Cicatrice

Chapter XVII

QUEEN ESTELLE BELSHAW

What awaits me in my bedroom shouldn't surprise me, but it does. Malcolm was in front of my eyes, a sultry smirk plastered onto his pink lips. I knew what he had wanted. If it were any other time, perhaps I'd abide, but the fact that my father had abused me had messed with my head. He had left bruises, physically and mentally on his only daughter.

"Good evening, my wife. Didn't hear from you much after the ceremony," he softly says as he sits on the king-sized bed. With my hands wiping away tears, I knew there was no hiding that I looked absolutely atrocious.

"Perhaps I just needed a moment to process it all," I sigh. "My apologies," I added, staring at the floor. I notice blood marks on the hem of my white dress, feeling sick to my stomach.

"Well... perhaps I'd be able to help you atone for it?" he insinuates, raising his eyebrows and patting the empty space beside him, beckoning for me to sit.

I felt insufferably ill.

My legs carry me next to him as I sit carefully. My body ached with pain and I had an enormous headache, courtesy of father. Malcolm stares deeply in my eyes, a look of pride hidden within them. I give him a quick peck on the cheek before he holds me by the waist, forcing my lips on to his.

"You looked absolutely remarkable tonight," he whispered, beginning to slide the shoulders of my white dress off, but I don't stop him. I am frozen in my tracks. This what married life was like, right? You obey to their needs and not when you desire; it was a prison.

With his lips gracing my neck, moans escape from my lips. "It's just us two in here love... let me rule your kingdom tonight," he growls. His metaphor made me internally suffer with cringe. As he sends himself on a power trip, he pins me to the bed, his body on top of mine. Our lips crash, but that's when I get that sinking feeling in my stomach. This had to stop.

"Malcolm..." I breathe, but he does not stop.

"Please, stop," I reiterate, but his hands keep exploring my body. With his hands lowering down to my waist, panic subdues me. "Stop!" I screech, pushing him off of me with all my might. He lands on the white carpet, a look of concern and anger on his face.

"What is the matter?" he hisses, standing up on his knees.

As I try to catch my breath, my heart beats rapidly against my chest. I did not want to sleep with Malcolm. How was I supposed to pretend that I loved Malcolm until the end of time? How could I face my father again after he mistreated me?

"I would rather not sleep with you tonight," I state without thinking, my arms crossing against my chest. I felt used. Abused. As if I were a china doll sitting on a cabinet, being played with after decades. As I stare at the floor, I can feel Malcolm shooting daggers at me.

"What ever do you mean? You must, to seal our marriage," he whispers, and for a second, I had believed him.

"That's a load of nonsense, and you know that," I snap, shooting daggers at him. He did not love me. All he wanted to do was use me for royal status. He glared at me as if he did not know what I was talking about. "I am not a fool, Malcolm, I know you merely desire me for my position,"

"That's absolutely absurd! How dare you make such an assumption," he scoffs, standing up and reaching for a glass of red wine on a silver tray. "I heard what happened, Estelle. When will you realise that it is now your duty to be faithful to me?" he questions, eyebrows furrowed condescendingly.

His face is soon next to mine before I realise it. I turn away as tears start to gather in my eyes. He squeezes my face by grabbing my cheeks on either side. I struggle to resist his touch as he firmly presses his lips against mine.

"You must obey me now, Estelle. It's not an option, nor request. It is unavoidable," he snarls.

Before I can stop myself, my hand flies against his face, slapping him with all its strength. With an unexplainable, shocked look on his face, I could tell that I made a grave mistake, as if I was digging a hole deeper and deeper for myself. "You filthy wench!" he spits, slapping me ten times harder, burning my skin.

As I hold my face in pain and agony, I feel lonelier than ever before. I stare at him in disbelief, no sense of remorse behind his careless eyes. I knew in this moment that I had lost the battle. I may as well have given up the throne at this point.

"Your majesty!" Marguerite barges in, not realising that I had company. She had looked like she had seen a ghost. "M-my apologies for interrupting, but I am afraid we have an emergency," she pants. Marguerite had never been one to overreact, so the fact that she was also sent me into a panic.

"What is it, Marguerite?"

"It's your father,"