𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 - 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗

Throughout Florence's childhood, both of her parents had stuck to a routine of ruining themselves, she had watched her mothers waistline expand with her carelessness as she continously swallowed down any alcoholic substance she could find her hands on, drowning out the sorrow of her husband's infidelity and dead children.

Her father took a different approach to his 'mourning', on both days of the weekend he would take a minimum of five women a day to have his way with them, read any letters he had received before going to reprimand his wife - usually that one of his mistresses had safely delivered a son but she had failed. He had clearly given up on any dreams of a surviving son so he buried himself in other women.

Even with a living brother, Florence was subjected to the same tiring routine. Gossip penetrated the house she lived in, she knew all of what some servants said and if she didn't know everything, Erika would always tell her, carrying a terrible amount of guilt afterwards but she would always tell Florence.

Florence knew everyone pitied her and her sister, looked, actually gawked at the two sisters, Florence stopped leaving the home because of all those pitying looks and gossiping snobs. She didn't need someone to tell her that her parents were married for the sake of marriage and not for love, for she wasn't an idiot, they didn't love each other and perhaps they never did. Love is a curious thing, it isn't always evident but it's there, and for some early childhood years Florence had gullibly believed that until she heard the smack of a fist against bone.

She had been around eight, perhaps nine, when she heard her mother get hit. Silence had followed after her. Not even little Viktoria spoke a word, she had just hugged herself into her sister's side and let fat tears roll silently down her face, they soddened Florence's dress but she didn't insult her.

Their parents had been arguing, Florence had an improved range of vocabulary afterwards but she had enough sense not to use them, but she was glad she knew them atleast. It came out of the unordinary the hit, Florence could hear her father's immediate stuttering and his apologies, she supposed her mother was too wasted to process what had happened because without seeing anything Florence knew her mother had embraced her husband whilst he cried, assuring him it was okay as if he were a scolded child.

And on that day, Florence disagreed with whatever the love concept was. Her father had hit her mother after that day, reconciling seconds later with an exchange of love confessions. Erika told her what her own mother had said, "To be in love is to mean to cherish your loved one, one does not hit the one the heart is loyal to."

At seventeen, her mother sobered enough to take her eldest daughter to a ball. Florence was donned in an ankle reaching dress, it had been a light lilac fabric, some lacing hanging down from the short cut sleeves and the high waistline the dress provided, lavish borrowed jewellery from her mother followed, all golden, some hair decorative items matching gold too all added to her feeling as a show animal.

She had been paraded around all night, her heels hurt from where her feet had clicked as she was forced to move around and interact. All names her mother had told her, slipped out as soon as they fell in. As soon as her mother was enthralled in another conversation with a foreign face to Florence, she disappeared through a glass door, seeing only naturistic views she hoped for the best.

"Alice? Är det du min kärlek?" (Alice? Is that you my love?) A voice had asked, shattering any hope of some peace, Florence had tried to find. Florence revealed herself to a man, who sighed at her appearance, he let out a very disappointed sound and Florence took immediate offence.

"Du är väldigt oförskämd, jag är inte förvånad över att Alice inte är här! (You are very rude, I'm not surprised Alice isn't here!)" Florence exclaimed but the man only chuckled.

"Kan en katt ta något kränkande, tycker du? (Can a cat take something offensively, do you think?)" The man responded a grin tugging at his lips.

"En katt? Åh jag är ledsen, antog jag, hur dumt! (A cat? Oh I'm sorry, I assumed, how stupid!" Florence said the last bit to herself rather than the man, he continued to laugh at her and Florence felt the embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks. He eventually stopped laughing and Florence calmed herself only a little before he had spoken again.

"Jag Emil. (I am Emil.)"

"Florence."

The night was engraved in her mind, her first night meeting Emil, her first night she believed she had met her forever, that was the first time she had ever believed herself in love. And he did everything right, he saved her as the moon was looming in the sky, snuck her out without even jostling any servants just so she could count stars with him, he said he enjoyed watching her talk about her interests, she had blushed before being kissed.

The whole facade went on for around five months until it ended as she received the news, Emil had married under the moonlight (her and his thing) to some woman and then killed themselves after downing a bottle of poison each under the stars gazes. And for it all to turn out that Alice hadn't been a cat but his sweetheart of two years, his betrothed for eight months when he had met Florence.

Emil was one of the reasons she didn't believe in love and swore off any chances of any betrothals, he had ruined her, he had taken away and left her in shambles.

But as she sat at a rock, years later, a man on one knee infront of her holding out a three banded ring, all symbolising different things - engagement, marriage, and motherhood, she forgot about everything she had experienced. Forgot about Emil and how much he destroyed her, forgot about her parents failing marriage and forgot how even when she was born her sex was seen only as an object to win.

Benedict presented himself as none of those, since she had met him, he had made her better, made her laugh more and Florence definitely smiled more around him. But saying yes would be agreeing to a contract she just couldn't drag Benedict into, though perhaps moving to Sweden to inherit a Duchy could be good, no if this was to happen she wouldn't expose that to Benedict.

"Florence?" Benedict asked, concern lacing his voice and as soon as her name fell short from his parted lips, she was nodding her head.

"Yes," Florence breathed, "Yes I'll marry you, I'll be your wife Benedict."

authors note
this chapter was shorter than the others because well i didn't want to include monday's chapter content in it

and don't worry this book is still far from over, still got that mental plan of his this book will go, some may like it some won't, who knows