The Loneliest Ballad

16 May, 1368. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.

Had it been fifteen or sixteen days since she'd been confined to her rooms?

Celia had lost count. One day seemed to quietly bleed into the next. Then again, her days in confinement were slow but bearable.

She filled her daylight hours with embroidery, tackling an ambitious new tapestry. She re-read books she'd borrowed from the library, since being allowed to swap them for fresh books was out of the question.

Sometimes, she'd just sit in the window seat for hours and stare at the enormous gardens below, watching the courtiers strolling and flirting. It made her recall carefree childhood spring days at Magdaline Castle with her siblings.

Seeing the courtiers also reminded her that despite being locked away, the sun still rose and life continued on merrily for everyone else.

Occasionally she'd see Tobin in the gardens, looking rather comical next to the lean, powerful frames of the young soldiers in his battalions. She'd watch as he supervised his knights at sword practice, constantly calling out suggestions and criticisms.

For a youth who barely had the stamina to hold up a sword, let alone challenge anyone to a fight, Tobin seemed extremely critical of others' skills.

He'd once told Celia that while he'd defeated many knights with his sword skills, he was simply too precious to risk injury in a practice battle.

Celia often told herself that Tobin's arrogance probably hid a self-loathing of his many inadequacies. But he'd never have an honest conversation with her about it.

All in all though, the past fortnight had passed by peacefully. The nights however, continued to be extremely unpleasant.

Tobin had waited for five days after her last monthly course started, then started bedding her again.

At the close of every day, when the servants lit candles throughout the palace, Celia's belly would start aching with anxiety at the thought of having to submit to her husband yet again.

Turning him away wasn't an option. She knew a wife owed her husband absolute obedience in everything, including the marital bed. If she refused, Tobin had the right under law to beat her until he was satisfied she'd submit to his desires.

She supposed it could be worse. Apart from a few slaps across the face, he'd never actually really beaten her. Celia thought she was fairly lucky in that sense.

Still, having Tobin's clumsy hands roaming over her, squeezing and poking while he grunted, always made her skin crawl. She'd become fairly good at lying as still as a stone and blanking her mind while Tobin was over her.

Sometimes, she could even feel herself drifting away from her own body, as if it were another girl suffering such indignities. Unless he was being particularly rough or his weight was making it impossible to breathe, she could almost pretend it wasn't happening to her.

Lately however, her husband had been struggling more and more when trying to mount her. So he'd started ordering her to climb on top of him instead.

Perched uncomfortably across Tobin's wide thighs, he'd order her to pleasure him with her hands. Then he'd order her to straddle him, watching her the entire time. Celia often found herself struggling to keep her balance as his body beneath her would be slippery with sweat.

She did everything he asked and it was all so humiliating, she wanted to weep.

At least in that position, Celia tried to console herself, his weight didn't steal her breath and his sweat didn't drip onto her face.

Every night when it was all over, she'd lie next to Tobin and pray she'd finally conceived. The thought of being left alone for almost nine months sounded heavenly.

When she prayed however, a tiny voice in her heart would always pipe up in protest.

Did she really want a baby that would tie to her husband forever? She knew a child would solve many problems but create others.

And was she capable of loving a child created in disgust and humiliation?

- - -

As the sun was setting that day, Tobin walked through the apartments' doors unexpectedly and Celia flinched. She hadn't been expecting him until well after dinner.

Tobin's eyes scanned her simple, dove grey gown. "Get yourself properly dressed for dinner. You'll be joining us in the banquet hall tonight."

"Am I? But your mother said-"

"She doesn't want to see you again until you apologise. Which you'll do tonight." Tobin said calmly.

Celia glared at him. "What exactly am I apologising about? I still fail to see where I went wrong."

"Why are you being so stubborn about apologising?" he rolled his eyes.

"Because apologies are for when you know you've done the wrong thing. And no one has yet explained to me why merely pointing out the truth is wrong! All I said is that if I bear a son, like your mother did, I'd be satisfied because the royal line would continue unbroken."

Perhaps it was stubbornness after all, but Celia was determined to stand her ground. If she didn't, wasn't she setting a precedent where she could be blamed for everything? Would she have to beg for forgiveness when the harvests were poor or when the sky was grey instead of blue?

Tobin sighed deeply and for a moment, Celia thought he might be willing to relent.

"You'll apologise to my mother because your words offended her. Your very presence at this court offends her. She is queen. You are not." Tobin pulled out something from behind his back.

A riding crop.

"Hold out your hand on the table, palm up." he ordered flatly.

"What! Tobin-"

"Hold out your hand unless you want to feel the bite of the lash across your back instead." he continued on the same toneless way.

In disbelief, Celia stretched out her left hand and rested it against the table next to her.

This isn't happening, she told herself. He's just doing it to scare me. I'm a blood royal. He can't just whip me as if I were a naughty child or worse, an unruly beast.

The crop made a sharp whistling sound as it cut through the air.