It was a cold and stormy day, which seemed only appropriate, as my mood was quite dreary as well. It was this day that my idyllic life would come to an end. No more lovely afternoon teas and darling fireside evenings with my sisters and mother. The balls where I would dance myself dizzy in the arms of charming young men would go on without me, no doubt with my twin sister’s infuriating laugh echoing through the parlor as she entertained men with smooth hands and combed ringlets.
“My lady,” Elinor’s aged voice came from the door to my bedchamber. I looked up from the pages of my favorite childhood storybook and offered her a soft, false smile. “It is time to dress for your wedding.” In her hands were draped a length of blue lace I knew to be my mother’s old gown. The tailor had fitted it perfectly to my wider, more buxom figure, adding in cream colored fabric where the ruched fabric would part and reveal my legs. A cape of blue, with the same cream lining the inside, had been commissioned by my father, and this was neatly folded over Elinor’s shoulder. Behind her, several of the estate’s lady’s maids entered and carried various things with them; a bucket of water and a clutch of clean cloths, a basin of water filled with crushed roses, and a pair of slippers I recognized from my mother’s wardrobe.
“Of course,” I sighed softly, standing. I still wore my bed gown and had been reluctant to change into anything nicer. It would signal the start of this dreaded day, and would have been too much to bear in my lonesome room. “Stuart fetched the wash basin this morning.” I told her, pushing aside the privacy screen. Three panels of fabric that I had painted during my first winter here depicted my favorite story; La Belle et la Bête, a story my governess had read to me every night in Valois. The first panel was of the wondrous welcome party the beast held for his fiancee, with plenty of food, music, and dancing. It was my favorite, as it was joyous and colorful. The second depicted the beast’s attempts to woo his prize, although she always refused. It was quite sad, and I had always pitied the beast in this portrait of his story. On the third and final panel I had painted the lovely girl and the beast happily married.
Whenever someone asked me why I had not painted the beast as the handsome prince he becomes in the story, I had insisted that one does not need to change in order to be happy. My mother had been the one to tell me that I would learn better when I was older, but I still found myself particularly pleased with my own twist on such a popular tale. It made it feel more personal, like my own story instead of the same one that every young lady fantasized over.
As I was staring at my paintings, Elinor had several male servants bring in heated water for my bath. It had cooled enough in their walk from the kitchen to my room that I could step in immediately after they left. I laid my head back over the edge and two of the women washed my hair until the russet tangles became auburn curls. A quick rinse with rosewater and they could be tied with fabric to dry into ringlets. Once they were piled atop my head, I sat and bathed myself, with help from Elinor, who dutifully scrubbed me clean in places I’d never thought needed such vigorous cleansing. By the time I was pink and practically skinned alive by her efficient hands, my gown had been laid out in all of it’s pieces.
With their help, I dressed quite swiftly and, once everything had been cleaned away by the maids, Elinor sat with me and explained my duties as a wife. My mother had been left unable to speak after a horrible fit which left her unconscious in the parlor, but had made it clear that she favored her oldest and most trusted maid to fulfill her position in this rite of passage.
“When he takes you to his quarters after the wedding,” Elinor began, her wrinkled hands holding mine as we sat on my bed together. “He might want to kiss you and touch your body, but some men have no patience for such niceties. When he undresses, you will notice that he has something different than you and I between his legs.” She explained.
“A penis, yes.” I nodded. I’d read about them extensively in the anatomical texts father kept locked in his library.
Elinor’s cheeks flushed and she stammered a bit before clearing her throat. “Yes, that. When he becomes erect, he will enter your body between your legs. It will not be comfortable, and there may be blood. This is perfectly normal.” She assured me.
“What do I do as he is inside of me?” I asked her.
“Well,” Elinor sighed. “I often make a list of what to buy at the market. By the time this is done, he usually is, as well.” She replied.
“That sounds dreadful.” I told her, unable to hide my lack of enthusiasm.
“If you’re lucky, you’ll be expecting a child shortly afterwards. That often allows you a year or two before having to suffer it again.” Her gray eyes stared off into the distance as she told me this with quite the deadpan tone, as if she wished she were teasing. Part of me wanted to ask how long she had been enduring such tiresome trysts with her husband, but I did not want to be rude. My aunt, Lady Beatrice, was happily married and often gushed about her husband, the Duke of Norstadt. Even ten years older than my mother, her golden hair was still yellow and bright. Her skin was youthful and unblemished. Did the quality of one’s lovelife directly correlate to how they aged? Perhaps Elinor’s white bun could still be just as lovely as Beatrice’s own locks, had her husband cared for her pleasure more than his own. Maybe her eyes would never have faded from the color of the sky, to the hue of the heavy clouds that roll in before a storm. Was it displeasure that weighed down her smile, forming a perpetual frown and deep lines that etched into her very visage?
This would never be me, I promised myself. I would be happy. No matter what kind of inconsiderate, cruel beast awaited me at the altar, I would smile and keep my vows to him. We would be friends, lovers, twin flames.
A knock came at my door. “Enter.” I called.
My father walked in, dressed impeccably well. Only those who were of high class and good social standing would know that everything he wore was a display of opulence and status. A silk and velvet three piece suit with matching hosiery and heeled shoes, as well his powdered wig, all denoted that he had ample funds for luxuries. His eyes and hair, thinning and hidden behind his wig, were similar to my own. He had never been fond of the red hue or the freckles he had passed to me and, as such, he was covered from the hairline of his wig to the tips of his fingers in powder. I hated the stuff, it clung to everything one touched like honey. When I stood, he smiled and his eyes practically sparkled. “You look marvelous, birdie.” He told me proudly, coming forward to cup my face and lay a kiss on my forehead. “Your mother is waiting for us in the parlor.” His arm snaked through mine and we walked together.
“I’m nervous.” I told him softly, glancing up at him. I hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed in me for admitting to weakness. “What is he like? Have you met him?” I asked.
Father licked his lips and gave me a nod, but the smile that followed was brief and, I could tell, forced. “He is quite tall, very intimidating. Though, he speaks softly. I thought you might like to know that, since he seems considerate in many ways. Even wiped his feet and left his weapons at the door to my office when we talked privately.” He chortled, as if this were at all humorous.
We descended the stairs together and my demeanor immediately lightened when I saw my mother in her wheelchair. Her charming spring green gown was accented with a cozy cream and beige cape, matching linens to cover her legs, and a veil that would keep her neck and shoulders warm. As I came forward, joy lit up her face. Even though only one side could move since her fit, it seemed to hold enough happiness that even her paralyzed left half twitched as if it might finally respond to her command. I had not seen her so enlivened since the incident, and my eyes burned with tears. Her left arm was curled tightly into her chest, but she could still weakly reach with her right, and when she brushed her fingers over her old gown I took her hand and moved it so she would be able to feel and see the hidden cream underlay and lace added by the tailor. Her lips moved and I saw the effort she exerted to speak. “Lovely.” She told me.
“I’m not sure which of my ladies wore it better,” My father remarked, coming to stand behind her chair. “Though I have always been a fan of the original Marquise de Laurent fashion.” He assured mother softly as his lips brushed her temple. She smiled and rolled her eyes.
“Are we ready?” I asked after a deep breath. The church had generously agreed to hold the service in our own small chapel attached to the ground floor. Father had it built so that mother would never miss mass, no matter the weather, as getting her in and out of the wheelchair was a timely and tiring effort for all involved. The large wooden doors mere feet from us would bring me to my fate at the end of the aisle, and my heart was hammering away in my chest like a blacksmith to his anvil. Not fast, but hard and resonating through my bones.
Father grabbed the handles of mother’s wicker chair and nodded at her maid, who stood by so that he could walk her down the aisle himself. As we approached the doors, I could hear the muffled sounds of the organ playing my favorite pieces from a composer in the east, specifically the prelude to his concerto. “I want you to know, Millisenta,” Father said in a low voice as we stood before the doors. “I’ve already begun making arrangements to rescue you from this fate.” He assured me, and pulled my veil down over my face.
Confused, I gazed down at my toes as the doors opened and the congregation stood. My betrothal to this man had been arranged when I was too young to remember, and word of it had not been mentioned until I was twelve. Even then, details had been sparse. A Lord from the northern part of father’s duchy, a war that my hand in marriage had ended, and prosperity for our lands. Wouldn’t removing me from the Lord mean another war? I made a note in my head to speak to him afterwards and ensure no such thing happened. While I would accept responsibility for many things, sending father’s soldiers into battle would not be one of them.
Given that my veil was so thick I could not see through it–I assumed this was an oversight from my father having commissioned this lovely train of lace and silk– our intertwined arms helped me immensely in navigating the pews. When I had brought this up to Elinor, she had only said, “Don’t worry, once he lifts your veil, I’m certain it will be a moment worth more than the entire ceremony.” She seemed to sound almost resigned, resentful. When I had pressed her about it, she had assured me that she was simply not looking forward to seeing me leave her care.
All through the chapel I heard open sobbing, though I expected as much from my aunts and grandmothers, all of whom had come to see me off. Perhaps even my sisters might shed a tear or two, although I was certain they might be practically jealous. We all had spent countless nights together, fantasizing about who and when we would be wed, where we would live, how lovely it would be to leave home. Clarice, my sister born mere minutes before me, should have perhaps been the first to wed, but it was well known that she was the favorite of my parents. Bolder, more confident, so much more like our mother in her best years. Even at a young age, he must have known that she would protest an arranged marriage and demand the right to pick her own future.
Should I have demanded the same?
My mind had wandered for a long time; the ceremony was coming to an end as I went through countless potential lives I might have lived, if only I had a strong enough spine to stand up for myself and my own desires. Large, warm hands claimed my right hand and felt my heart skip a beat or two as I wondered how strong my new husband must be, for his palm under my fingers was firm like a stone.
“In the name of the Father,” The priest, one I did not recognize, which was odd. The ring was placed upon my thumb. “The Son,” He said, and it was moved to my second finger. “The Holy Spirit,” He continued, upon which the ring was pushed onto my third finger. I realized I had not breathed in for some time, as nervous and excited as I was; one more finger, and the veil would be lifted. Taking a deep, sudden breath, I calmed myself and heard a bit of commotion from the congregation as people murmured. Why wasn’t the priest continuing? It felt like a hundred years that I stood there, my hand within my Lord’s, tension rising around me that I could feel but not see.
My father cleared his throat.
Our priest stuttered as he started once more. “Ah, in the name of the…of the Holy Trinity, I must now–may now–pronounce you,” It was a struggle to get the words out, as if he were being forced by circumstances I could not see. With my free hand, I lifted my veil to peek up at him. Upon our eyes meeting, I saw true fear in his eyes. When my confusion and shock registered, he sighed and closed his eyes as if accepting some terrible fate. He closed the Bible. “I cannot do this.” He announced. The gasps and outright shock of my family filled the large chapel.
My betrothed’s hand firmly gripped mine and I inhaled sharply, tugged myself out of his grasp, and lifted my veil to see what was causing such a disruption. Light flooded my eyes as they took in the brightly lit church. Squinting, I held my hand, still bearing the ring from our interrupted ceremony, over my eyes and peered up at my soon to be husband.
I screamed, and when I immediately tried to flee from him I stumbled over the many layers of my elaborate gown. Falling onto my arse, I scrambled to get away as he came forward and reached for me. “No!” I shrieked, arms all around me as my family and the priest attempted to help me up. In my horrified panic, their gestures somehow made me believe they might wish to seize me and keep me from running. All around me, mayhem ensued as the many members of nobility in attendance tried to assist in calming me, perhaps to remove the priest as he began reciting passages regarding bestiality, of all things.
“Any who lay with animals as they lie with men must be put to death!” The priest’s voice declared. He was seized by two of my father’s knights and they fought to remove him. Even at such an advanced age, he put up a fight. As I finally got to my feet, backing away on all fours until I found a pew for leverage, he continued his impromptu sermon on the sin of bedding beasts. “If a woman doth approach any animal, with intentions to have sexual relations with it,” He lurched forward and freed an arm. “She!” He jabbed his bony finger at me as I gazed on at the chaotic scene in horror. “She and the beast must be put to death!” He bellowed. One of the knights struck him with the butt of their sword and they heaved him off the altar. As I fled the chapel, his voice followed me into the parlor, echoing throughout the entire main hall of the estate. “Their blood shall be on their own heads!”
As I ran up the stairs my father pursued me. “Bar the doors, don’t let her escape.” He commanded them. My feet slipped and I fell against the jagged ledges of the stairs. Stars blossomed behind my eyes like vicious flowers and pain snaked through my body like thorny vines that cut through me. “Millisenta!” He shouted after me, the heavy footfalls of his shoes spurring me to pick myself up and continue running.
Where was I going? Somewhere with doors that locked, somewhere I could hide and never be found. Somewhere I could sit and process the utter betrayal of being given to monsters by my own family. How could they do this to me? What evil breed of men lied to a maiden after signing her death certificate and masquerading it as a marriage? No time to weep over this poetic, hellish turn of events in my life; I needed to get far away, and I had to do it quickly.
By the time I reached the third floor of my own house, I began to feel like a prisoner or, more aptly, a mouse at the mercy of a barn cat. The footsteps of my gruesome fiance’s people filled the estate like thunder rolling in from the coast. What storm followed them? Would they kill me? I threw open the doors to the billiard room and used a chair to bar the doors. If father wanted to keep me in, I would do all I could to keep them out.
I needed a way to defend myself. Looking around, I immediately seized a cue from the wall and set to trying to break it against the heavy oak paneling of the table. Lord, it was a strong instrument; my arms screamed in protest before I could even hear the wood creak. “Damn you!” I huffed out in frustration. Someone tried the door handles and I gasped. Changing tactics, I held the narrow end of the cue under my foot and tried to use my entire body as leverage against it, pushing it and laying down my foot until I heard it finally snap with a loud, sickening crack that startled me. “Thank God.” I gasped, eyeing the jagged end of my new weapon.
This was ridiculous. My life was dull, plain, idyllic at best. How had the best day of my life become the worst? I moved about the room, grabbing the balls from the table and gathering them in the folds of my gathered cape. Beyond the doors they talked loudly enough that I could hear them plotting.
“If we break down the doors, it will only frighten her further.” Father remarked.
“Let me speak with her, your grace.” Elinor’s voice utterly stupefied me. Of course she was in on this whole charade. How long had she known? My whole life? Betrayal cut me so deeply I tasted blood on my tongue. “I’ll calm her down and bring her down to the chapel when she’s settled.” She promised.
There was an exchange of words too low for me to hear. I neared the doors to hear better. A floorboard creaked beneath my foot and suddenly all was silent. “Millisenta?” Father called out. “Birdie, it’s me, dear. Let me in so we can discuss this, darling.” He called out.
“Fuck off!” I snapped, surprising myself with such profanity.
“Do not speak to me like that.” He demanded. “You will not swear at me in my own estate.”
“Well then let me out into the yard so I can properly tell you off!” I retorted. Where was this coming from? Did I have more of my sister’s feisty spirit in me than I’d known? If only she were here to witness this. Although, I hadn’t had the presence of mind to look for her, or our other siblings, amongst the congregation as I had fought for my life amidst my betrothed and his kin. Perhaps she, too, was out there, a betrayer chasing me down in my own home.
He was talking with his men outside the doors again. Whatever chances I had to talk him out of this ludicrous arrangement seemed to be fading before my very eyes. “Well then take the doors off their hinges! I can buy new ones.” He said rather loudly. Tears flooded my vision and I clamped a hand over my mouth as it hung open, aghast. Something, or someone, perhaps even multiple men, hit the doors with such force that the chair keeping the locked doors further secured shook and nearly fell onto its back.
Slowly, I stepped back every time the doors shook under the force of those who wanted only to trade me to monsters for the peace of others. It was so selfish, but I cared only for myself and my fate at that moment. Didn’t my life matter, too? Sacrificing one for many seemed like the lesser of two evils only when you were not the one being dragged to the slaughter, and I suddenly felt like a lamb bleating for mercy.
The chair fell and so did I, my legs giving out on me when my back hit the corner. Crumpled into myself like a rag doll, I sobbed silently, makeshift weapon clutched in my hands so tightly it trembled along with me. The dread that consumed me was so overwhelming I barely heard myself scream through the pounding of my own heartbeat. It was like I could hear only my own body’s insides as I curled further within myself. Dragging in ragged lungfuls of air, I wailed as my skull seemed on the verge of cracking open from the pressure.
It was eerily quiet, and I took a few minutes to compose myself. Now was not the time to do this. There were windows and soft grass below. If I could tie together the drapes and fasten them to something heavy enough, heavier than myself, then I could try to lower myself into the yard. Even if I failed, I might die. If not, no man in his right mind would accept a crippled wife. Even a monster would see me as nothing more than damaged goods, incapable of bearing an heir to whatever hell he reigned over amongst his kind.
Just as I had convinced myself this was definitely a legitimate idea, and not a last resort born from sheer hysteria and lunacy, I heard a terrible sound. Looking over my shoulder, I watched as one of the doors suddenly lurched open with no warning. With a shriek, I dropped the drape I had been attempting to tear down and palmed my cue stick.
Turned to the side, my betrothed entered the billiard room. Once he was inside, he closed the door behind him. The enormous grayish green brute looked at me in the corner and my lungs ceased all function. His head was large, squared in shape and defined quite intensely by a large jaw that supported four tusks growing from his lower set of teeth. The two innermost tusks almost reached his nose, and the outer two nearly came to his eyes, which were intense and dark. There was no soul in them, similar to an animal. His long, black hair was braided and adorned with bones, odd jewelry, and a hooded fur cloak made from the pelt of what seemed to be a large bear. It’s head remained intact and it’s teeth framed his forehead. The paws were draped over his shoulders, awful claws laid upon his breast.
He dropped something and I flinched. His eyes never left my face. As we faced each other, completely silent, the crumpled iron of the doorknob rolled away in a widely arching circle until it hit the leg of a table and stopped. Only my own breath sounds filled the space between us. I glanced at the window I had opened.
I could jump.
A soft creaking alerted me back to him and I saw him moving towards me slowly. “Stay back!” I yelled, brandishing my weapon as if it might somehow intimidate him.The five foot long stick, reduced to merely three at most by my own frantic efforts, was not even half his height. Still, I could stab him through the guts and make a break for the door.
“Easy, little one.” The voice that came out of him was closer to the sound of carriage wheels against gravel than a man’s baritone. Fine hairs along my body stood to attention. “No one needs to get hurt.” He assured me.
“Come any closer and you’ll have less life in you than that bear on your head!” I warned him in a grandiose lie. We both knew I could never take him, but maybe he would see the crazy look in my eye and fear me, just a little. To my credit, he did falter in his slow gait towards me. “Leave.” I demanded, both hands wielding my stick.
Regarding me for a moment, he licked his lips. “If I leave,” He began, holding up his palms to me. “My men will leave this city in ashes.” He threatened.
“Tell them not to, then.” I countered, eyes going wide for a moment, flashing at him, a daring gesture to let him know I was willing to call his every bluff.
It angered me when he chortled. I clenched my teeth and resisted the urge to swing my big pointy stick at him. “Once Orcs have scented ash on the wind, there is no stopping them.” He told me. “You are what has kept my men from claiming what is rightfully ours.”
Enraged, I bared my teeth and gave a muffled scream through them. “Go steal someone else’s lands! Better yet, go and find your own!” I shrieked.
Suddenly, he seemed to lose all patience with me. The humored smile on his lips vanished and he grew large, impossibly so, until he was upon me in an instant. I stabbed at him as if I were holding a spear and felt the tip connect with his body, but it did not give beneath the weight of my blow. Instead, he pressed into it as he cornered me. In one swift movement his hand gripped me by the roots of my hair and the veil pinned into the curls, as the other yanked the cue from my hands and threw it out the open window.
Below, I could hear someone yelp as it struck them from the sky.
Horribly close, our faces only an inch apart, I could smell smoke and leather and pine on him. “These are my lands, wench!” Gone was the low voice he had led with, replaced by a horrifying growl that made my knees weak. My eyes moved from his own, so inhuman and cold, to his bared teeth and tusks, the dead eyes of the bear skin we wore. Only the hysterical thoughts that my death was upon me filled my mind as his fist tightened within my hair. I nearly wept outright from the pain and felt my body giving out in sheer exhaustion. Fearing for one’s life was utterly draining, it would seem, and there was not much fire left within my dying spirit.
“Release me.” I wept, an oddly calm confidence allowing me to sound less like I was pleading with him, but commanding him.
Steadily, with a calculated movement, he further twisted the hand that held me captive and pushed me against the wall. “I have had enough of irritating humans and your games.” The words he spoke registered, but I didn’t have time to process them, given my growing fear of either being thrown out the window like that unfortunate cue stick, or developing a hideous bald spot I’d suffer for the rest of my life, should I survive this encounter. He was sick of games? He should not have accepted a marriage proposal for a woman of nobility, then, for that was all I had been taught in my youth.
My hand snaked through the cloak I’d knotted about my waist and gripped a billiard ball. I would only have one shot at this. If I failed, he would probably kill me. Quickly, hopefully. Given what I’d read of Orcs, however, I would not be afforded such mercy. I didn’t want to do this, I was a kind soul. A decent young lady of noteworthy reputation.
But I’d done worse things to better men.
The cue ball connected with his jaw and I was shocked to see his head snap to the side. However, he did not release his hold on me as I’d expected. Instead, with his head still to the side, his teeth clenching so tightly I heard his enamel grinding together, I saw one of his eyes find me through a fallen lock of coarse, black hair come loose from his braids. The sclera of his eyes were black, the irises copper, and the pupil quite small. As he looked to me, now, though, it dilated.
I gasped in shock and fear and raised my arm to strike again. He caught me mid-swing, fist wrapping so easily around my arm. An awful snarl set my legs and lower lip to trembling. In less light I would have entirely believed he was not a man, but the bear he wore, alive and enraged.
“I have had enough of this.” He told me.
Dear lord, I was either stupid or mad from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “That’s unfortunate, because I could do this all night!” I struck him again with another of the cue balls, deftly retrieved as he was so focused on frightening me into submission. This time, I hit his throat.
Just as I’d hoped, he made a terrible sound and staggered backwards. The bulk of his body against the billiard table sent it across the hardwood several feet as he fell, clutching his throat and choking down strangled lungfuls of air. Something caught the light and my eyes paused in their frantic scan of the room. There, against his boot, a dagger had come free just a hair from it’s hidden holster within his fur boot. Our eyes met and he glanced down at it before looking at me again.
I lunged for it in the same moment he did, still sounding as if he were gagging on his own windpipe. My hands reached the hilt first and gripped it tightly as he took hold of my wrists. Shrieking in outrage, I tore myself free of his grasp and saw black blood stain the blade. As he balled his hands into fists to quell the flow, I pointed my newly commandeered weapon at him. In my hands, it was more of a shortsword, and I was amazed at how secure and safe, yet utterly incompetent, I felt in that moment.
As I slowly moved forward, he leaned back and away from the tip of his own blade. It was not until his head met the thick oak leg of the billiard table that the tip pressed against the soft column of his throat, right where his pulse ought to be. I said nothing, and neither did he. For a long moment, I believe we simply waited for the other to end this entire ordeal. Could I even kill him? Did I have the heart? Did he deserve such an end? If I let him leave this room, he would go on to raid and pillage and rape and kill and…I would be here, safe. Father would move us into the city and away from the violence. Elinor might be allowed to come, along with scant few other servants.
Everyone else would die.
In a most frustrating turn of events, I began to cry. Not because I could not kill this monster, and not because of the fate I faced, but at the thought of having no control over my own destiny. No matter what I did, I would suffer in the end. Perhaps not as much as others, but for far longer.
My head and arm dropped at the same time. At my side, I gripped the hilt of the blade tightly enough that my flesh screamed for mercy. After a deep breath, and a silent prayer, I handed it back to him, hilt first. His eyes were the only sign of uncertainty, how they moved from my offerance of his own blade, to my face, where deep sorrow and resignation left me silently weeping. When he so slowly reached to take it back, our fingers brushed against each other, and I hated how human they felt.
The monster before me did not move to stand. I assumed he was contemplating his next move, and, given my behavior towards him, I would not blame him if he made me the first in a long string of mindless murders across this quiet hamlet. Surprisingly, he tucked the dagger back into his boot, all the while giving me a pointed look.
I collapsed. He didn’t move, just watched me as I folded into myself and sat on the cold hardwood floors across from him in a pool of fine silk and lace. Removed from myself, I stared out the window at the setting sun behind the trees. The sky had been so blue when I’d walked down the stairs with father, and now it had melted into a pink and yellow ombre as the horizon was set ablaze by dying daylight.
With a groan, the Orc laid out on the floor beside me sat upright and cracked his jaw. A black tongue licked his lips and he sniffed. I stared at him, wondering what he would do now that I had surrendered. Instead, he raised his brows at me as if giving me a cue to speak. Standing slowly, I offered my hand to him. “Let us see if father has managed to beat the priest into submission.” I said with a tight smile. He gazed up at me for a moment, and then he accepted my hand.