Many Letters to Write

A knot of fear immediately built in Celia's belly. "I went out for a walk in the gardens."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." For the shortest moment, she'd considered telling Tobin the truth. Telling him she was trying to keep diplomatic relations between Havietten and Irquis cordial.

Her mind's voice told her it would be a mistake. The youth wasn't going to thank her for doing a task on his behalf that he believed was unnecessary. He sure as hell wasn't going to be happy finding out she'd taught herself to mimic his handwriting.

"And you thought it was appropriate to go for a walk dressed like that? Looking like a slattern from a tavern brawl?" Tobin gestured at her gown.

"I forgot to change my clothes first." Celia replied meekly. "But I promise that I crossed paths with very few people."

"I see." Tobin looked at the ceiling for a moment and sighed, as though he was praying for calm. "Are you deliberately trying to anger me, wife?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Then why would you go wandering about in a blood stained dress? What do you think the court is going to say when they see that? It's like you're wanting to make others think and speak poorly of me."

"Well, perhaps if you're so worried about others thinking poorly of you, you should avoid striking your wife's face in the future." Celia regretted her words the very next moment.

"You're quite right."

"I am?" she was stunned that he seemingly agreed with her.

"Yes." Tobin smiled coldly. "You were blessed with a very pretty face and I should do my best to keep it that way by not striking it. Now, open the chest next to my side of the bed and bring me the riding crop."

It was as if all the air was immediately sucked out from the room and from her very lungs. "Wha-what…?"

"You heard me." The cheerful briskness of his voice set Celia's nerves on edge. "Do as you're told or it'll be worse for you."

"Alright, I'm sorry, husband. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn and I regret it."

"I've no doubt you're sorry and you'll be sorrier still in a few moments." Tobin's eyes flashed with anger. "Now get me the fucking crop before I truly lose my temper."

Heart sinking to her slippers, Celia moved slowly to the chest as she'd been ordered. She lifted the lid and brushed the crop handle with numb fingers.

She managed not to cry out when the first lash bit into her palm, even though it burned like a hot poker.

She was proud of herself for that, for not giving him the satisfaction.

It was the second blow however, that was completely unexpected. Feeling the crop lash the already broken skin tore a cry from her.

Celia felt herself slump to end up sitting on the floor, clutching the wrist of her burning hand with her other hand. She hated the tears she felt rolling down her face, the saltiness of them teasing her lips.

"I'm glad I didn't strike your face again." Tobin stared down at her as he flexed the crop in his hands. "You look rather lovely when you weep, my dear."

- - -

The following day, Celia waited until mid morning, when a freshly washed and dressed Tobin left their apartments to meet up with his circle of friends.

She quickly called for her her maids to bring some breakfast, which she quickly devoured. She'd skipped dinner the previous night, refusing to let the entire nosy court watch her struggling to cut and eat her food with an injured hand.

Her maids then had to help bathe and dress her. In all honesty, she would've preferred to get ready alone but again, having only one good hand made everything difficult.

Her maids pretended not to see how Celia deliberately kept her left palm, with its raw welts, out of the steaming bath water. Once she'd been dried and laced into a gown, Celia ordered one of the girls to fetch a length of bleached cotton bandage. She still had a some of the herbal tonic Sabine had found for her, the first time Tobin had whipped her.

With careful movements, she uncorked the vial and slowly poured the precious liquid, sighing in relief as the sap began to cool and numb the red welts.

"Please bandage my hand." Celia told her eldest maid. Her voice was crisp, as if she'd merely asked the woman to dab ointment on a small scratch.

There's no point confiding or even showing my pain to these silly wenches, she thought. They can't help me, nor would they want to.

I need to help myself. And to do that, I have a great many letters to write and deliver.

Lord Da'ar's words from the day before had truly stuck with her.

She was Tobin's wife but she needed to make it abundantly clear to others that she wasn't merely his docile mouthpiece. That she had a mind of her own and opinions quite separate to his.

That when the tide of fortune eventually turned against King Tobin, Queen Celia had tried her best to stand apart from his deeds.

She sent her maids away as soon as her hair had been braided, sending with them a message to her ladies-in-waiting that she would rest quietly in her chamber all day and didn't require their company.

As soon as she was alone, Celia sat down at Tobin's desk and pulled out a clean parchment sheet. "Who shall I write to first?" she murmured.

She then remembered how ridiculous Tobin had looked in the pearl studded hat.

She didn't know the giver behind every one of Tobin's gifts, but she knew a few.

Why not start there?

To His Majesty Kenneth Stephenson, my dear royal brother of Moraigth, Celia wrote in Tobin's rounded script.

I was humbled and delighted to be presented with a magnificent hat from your kingdom. The pearls on it are by far some of the finest I've ever had the pleasure of seeing…