"Papa, I'm back," echoed a mellifluous voice with the 'creaking' sound of the door being banged.
Marlowe scurried inside their little cottage hut in a hurry, dropping her wooden vessel on the floor.
She veered to the figure with grey beards and hair, cladded in poor quality fabric, standing next to the window with an unfathomable expression on his face; which was sheer resemblance of fear and anxiousness.
The moment she stepped in, fear engulfed her as her gaze landed on the little item held in her father's visibly shaky hands.
"Papa?" her voice made her father, Hebron, who was lost in his thoughts to jerk off. "What's that?" Marlowe questioned, with evident fright tinging her sweet tone.
Unable to respond due to the panic that invaded him, Hebron, her father, silently looked at her. Relaying his reluctance to break the news.
Impatient, Marlowe strode forward. Her gaze widened and her lips parted in alarm. "Father, what are you doing with the royal paper?" she asked, quite frightened.
Just as she had guessed, it had something to do with the Royal Castle—from the royal crest embedded on it.
Hebron simply fixed his fright-filled eyes on her, she could already feel the tenseness emanating from him, the fear that said it all; everything is not alright.
Glancing at the item in his hold one more time, Hebron began parting his shaky lips to speak, "It's an invitation to the Royal banquet tomorrow," his fear could be felt even in his speech.
His response was substantially followed by a hard frown and a shocked gasp erupting from her.
Marlowe gulped, feeling that minor fear in her chest growing intensely, eliciting a tremble from her small form. "W-why do you have it then?" she asked. Her eyes, seeking his for a response.
Hebron looked at his daughter, mirroring the same emotions in his eyes. "The King wants to pick a bride," he said solemnly.
Astonished, Marlowe shook in trembles. Her distraught gape flew to the missive in her father's hand as she looked at it as if she was looking at the gate to hell.
Why? Why all of a sudden?
Her fingers clutched desperately on her dress, making her slim veins visible.
"Papa, I don't understand—" puzzled, she sought elaboration.
"All the maidens in Valcresh at the marriageable age are ordered to attend the banquet tomorrow." Hebron summarized the content written in the Royal invitation at once, with pity held in his eyes for his youngest daughter.
Struck with astoundment, Marlowe's legs instantly became feeble, she stumbled but was quick to balance herself before she could hit the ground. Her fingers shook and she felt a sudden weakness ram her insides.
This was more than fear.
Her heart sank to the abyss of her chest from the break of the 'good news'.
What will happen now?
"I'll not go, Papa," she rang in protest.
More than shocked by his daughter's statement, Hebron's eyes widened enormously.
"You can't say that, my child," he warned.
"But papa, I—"
"You nothing, Marlowe!" came his harsh rebuttal, shunning her immediately.
Silent and aggrieved, Marlowe shrunk back from her father's outlash with slumped shoulders.
Staring at his angry face.
"Do you know what will happen if we dare not obey the order of the Royal Castle?" Hebron yelled, his body vibrating from a mix of anger and terror.
Marlowe moved her gaze from her father, looking downwards in a sullen state.
Of course, she knew what will happen if they dared defied the Royal order.
No one will be in their right mind to do that, except they wanted to be slaughtered mercilessly with the whole kingdom watching such pitiful demise.
Yet, she couldn't hide the fact that she was terrified of this news.
Who would want to marry the devilish King of Valcresh? Who's rumored to be cursed.
People called him a beast, a troll, name it; because no one has ever set their eyes on the King ever since he ascended the throne.
But it was a popular truth, that he's a creature of the dark. A blood sucking monster.
Remembering all this made a shiver leave her body. Her spine stiffened and cold sweat broke out on her temple.
"But papa, I don't want to…I don't," almost on the verge of weeping, Marlowe raised another refusal.
She didn't even want to step a leg in that cursed Castle. Not now, not ever!
Then to speak of attending a bride selection banquet as a candidate for the King?
It's pure nightmare!
"You must!" came Hebron's holler in his aged and groggy voice. His eyes pinned her sternly, daring another word from her.
Of course she could as well spot the worry and pity in his eyes for her. But she understood the current predicament.
"Even nobles weren't spared from this, how much more commoners like us?" he asked her on a serious note.
"But, papa, this isn't right. What do they possibly want from us, we have absolutely nothing to offer." she retorted.
Earning a sigh from Hebron before he spoke again, "Then tell me, can you handle the severity of this matter without being punished?" he questioned. His lips sealed tight, but Marlowe clearly knew he was restraining deeper words.
"Or end up being killed?" he finally said what he held in mind with graveness. His gaze filled with unspeakable emotions.
Airing another desolate sigh, Hebron took two strides towards her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Listen my child, there are other women who are afraid of this too," he took a look at his daughter's terrified face.
"you don't have to worry, there are hundreds of maidens out there to choose from, there's a high chance that you'll barely be considered to be the King's bride." Hebron said, soothing her, but it sounded as if he was desperately assuring himself as well.
After a moment of consideration, in response Marlowe gave in, her glassy gaze portraying reluctance. She sucked in a whiff of thick breath as her chest heaved along. "I'll listen to you, Papa." she said, with lingering fear fluttering helplessly in her chest.
Yet deep down, her mind haboured doubts in contrary to her father's words. The uncertainty was evident in her quavering brows.