Anagha Baheti

Someone asks me to dance, and I accept. The music swells. As he spins me around, he cracks a joke that tears a genuine chuckle out of me. It is actually pleasant, being able to relax, if even for one moment.

Hours later, the ballroom is empty, save for the very drunk lords and ladies who will probably stay the night. I linger in the passageway, too scared to peek into the gardens, but too curious to retire to my rooms. A loud gong rings through the castle. Its echo shivers through my bones. It rings again. And again. And again. Twelve times it rings. To mark the end of the party. To warn the nobles to retire to a room or leave. Soldiers begin to make their rounds, urging everyone to get indoors.

And the prince is yet to be found.

I catch the eyes of two green coats marching in my direction, and before they can escort me, I turn on my heels and run to my rooms. Only when I am safely tucked behind closed doors do I exhale the tension I have been holding between my lungs.

“Did you enjoy the evening, darling dearest?” The prince’s voice makes me jump. Candlelight bathes his cruel smirk in a soft yellow. My tongue freezes. What do I say? If I say yes, he would take it to mean I enjoy his absence. But if I say no, he would torture me all night for spitting on his effort.

“The arrangements were lovely, but the chasm in my heart left by your absence forbid me from feeling the joy in my heart.”

He kicks the table he is leaning against and closes the distance between us. His fingers wrap around a lock of my hair. “Lies roll off your tongue like music, my silly bee.”

“I-”

He lets go of my hair as he takes a step back. The breath burning my lungs quietly fills the distance between us. “Anyways, I need your help. I know your people can perform all sorts of magic. You must know of a tracer. I come asking for assistance, and I am confident in your generosity to give it. Please, my lady, help me find the person this belongs to.”

In the five months I have belonged to him, he has never once used the word ‘please.’

I follow the trajectory of his hand. A glass shoe sits on my dresser.

This, I can do. But my paranoia kicks in. If I agree too quickly, I could be walking into a trap.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t do that.” His eyes open wide with delirium. “Haven’t you ever met someone who takes your breath away? Whose purity makes you want to grab them and squeeze them until they break?”

No. Because I am not a psychopath.

“I would never dream of-”

“Right, I forgot how simple-minded you could be sometimes. I need you… to find… the owner… of this shoe. If you don’t…” The look in his eyes is a promise that leaves no room for pretenses.

But, I won’t simply let him have it. Every want of mine has been priced against humiliation. This is my chance to extract a drop of revenge. And maybe dream of a moment of respite.

I make a show of gliding my hands through the air, uttering words that sound like a spell but don’t mean a thing. A small gust of wind ripples out of me, ruffling his hair as it passes him. Not my doing. Maybe Guna decided to take pity on me.

I paint my face with weeks of disappointment.

“I can’t locate the girl.” His mouth opens, and whatever is to fall out will shackle me to doom, so I don’t let him get a word in. “However, I can cast a spell on the shoe so only the true owner may ever comfortably wear it.”

His eyes light up as he mutters two words. “Please, do.”

I cast another spell. A real one this time.

“Is it done?”

I nod. He cradles the shoe to his chest and leaves. No words exchanged. My failure forgotten. He truly must be smitten, then. Good. Now, all that remains is to get them wed. The pauper and the prince. The beauty and the beast.

Frozen winds barge in through the windows, whispering of my cruelty. Of course. Guna is just, after all. The girl is as innocent as they come. He will break her, mind, body, and spirit. What kind of woman subjects another to such a fate? A cruel, selfish one. That much is true. But is it all my fault? Or is it the fault of my father, who refuses to marry me to my mother’s kind? Is it the fault of the king, who cherishes the cruelty in his son? Or is it the fault of this world, that props men over the shoulders of women?

When night falls over my life, Guna may punish me as she sees fit.

In the world of men, a woman must kill or be killed. And I am a survivor.