Palace

She gazed up at the ornate ceiling. This was home. It felt like an elaborately decorated prison. Like the home she'd left.

It had been a month. Her husband was...? She wasn't sure yet. Handsome and powerful. An accomplished lover albeit a bit detached but then, so was she.

They were both duty bound.

She felt a pull every time she was near him that was longing but she had no idea who he was: it was physical, built on visuals and touches, not connection. It wasn't much but she craved that contact because it enabled her to lose herself in the sensations aroused and under the ceiling, she could applaud its colours, its gilding and its vastness instead of resenting its limits.

She thought of her husband. He was dark; a dark man. His reputation for ruthlessness preceded him. Heads removed; families torn; treasures plundered.

She hadn't seen it first hand but she didn't need to. She could sense it in him and she circled him, warily, gauging and assessing. She was not foolish enough to think that she could transform him; she needed to learn how to manage him. This was about survival in dangerous terrain, like walking on a barely frozen lake, every day. That also fuelled her desire, the knowledge that she was with someone who, when crossed, would strike but when threatened, would defend, like a cornered tiger.

She just needed to ensure that he always wanted to defend her.

She tore her eyes from the ceiling and looked at the dress hanging there for her. Studded with jewels and pearls. Embroidered with gold thread.

There was a banquet. She would be presented like a prize, displayed. She accepted her role as she had been tutored to be a vessel for other men's ambitions. And their seed. Choice had never been hers.

She was a King's Queen. She was a King's daughter.

For her husband: concubine, childbearer, confidante.

For her father: infiltrator and sneak.

A spy.

Tonight, her father would be there, eager and grasping, expecting much, which she could not yet give.

Her husband would be watching with his dark, dark eyes.

She would have to play a careful game.

***

366 words

When I can't think of anything to write, I have two go-to places: prompts which always help me to imagine scenarios; and Unsplash.

This ceiling, from who knows where, is the inspiration for this story as I thought about gazing up at it as a tourist and then thought about the people who lived under it. Then, I started to write. Such opulence and decoration is either a religious building or a palace, a place of power and I decided to opt for palace.

Where do you get inspiration?

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

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