The Pack's Maid

"Stop fidgeting, princess Ivy, or you'll smudge the ink."

I wanted to tell the woman to shove her ink brush somewhere the sun doesn't shine, but I kept my mouth shut. 

That's what good girls do, right? 

Stay silent. Stay still. Stay pretty.

Gosh, I hated my life. Hated this pack. Hated every single person in this suffocating village who thought a woman's worth could be measured in dowry coins and childbearing hips.

"Look at how her body has developed." The eldest painter stepped back, admiring her work like I was livestock at auction. "Your husband will be very pleased. And this waist pf yours is perfect for bearing many strong sons."

My jaw clenched. Sons. Of course. Because to them, that's all I was good for.

"She's been blessed by the Moon Goddess herself," another woman chimed in, her wrinkled hands tracing symbols across my ribcage. The white ceremonial paint was cold against my skin. "Betrothed at six years old to such a worthy mate. What an honor."

I nearly laughed. Honor my ass. 

They'd been preparing me for this moment since I could barely walk—teaching me how to please a man I'd never chosen, training me to smile while my own dreams rotted in my chest.

Ever since I was born, just like every other girl born in my village i have been seen as nothing more than a tool for the male specie’s pleasure.

That was how girls were treated.

We don’t dare to dream, to have woishes of our own. All our life was meant to revolve around was the men while they had the freedom and liberty to chase whatever dreams they could.

I had seven brothers, and each of them got to attend the acaecemy in the capital. They got good education, they owned businesses, traveled to other territories, made decisions that actually mattered. 

And what did I get? Paint and promises that my sole purpose was to warm some man's bed and fill his nursery.

I wanted what they had…I wanted to enjoy the privilege they had to enjoy, I had my own dreams, I wanted to own my businesses, be a writer…but that was impossible when you are born in a village like mine. Even being the princess didn’t save me from the cruel fate females are forced to succumb to.

"All finished." The head painter clapped her hands together. "Go see yourself."

I stood, my legs stiff from sitting for hours, and walked to the full-length mirror. 

The woman staring back at me was stunning—I knew that without vanity. Intricate white and silver designs covered my arms, chest, stomach. My dark hair had been braided with moonflowers. 

Even I had to admit the effect was breathtaking.

That's why my parents had gotten such a hefty bride price. I was the most beautiful girl in the village, and they'd sold me like prize livestock.

The door opened and ymy mother swept in her eyes already wet with tears. "Oh, my daughter. Look at you."

I said nothing.

"I'm so proud." She touched my painted shoulder gently. "Tomorrow you'll finally become a woman. Finally fulfill your destiny."

Destiny…

"Your husband-to-be's family has already sent word—they're preparing a grand feast. You'll want for nothing, Ivy. You'll have servants, a beautiful home, children who—"

"Mother." My voice came out flat. "I need to rest."

Her smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. "Of course. Big day tomorrow." She kissed my forehead. "I love you, my perfect girl."

Perfect?

Right.

The women filed out, their chatter fading down the hallway. 

The door clicked shut, and I heard the lock turn from outside. They always locked it the night before ceremonies—tradition, they called it. 

Keeping the bride pure and safe.

More like making sure she couldn't run.

I stood motionless for thirty seconds, listening to their footsteps disappear. 

Then I turned toward the corner of my room where my maid, Lyssa, had been standing silently through the whole ordeal.

She was the only person in this hellhole I trusted. 

Three months ago, she'd returned from a trading trip to the Moonshadow Kingdom with stories that had set my blood on fire. Stories about women who owned property. Women who studied at universities. Women who answered to no one but themselves.

I'd dreamed about it every night since.

"Selene—" Lyssa's voice was worried. "What are you thinking?"

I looked at her dead in the eye. "I would rather die before I throw myself into this marriage." 

My hands were shaking now, but not from fear. From rage. From years of swallowing my screams. "Get our bags ready. We're leaving this hellhole tonight."