Allura.
'Beautiful people had the purest of hearts, and met the luckiest of fates..' I was told repeatedly by Madam Caprice, whenever a slave master returned me, insisting I was too plain to be sold off at a fair price.
I had always believed the latter part of that statement but never the former. But now, as I gawked at the blood that leaked from the woman's abdomen, onto the task master's dagger, I suddenly had a change of heart.
The taskmaster pulled out the dagger from the blonde woman who had been chosen to serve under His Majesty. She arched her back and lowered her jaw, unable to make a single sound.
"Disgusting." The taskmaster spat on her clothes, he dropped his whip and used his left hand to pull out the piece of glass stuck in his neck.
The woman fell unceremoniously to her knees, with a bloodied hand resting on her abdomen. I watched in horror, as the taskmaster raised the dagger over his head and jabbed it deep into her throat.
"What did I say? Didn't I tell you lot that whether you live or die depends completely on me?! How dare you try to rebel against me?!" He twisted the blade, and more blood spilled out from the corners of her mouth.
Turning away from her, he diverted his glare to us all, "There's nothing more sickening than a revolting slave." He said and spat at the ground, "Take the corpse and dispose of it in a river." The slave master instructed.
I discreetly peered at the little girl, unlike the rest of us who were merely cowering in fear to please the master. Her jittery jaw and fear-stricken eyes rubbed me off as someone who only experienced this sort of thing for the first time.
And what was this about her Mama? Wasn't she an orphan like the rest of us? Surely, Madam Caprice had some ethics in her vile heart... right?
The slave master's subordinates hurriedly carried her arms and legs over their shoulders, then turned towards the exit to take their leave.
My head fell to my chest, I needed to rest, after walking the entire distance here from the border of Rochester, my feet could barely even stand.
"Halt! On the orders of the king!" A baritone voice declared, stealing all of our attention.
Standing at the door, were about four men from head count, all dressed in attires that suggested they were royal guards. It was my first time to see any up close, they were always ever by a noble.
So why were they here? And did they say the king?
On hearing of the king's involvement, the slave master hurried to where they stood. "Ah, can I do anything for you folks?" He asked, relaxing his palm over his wound in the most unnatural way.
The dungeon was lit by torches, so I couldn't see anyone's face clearly, but I had a feeling the guards did not like the slave master.
"We'll be taking these slaves with us back to the castle." One of the guards declared and snapped his finger. Immediately, the other four behind him, marched towards him, holding tall sharp spears.
"What?!" The slave master cried out. "These are my slaves! No one is allowed to touch them, they were bought with my own money." His angry voice protested.
We shrunk back in fear, refusing to take another step, the beautiful blonde woman from before was still in this dungeon, now reduced to a lowly corpse.
"Silence!" The man I assumed to be the head guard declared, hitting his heavy spear against the ground. The taskmaster was left speechless and backed away, till he crashed into the men carrying the corpse.
"We will be taking that corpse with us too, this year his highness has decided to break history, and liberate all the slaves to serve under him!" The head guard announced in a loud voice, striking a new kind of fear in me.
In all of us.
----------
My wrists felt lighter as the heavy chains used to bind us together were swapped with ropes. We were made to walk with our heads down, so I could not take a look at my surroundings.
The only time I raised my head, was at the sound of heavy doors being pushed back, signaling we had reached our destination.
"Walk in, and don't dare to make a sound." The head guard warned us, but my mind was preoccupied with the sight before my eyes.
Beyond those doors, were heaps of bread, stacked together against a tall multi-colored glass window. My stomach involuntarily growled as we were made to kneel close to the floury temptation.
When last had I tasted anything other than leftover soup and vegetables? I even started to believe my sense of taste had eluded me.
But, it wasn't only just us, when I walked in, I took notice of about a hundred more slaves made to kneel before two elevated thrones. I was just grateful that we weren't up close to His Majesty.
Kneeling beside me was the same blonde little girl, shivering in fear. Didn't she know she'd be singled out if she stood out too much?
Was she trying to cause trouble for the rest of us too?
With not much of a choice, I took a quick glance to see if anyone was passing by, when the guards patrolling us walked towards the front, I rested my left hand over her jittery hands.
My touch startled the pretty little thing, she traced the hand to my boorish face and for some reason, she calmed down a bit.
The huge doors were pushed open once again, only this time the taskmaster was escorted inside, with the corpse carried by his Majesty's guards.
"Your Majesty, this is the man, who dared to kill one of your slaves." A voice announced, in a loud whisper.
The slave master retorted, "Your Majesty, this is all a misunderstanding, that slave was worthless and rebellious. I merely dispensed justice to the wench."
I bit my cheeks, angry that he dared to defame the dead, especially one who died trying to save somebody else.
"But, my other slaves are all worse than this corpse, there is none that would fit His Majesty's..." He was saying until he was cut off by the sound of a flying knife.
I didn't know who threw the knife, but it landed behind me, I was tempted to look back at it, but was brought to my senses by what the king said.
"There's nothing more sickening than a revolting slave." I assumed he was the king, because not only did he have a deep baritone voice, but when he spoke, the entire throne room fell silent.
The taskmaster was overwhelmed by his intimidating voice, but quickly recovered from it. "Yes, Yes, his Majesty is wise indeed. That was why I extended the punishment to her." He said in-between hearty laughter.
"Then," His Majesty took a suspenseful pause then said, "pick up the dagger and stab yourself." He said in a casual tone, as though he had just not asked this man to commit suicide.
The taskmaster forced a laugh, "I don't think I can understand what His Majesty wants from me. Perhaps this is a jest..."
"Do I look like the type to make jokes?" He sharply interjected in a hardened tone, instilling a new kind of fear in me.
"Pick up the dagger and stab yourself. Now." The king said, running thin on his patience.
Was this truly going to happen? What was His Majesty planning on doing? Who in their right senses would willingly pick up a dagger and stab themselves with it?
For the past nineteen years I had been alive, I had seen enough to know that these men valued their lives more than anything else.
So why?
Why was the slave master stepping away from the king and marching toward the end of the throne room? My eyes followed his feet until they reached where the dagger lay.
I gasped softly when I noticed it was the same dagger he used to murder that woman from before. Her blood had dried up on it and exuded a sickening odor.
"Your majesty! Please! No!" The taskmaster cried out, as his hand slowly picked up the dagger.
"Mercy! Show me mercy! Please! Don't do this!" He begged with genuine horror in his eyes as the tip of the bloody dagger rested against his neck.
I felt my chest tighten, this was complete madness! On his face, was pure fright, that I was certain of. Yet, he held the dagger to his wrist and beckoned to His Majesty for help.
What was going on here?
"I beg of you don't do this! I beg of you don't-!"
*Slash*
Some of the task master's blood splattered on my back, and his body fell with a mighty thud. The dagger painted with fresh blood fell out of his hands, into his pool of blood.
It was like a nightmare posing as a daydream, because as some slaves celebrated the death of this oppressor and the kindness of His Majesty.
I shared a different sentiment, this was not a normal death, so why was everyone so glad?
Didn't they know that if His Majesty could make such a horrible man run mad and kill himself, he could anything he wanted to anyone of us?
Just what sort of fate awaited us?