The Loneliest Ballad

Is that all?

Celia's vision obscured as a burst of rage at Tobin's question suddenly turned her sight hazy.

"I did those things to be a helpmate to you! And for the good of this kingdom! I shoulder the tasks you don't want to take on and I help wherever I can. Even when it's late at night and I'm tired and I can barely hear myself think over your goddamn snoring, it's me reviewing your documents, not you!"

Silence.

Celia sucked in a sharp breath, shocked at how the words had poured out of her lips.

Would Tobin whip her hand again for daring to talk to him that way?

Tobin eventually responded and when he did, he sounded strangely calm. There was none of the shouting she expected.

His response was worse than being shouted at.

"Did you ever stop to ask whether I even want such help from you?"

Celia startled. "What? I don't understand-"

"Did I ever ask you to review my accounts?" Tobin asked softly.

"No, but-"

"Did I ever ask you to start corresponding with all the ambassadors, or read diplomatic missives?"

"No, but it all needed to be done!" she blurted out. "You weren't attending the matters and some of the correspondence was growing overdue. So I thought -"

"I don't care what you thought. Did I ever seek your help at any time?" Tobin kept his voice soft, but dangerous.

"No…" Celia whispered. "But I wanted to be useful to you and to Havietten."

"And here lies the root of the problem, you Islian bitch. I don't want your help or your usefulness. Why would I ever want to give you the chance to do something as well as me, or even better than me?" he asked meanly.

Celia felt like the wind had been knocked out of her sails. Mouth dry, she could only blink helplessly at her lord and master.

"If you really want to help me and my people, keep your mouth shut and fill a fucking nursery. That's all Havietten needs from you. Nothing else you can offer is of any value to me. Am I understood?"

"I…" she rasped.

"Am I understood, Princess Celia?" Tobin's voice hardened and he squeezed her wrist hard.

"Yes." she finally managed to make a coherent word.

"I should hope so, for your sake." Tobin heaved himself off the bed and walked towards the door. "Know your place as a woman and learn in silence from your betters. Either learn from my orders or from the lash of my whip across your back, the choice is yours."

Celia felt her throat constrict with fear.

Tobin saw it too, because he smirked with satisfaction. "You're forbidden to review any documents or meet with any diplomats from now on, without my express permission."

Celia grabbed a handful of the blankets beneath her, clenching until her fist aches. "But what happens if…"

"If what?"

"If…well, if things don't…don't get done in time." she stumbled on her words. "Sometimes there are documents or orders…that need attending to, well, right away."

"I'll get to them when I get to them. It's none of your concern." Tobin said flatly.

But it is my concern, Celia screamed silently! If you're too lazy to carry out your duties as heir, how does this bode for you as king? And if you're a weak, lazy king, how does that not threaten my future too? Instead, she kept her voice demure. "But what if you don't and it's something urgent…?"

He shrugged. "The people will understand and accommodate themselves to my wishes. They've adored me since the day I was born. I'm their beloved prince and future of the royal line."

Celia was struck dumb by his arrogance. And his delusion.

Did he really think a ruler could triumph with nothing but the supposed love of his subjects behind him? Did he believe their love was unconditional?

Tobin stalked from the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Celia slumped back against the velvet bedhead.

I don't want your help.

He couldn't have said things more clearly.

All those times she'd struggled through complicated documents late at night or pushed herself to learn about the workings of her new kingdom - it had been naught but wasted effort.

She wasn't considered useful or valuable at all. She was just a womb.

And as long as she was an empty womb, she was nothing to the Haviettenese.

Good lord, she thought. What the hell had her parents been thinking when they'd put her through such a rigorous education for so many years? Making her work, day after gruelling day, under tutors picked from amongst the most brilliant minds in Islia?

Had they never stopped to think her husband might never want that from her?

Worse, Tobin had spoken as if he resented the abilities and knowledge she brought.

He'd never welcome her efforts because he didn't want to be helped. He didn't want to be seen as a man who could benefit from a woman's help.

All those times she'd done things to aid him, thinking he'd eventually appreciate he willingness to help him with his responsibilities…all she'd done was make him dislike her more and more.

Because her efforts had merely made Tobin feel inadequate. They'd made him feel like she towered over him, both in intellect and talent.

And when had that ever, ever, been a successful strategy for a woman before? What woman had ever gained a man's respect by standing taller than him?

Celia closed her eyes in silent, sinking despair. All those attributes her parents had so proudly cultivated in her, telling her they'd be assets to a future husband…well, it turned out they were actually liabilities.

Tobin wanted someone who was willing to make herself small at his side, someone willing to diminish herself for his benefit, so that he could feel superior.

What he wanted, went against everything Celia had ever been taught or ever wanted to be.

But she'd have to do it, wouldn't she? She'd have to make herself small if she wanted to survive this this petty, resentful man.

She'd have to stay quiet and bury the real Celia Devon deep inside, until that Celia eventually died like a plant without sunshine.

No one would miss that woman.