So, I decided that I was going to pull out an idea from the ol archives I had. It is currently UN named, like those baby's who's parents cant decided what to name there kid so they call them baby boy or baby girl. I'm just referring to this story so far as Prince Snobby Pants.
It did the trick. Writing and creating made me feel like a new woman.
Here is a little bit of the work I did...Enjoy and tell me what you think.
This is a WIP
I forced my feet to put themselves in front of each other, begging them to not betray me but to do what I was willing them to do. I was being led down a long hallway that was covered with disgustingly gaudy paintings, they were all bigger than anything I had ever seen and they looked old. All of them cracked and faded. They where expensive. They did nothing for me but scream “I’m a rich snob, please love me!” I guessed that I could free around twenty five slaves with just one of those things. I realized quickly how much more humble my family was then Michael's must be.
That wasn’t a surprise. Even thou this was the first day I had met him I could tell what kind of a person he was by the way he kissed me when the preacher said “You may kiss the bride.” He had hardly looked at me throughout the ceremony but stood ridged and seemingly unable to breath. Then, like a robot grabbed my wrist to drag me to him and kissed me. It was hard lipped, closed mouthed and tightly sealed. I felt ill at the thought of my first kiss with my new husband, the arrogance it held. This was not the way a blushing bride should be feeling as she walked to his, err, her bedroom.
Calm down Danny, you agreed to this. I took deep calming breathes and gave myself a quiet pep talk as I followed close behind my prince. Isn’t this what every girl wants?
To be a princess...
Obligated to marry any over stuffed haughty prince her parents think will best further there kingdom.
Yeah, I was living the dream!
Michael was walking straight backed and heavy footed towards his room. One hand on the hilt of his sword and the other jagged by his side. His palms flat against his thigh; his fingers didn’t move, like they belonged to some kind of freaky Zombie. Lifeless but yet somehow managing to work.
I couldn’t read him. He didn’t look nervous per say, he mostly just looked angry.
He stopped in front of a big wooden door that looked freshly sanded and finished. It was dark brown with lighter shades of yellow grains that ran in every direction. The door was round on top and had a circular hollow centered handle.
I looked over at the stranger standing beside me and raised my eye brows in a question I hoped he understood as “Yeah OK, and.”
“This will be our room Princess.”
“Oh.” I said simply. Thanks for stating the obvious. My blood boiled between nervousness and anger as he spoke the words that rang thick with exquisite snobbery. “This is our room, Princes.” He said "our" like he had some kind of ownership over me. I wanted to step on his feet and do something truly childish like honk his nose for the way he had called me "princess". Like being a woman made me less than him.
I had realized long ago that I was a horrible princess. Why was I expected to act like one now?
I used to sneak out at night with the chambermaids daughter, Suzann. She would usually try to talk me into staying in my room, so she could play with all of my toys and put on all my little dresses. I let her every so often, but I usually talked her into leading me around the castle. She knew were every single trap door and secret entrance was. I would of traded my dresses for her freedom in an instant.
I looked back up at him and tried hard not to glare. Was I meant to open the door for him? Wasn’t he showing me to his thrown room? As a “gentleman” (I use the word loosely) wasn’t he meant to woe me or at the very least smile or something that resembled some kind of emotion?
I stood in front of the door, digging my heals down and deciding whether it was time for me to put my hands on my hips or not. As my husband he would no doubt see them, at some point. I didn’t want to pull it out to soon and risk him becoming immune.
“Daniella, it is customary for a wife to open the door for her husband on there wedding night.” He said, his nose practically floating a foot above me.
“On what planet?” I asked him, my arms itching to mold into my hips.
“I didn’t realize they had given me a young mare that needed training.” He said, his perfectly sculpted lips moving slowly and over exaggerated with each syllable.