the lady enide was a bastard; a child born to uther pendragon, king of camelot. a child that was unwanted, a burden, a besmirch to the great dynasty of the pendragon family. enide was a flower, waiting to blossom, withering in the outcasted shadows...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL
✲*'。
RUINATION LINGERED IN HER VEINS, her earliest memory is of that being passed over and over again. Always being tossed into the newest governess' arms, clinging to the taller, bulkier frame of her half-brother whenever she faced the direct, cruel facade of her father, indifference from her mother. It was easy for Enide Pendragon to slip onto the background, be seen, observed and not heard.
It was how she managed to escape watching the public executions; the poor, simple lady Enide would faint at the first sight of blood. It was sight too unpleasant for that of such a frail young woman. A gentle hand was needed when it came to his youngest child, the king decreed. A young girl with a sweet disposition, she would have no need to witness something so callous.
A pretty flower that needed the thorns to protect her from the harsh winds.
So, while the remainder of her family were forced to watch the public beheading from the balcony, the courtyard or simply their bedchambers, Enide Pendragon was notably absent. Her back turned to her windows, eyes staring dead ahead as the sound of the axe began to swing...
"My lady," Kahedin interrupted, a sharp knock to the door, interrupting Enide's wandering thoughts. "I have the jewellery here that you requested from the blacksmith."
Turning her head ever so slightly, nodding her head in acknowledgment, Enide gestured as best as she could for her footmen to enter her chambers as she was being pressed and prodded into her new gown. "Thank you Kahedin, you can set it down right on my dresser."
Focusing on her gaze back on the wall, Enide winced as she felt the scrap of a needle pressing upon her bare skin. "My most sincerest apologies my lady, I am nearly finished."
Deidre Greaves, the seamstress to the crown, and Enide's own personal tailor. Ever since her arrival to Camelot, near four years ago after the death of mother, Queen Alayne Pendragon personally oversaw the education of the young woman. After securing a new member for her daughters household, Enide personally thought she had never dressed better. Under Deidre's careful stitching, the bastard of the king was the best dressed lady in Camelot.
"Thank you Deidre," Enide hummed, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. "The stitching is exquisite. You never do fail."
"Thank you my lady, as always it is an honour," Deirdre hummed, gaze carefully situated on the the hemming she was stitching.
Staring at Kahedin's profile in the mirror, a raised eyebrow on his face, Enide discreetly nodded, dismissing him. "I shall fetch your medicine from your mother my lady, I shall be back momentarily."
