But I... I cannot do this anymore Samuel, and I tell you this as my friend. This life I have been living, it has been wrong and I see that now. My mother would be ashamed of me, and I am ashamed of myself. I have done wrong, sinned, every day. I am ashamed. The people think I am an arrogant fool, the actions of the beggar prove it is true. But I want to try harder, to be someone who deserves to sit on the throne one day."
"And that is why you spared the beggar's life?"
"Yes... and no. If I had left her the crowd would have punished her. I could not bear to leave her there, all alone in the cold," Tristan told Samuel truthfully. "Should not a man of God protect the unprotected?" Samuel was smiling, a twinkle of amusement flickered in his eyes.
"I am surprised and glad to see your change of heart, Tristan," Samuel said, putting away the formalities. "You are a good man with a good heart, and it is not too late to show the people - nor too late to make your mother proud." Tristan smiled at his words. In many ways Samuel was more like a brother to Tristan. The opinion of Samuel mattered and held importance to him.
They remained silent for the rest of the trip, but Samuel could not hide the smile that had formed from Tristan's words.