From the very first moment I was brought into that mockery of a royal court I knew my life would be forever changed—forfeit—destined and positively promised to that downward spiral I'd dreaded half my life. My family name was a much funnier joke than any that could spill from her jester's lips. Her. A her that would be crowned queen within the time I'd spend as unwilling guest. I'm told I was sought after for my looks, plain and simple. The rest of my family was put to the blade for our father's ill-advised ambitions and only I was spared; I had enticed the 'Mad Princess' with coiffured hair and pretty grief.

If I was to be her plaything, a doll to be adored as much as it was abused, I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down into tears. In truth, I'd all too little to mourn. Even my little sisters were reduced to a grating earache by the time the hooded man reached them. I was relieved to be spared their futile wailing, even if I knew it broke something deep inside of me. A statue of a girl named and loved by corpses stiller than she. 

During the journey to this secluded kingdom's gaudy royal capital, I had half considered finishing the executioners tardy efforts and offing myself. It would have been easy, but I wished for death about as much as I cared to keep on living. My indifference was only erred by my curiosity in meeting this 'Mad Princess' in person, the one who favoured my face so much as to leave it with colour. She occupied my thoughts throughout the three day ride far more often than my fallen house—my poor relatives who had to pay dearly for daddy's indiscretion. While I knew I wouldn't miss those freezing halls, a ruin we called a home, I was not entirely thrilled at the prospect of living amongst royalty either. Most would have been nervous, terrified, or giddy. I was unmoved, save for the turning of carriage wheels that carried me to my fated destination: A queer cove adorned with architecture you'd imagine was left there by higher beings or forged with forbidden magic, taller than the mountains I'd hike up with my older brother; the blackguard used to boast at the peak that he was still higher than I had ever managed to be, standing just shy of a foot taller and loving to remind me of it. With head removed, I wagered myself now the taller of the two, and tried to take small comfort in such sardonic truths. Each one came to me like this, remembering something macabre and ironic and smiling tightly at the thought, like I was still allowed to be petty. I suppose it was my way of mourning for what little it was worth, I hated being a Báncourte when our flag yet flew and I felt worryingly empty at its cindering. 

Better to think of my Princess protector, a woman I'd only heard exaggerated rumours of—who stole my life and gave new purpose to it in one swift wave of her dainty hand. Destiny, if she was to be mine then I felt the need to fashion myself into hers. A jeering, empty prize sure to make her sigh at the funds she had wasted in carting me over. A statue who would not stay still. A servant who would not serve. I'd resolved to be pointedly disobedient not for any misguided sense of revenge, but for pastime and pleasure. All I had left was my curiosity, it steered me better than any reins could guide a horse. I trusted my compassion for nothing. For if nothing else, I was—and always had been—a perfect disappointment. 

Upon entering the city, the first thought that leaked its way into manifested consciousness was a simple but surprising one. The smell, oh the smell. How heinous it stunk, that golden city broadcasting its opulence to the world in reflected rays across the ocean's grey plain. If only it smelled half as impressive, though I was certainly impressed in a sense. It impressed upon me a great need to plug my nostrils the moment my hands were permitted to be unbound. Until then I learned to take shallow breaths through my mouth, examining the peasantry as we passed them by and wondering how many of them knew of the fresh country air I was accustomed to back home; easy air that I had taken for granted, as I had so many things. Would my new life in the capital be marred by even more misguided misery, or would it for once be well earned anguish? Lessons accentuated by hard leather tips were only given to the men of our house, and only under extreme circumstances. I had a suspicion that since I was spared for my looks that I would continue to avoid any stripping of flesh from flail. Still, it hadn't appeared in any of my idle-daydreams: the potential that I could find happiness here. I had not the will nor constitution to seek it. Joy was something I had always been too ungrateful to accept, wanting more no matter how much I was offered. As my eyes scanned these sickly folk—not lingering on any one for too much time lest I brought bile to those wine red lips—I realised that they were akin to the vermin we regretfully hosted in the Báncourte estate. For once in my life I felt lucky, I felt pity, and I felt loathing.

All were favourable to nothing, and so I smiled.

"Watch your step, lass. Twist your ankle and it'll be my head rolling next. Suppose you'd like that, eh?" A man with crooked teeth—and breath that was right at home—took my hand into his rough grip. His hands were calloused from holding the reins all day without gloves, prompting me to wonder if the foul man was a masochist. I'd heard plenty of rumours of the Princess being a sadist, her cruelty oft spoken about in hushed whispers throughout those undeserving streets. Ratholes, really. 

With care to keep the foul man's head on his shoulders, not that I owed him any fare, I lowered myself with care onto the stone paving and felt the sea breeze nip against my frigid cheeks. It was quite uncommon for royalty to occupy a bay, though that seaside air did very little to combat the stench of suffering. It permeated and reminded me that I was in a place of death—its hand had already reached across the countryside and crushed everything I'd ever known in demonic vice grip. Was I to be next, if I did not permit myself to be adorned and displayed as the proper trophy I was set to become? How would they put an end to me, I wondered idly, as we ascended the steep streetway towards the castle. Beheading perhaps? Then at least my pretty head could be kept for a time, a sleep aid for the troubled heiress who took one look upon my face and decided I must be hers to keep. Maybe they'd skin me, carefully so, and preserve this pale coat that seems so sought after. I had never stopped to consider my looks before, back in the manor my relatives were not the incestuous kind and so my beauty was wasted on them. Only once they had been sufficiently charred had I been made aware the extent of my allure, even an infamous Princess had been charmed and rightly so. The Báncourte family's diamond in the rough, it was difficult not to develop an inflated ego over the matter. Another coping strategy perhaps? No. I was simply that self absorbed.

A hand fell upon my shoulder and ushered me through side passage, I hadn't even realised we were inside the royal palace until my steps had already counted past thirty. And what a palace it was! I had been ill informed of its grotesque opulence and had pictured a castle, a ruin, comparable to my old family home. Carpets longer and redder than I knew existed in this world lined the gaudy halls; even the candle holders were ornate, wax dripping down onto gold sconces I dared to assume real. The windows were far too high to peer through, only there to let in beams of light that appeared as solid objects on that dim trek. It was a straightforward journey; quite literally so for the most part, as these outer corridors were to be used by staff only while the myriad guests filled the front of the building in their desperate shuffle. 

When I asked why the palace was entertaining so many guests on that dreary morning, the guard I had been passed to by grinning coachman gave just as ugly a smile, only incensing me more than the last oaf in gentleman's clothing had. They do so love to play pretend, these beasts, but I knew I was just as partial to using dress up to mask my indecent truth. We would be wretched together. 

"More beggars than guests, subjects come to plead for scraps or criminals 'ere to receive sentencing. They all stink the same, what do we care eh?" He was a carbon copy of coachman, at least I thought as much in that moment—that nobody I'd met so far had stood out from the rest even slightly. They really were vermin, and I a ripe fruit fallen from the branch into this cesspool of filth. Did I see myself above them? That wasn't quite right, I simply didn't perceive myself at all. Fruit would be below them on the food chain, in any case. 

My mouth opened of its own accord, who was I to stop it? A rotten apple core gnawed upon by rats, each one more malnourished and disappointed than the next. "Why do they appear at all? The criminals, I mean. Back home we would deal with any ne'er do wells then and there, each member of my family carried a blade and had bishop's permission to dole justice under god's watchful gaze. Of course, we held no court, lawmen were seen as opportunity for the devil's tongue... I suppose I never truly understood it all, but here I'm just as lost."

"Heh... we've a court, but no lawmen, the Princess acts as judge, jury and executioner 'ere in the cove. As for why these poor saps show, some're bound in shackles... and the damned rest on 'em know the threat of fleeing is far worse." The man I did not like gave me words I could not close my ears to, dour talk like this was all the amusement I had left to me. "Their families could pay for it, and if they've none to care about, they know a much harsher punishment awaits them should they be caught. We always catch 'em, usually as they're trying to steal an 'orse. Any on 'em stupid enough to flee on foot ain't worth chasing after, they'll be right dead before they find sanctuary elsewhere. I'll let you in on a little secret though, pretty lass. I'd wager most make appearance just to look upon the face of our Princess in the flesh, per'aps crimes're even committed for this very reason. You can never tell with such simple folk, heh."

"And what of the rightful monarch? Last I heard, this kingdom was just that... ruled over by its king. I've no shortage of stories regarding your precious princess, but not once have I heard tell of your actual ruler. Why does she seem to sit in his place?" I knew I was pushing my luck, this guard had no reason to be so talkative while I was still bound; wrapped up in nice bow to be delivered as prize. Still, perhaps my beauty really was all I had left to rely on, it had already gotten me so far. 

The guard cleared his throat and looked down sternly, rough eyes fixing onto mine. "The king took ill, many moons ago now. It ain't a secret, but it's not a topic brought up gladly either. Many're too loyal to the king and 'is wishes, so we're beholden to a... ah, I should speak no further. A've grown fond of this head, lass, so I'd rather it stay where it is."

I gave my escort the curtest of nods available to me, able to read between the lines some. It was becoming obvious that this kingdom was politically volatile, and I was going to be right in the centre of it all. As what? I would have to wait and see what the Princess's designs for me really were, but one thing remained certain. 

My curiosity had not waned in the slightest.

We stepped through side door into the bustling royal court and at last I saw her. At first I saw an idyllic figure, a picturesque Princess like those you would stumble upon in storybooks and aspire to model yourself on. This land often impressed unfair standards like these onto its women, even in something so simple and innocent as a pretty picture book. Of course, I liked staring at the perfect porcelain Princesses for other reasons I could not yet discern. 

It was only upon my second look did I catch her derangement, though even on a first assessment I could tell it was just as precious in its own sick way. The girl wore madness shockingly well, it fit her like a tailored lambskin glove and I was irrevocably transfixed. Dark, sleepless circles around her eyes I had at first mistaken for heavy makeup; fingers that floated in the air, with sharp points like arrows poised to fling themselves into her enemies' necks; an unnatural flush to her face that told me she was far too indulgent in passing judgement, doling harsh justice with a sparkle in her otherwise dull eyes; like inflicting suffering was the only thing that moved her. In truth, I was jealous. Her radiant, golden hair spiralled down to open shoulders. Red nails, filed perfectly—but uneven due to gnawing habit—dug into the front of her tight corset and begged to be free of it. We stood silently to the side of the elevated seat I could have easily mistaken for the royal throne had the guard not corrected me; apparently the throne room itself only hosted guests of great import, not the petty peasantry. Some requests were not so petty however, such as the next, pleading for food they did not have to feed the many mouths they were responsible for. 

"Pick a favourite, deliver the rest into our care and we'll put spears in their hands as soon as they've the strength and years to lift them. Honestly woman, you should not be so careless in your position... bringing a child into this world without being able to care for it is abject cruelty. So very cruel you are. Hrmm... actually... Piotr!" The Princess ran pretty fingers through her fringe and crossed her dainty little legs. She really did hold striking resemblance to the books I'd admired as an infant. I was pleasantly surprised to find that her judgement did not appear to be half as cruel as the people's whispers had maligned it to be.

The king's oldest aide stepped closer and lent the Princess his ear, hunching down in case she would like to whisper but backing up when her voice boomed out gleefully. "Fetch your sword, I'm going to send this unsuitable mother's head rolling down the courtroom steps as a warning to all others who'd dare to birth children into such dire straits. I'm sure you can find where she lives by asking around the gutter... her man, or men, might come to us next besides." The Princess spoke so nonchalantly about her plans that I scoffed, not understanding how serious she was being at the time. Not serious, no, but she spoke true all the same. The Mad Princess was nothing if not earnest. Her head tilted lightly at my small sound and I noticed her lip curl—almost imperceptibly. She had been aware of my presence here to the side after all. I had begun to wonder. To hope, perhaps? Though my hope was that her horrible demonstration promised to the buzzing air was not due in part to a desire to a make strong first impression. 

"Forgive me, highness, but won't you reconsider? My sword is much too heavy for one such as you." Despite his words, the imposing figure named Piotr took a slow walk over to his ornate Zweihander, which looked more for show than battle. He must have known the Princess was deaf to his advice by now, lifting the heavy slab of steel from his squire's proffered hands and heaving it over his shoulder in a display of sheer strength that hushed the frenzied peasantry occupying the room's depression. 

To this, the Princess simply hummed. Her legs uncrossed and she hopped up onto her feet, only letting her mood sour some when she noticed that the guards had to restrain the woman below us lest she escape this due decapitation. "Hmph... off to breed more offspring, are we? To birth more carrion for the seagulls to pinch when you'd eventually leave them out in the cold and try to wash your hands of sin and regret? Wouldn't do you much good with how dirty I'm sure your water is... so many of your lot have taken to drinking the saltwater nearby and still have the gall to declare me the mad one. Hah... Piotr... I care not for the weight of your blade, both physical and emotional. You'll help me lift it, okay?" 

I was captivated by the scene, scarcely able to breathe as the woman who claimed me hummed with each descending step, lifting an arm to grip the sword's handle like she was there to cut the ribbon at a grand opening. There were no new beginnings here, only an air of finality that blanketed the room in silence. Even the woman marked for death could not, would not make sound. Her eyes were sharp, but softened when the blade reached full height and she knew it really was the end. 

I think she died before the cold steel even kissed her nape, it only took one swift blow like the falling of a merciless guillotine. My Princess, and her knight, were as indifferent as the singing metal that chipped at marble floor. Dainty digits slipped free from the huge sword's handle and the storybook Princess clapped in approval at her act of justice, not bothering to wipe the fine spray of red that now decorated her cheek. It wasn't the only blood that had rushed to her face, it was plain just how much she had enjoyed that.

Madness, and I was Hers.

Still flecked with dots of crimson that seemed to suit her so very well, the Princess finally turned my way and smiled bashfully with a shyness I could never have anticipated. Her eyes softened as she savoured her first look upon the doll she'd become infatuated with finally standing in her own home. I'd learned through unwelcome gossip with the coachman that this was not her first time laying eyes on me, which only made sense of course. Insisting to her father that she should become more worldly, before she wore such madness and he was too ill to rule, the Princess had covertly tagged along on several political outings led by Piotr or an equivalent. Through her hood, she would gaze in my direction and etch every detail of my face into her memory for years to come. Now older and assuredly thinner than the little girl she'd laid eyes upon, there was a chance that her mind would be unmade. It wasn't, of course, as obsession so rarely errs. 

"Beautiful." She whispered to herself, loud enough to be overheard regardless. Just as she stepped closer to formally introduce herself, the entire court was interrupted by a strained yell from the bottom of the stairs. 

"Monster!" Cried the peasant. Their face was also speckled scarlet, but it appeared ugly and wrong there. The candy red smear only looked beautiful on Her. In their rage they ascended the steps and I moved back out of instinct, concerned and confused at the fact that none of the palace guards, nor the man named Piotr, so much as moved a muscle in response to the threat approaching their royal highness. I'd soon learn why, watching in bewilderment as the enraged peasant suddenly stopped in his tracks, tightly clutching his chest with a pained gasp. In all my years of witnessing public executions, I had never seen one appear so natural. Or perhaps I should say: supernatural. No blade to sever his head or rope to secure around it, just invisible daggers pushing deep into his flesh and cutting off his ability to breathe. As a small moan escaped the Princess's own lips, I turned to look at her next and found the pretty thing wrapping arms around herself in great pain, cheeks more flushed than ever. Just what was I witnessing, I thought with mounting interest, but the scene ended as quickly as it began. The assailant collapsed onto the ground and laid deadly still, draped over already bloodied steps while my new owner simply exhaled in relief and cared not to glance back at another would-be assassin. 

Lips curling back into their rightful shape, the Princess approached and took my hands at long last. Hers were as soft as they were cold, the hands of a monarch and a killer. To this day, I've never enjoyed anybody's touch but hers, awful as it was. "Shall we retire to my chambers for the evening, pretty girl? You've had a long journey and this rabble is awfully loud isn't it?" Up close, the blonde was radiant and ragged all at once, having broken into a sweat from the unexplained scene I had just seen play out before us like impromptu performance art. 

All I could do was nod, weakly—dumbly—enamoured by her presence and still unsure of my place in the palace. Would I be treasured like a favourite doll, or torn to pieces by those taloned fingertips that dug into my hands with predatory intent? Everything about her was so sharp that just a gentle touch came with a razor's edge of its own, I confess to finding it exciting in the face of my otherwise dreary existence. Thankfully, the woman took my silence in stride, likely assuming me to be displaying the respect and etiquette hammered into all of those who greeted her since childhood. The small tincture of disappointment I wish I had been oblivious to in her resulting smile would plague me over the coming days. 

My Princess waved dismissively and ignored the calling from her counsel as she led me away from the court yet in session. I couldn't help but find my heart beating erratically for this enigmatic madwoman who seemed keen to make me hers. Her footfalls were difficult to keep up with, excitement only growing in the giddy crowned creature the closer we drew to her waiting bedchambers. In a moment of indecency, I considered whether she sought to bed me in acts of sapphic pleasure. Instead, she instructed me to kneel on the floor and began to undress without paying heed to me for the next several minutes. It was an agonising wait, my lecherous imaginings still not yet erased until I felt her weight against my back and hair like curtains on my shoulders. 

Weak arms wrapped around me as tight as they could, the bareness of my Princess against me registering as anything but sexual. It was a different flavour of intimacy, no less raw, her body becoming one with mine for a time as we sat wordlessly without proper introduction ever having been made. The Princess buried her face into my hair and breathed deep, pacifying herself as the pain from earlier began to wipe itself away along with the rest of the mess she'd left behind. Her men would see to the latter, while I was tasked with soothing the mess she had made of herself. 

Eventually, she spoke. I felt her face lift from my tousled hair and a voice like snow gracing my ears. "You're everything I hoped you'd be, pretty thing. Obedient and quiet. I've had so many headaches as of late... you're an ointment on my soul, a face that could end countless civilisations. I'd war in your name, if I bothered to remember it. Ah... ahaha... what's a name against that face? It feels blasphemous to put it into words, don't you think?" 

After a short silence, I realised I was expected to answer what I'd initially assumed to be a rhetorical in her pretty monologue. "Oh ah, yes?"

"Don't sound so unsure, it bothers me that you'd guess at how best to appease me instead of speaking your mind while you yet have it. If I don't favour the responses you give, I'll teach you the error of your ways so that you may learn to see things properly and true. You're scared I'm sure, I've been called mad and murderer for many moons now, but I'd never truly harm you. I don't even intend to have you serve hard labour lest I lessen your worth to me with physical tolls... which is all to say, to circle back to say... you don't need a name. The one you had is worthless, trite. I hate that name your father gave you, understand? Perhaps this is the real reason I made such weak excuse to put him, and his rotten ilk, to the blade. They presumed to name your beauty." As she spoke, the petulant Princess only tightened her grip around me, the possessive hold of a child clutching her favourite doll. It did not bother me as much as I had been expecting it to, because it made me feel truly precious for the first time in my life. 

As another silence filled the room in order for me to respond, I couldn't help but give the same dry smile I had worn during the carriage ride when thinking upon the unlucky sods that once called themselves my kin. "I... I hate that name too, your highness. I always did, aha..." It only hurt a little, to close my heart to their faces. Less than I had hoped.

Her nose against the nape of my neck commanded me to shiver. How could she be so cold to the touch even now, I thought through hitched breaths. "Good. You're already so good, everything I hoped for and more. If... if you ever betray me... try to leave or disappoint me in any way that appears intentional..." From nowhere, I felt pinpricks against my skin that only intensified as her hold on me tightened even further. It dawned on me that she was clutching me in pain, a sensation that I would soon join her in suffering as the invisible pins struck my flesh in a suffocating spread. I couldn't breathe, nor could my Princess, the both of us breathless and writhing in a swaying agony from master to subject. She shared her pain with me and my head felt light, nails digging deep into my thighs and giving her pause. 

Just like that, the pain went away in an instant. I huffed, panting into her hold while the blonde dropped her head onto my shoulder and released a storm of giggles that would take a full minute to subside. "Hurts, doesn't it? Hurts a lot. I keep everybody in this kingdom in line with my pincushion, but it hurts me just as much... I've had to use it a lot to stave off the odd coup or occasional assassination attempt. Now they all fear me so much I don't need it as often but ah... I wonder if that's why I'm so... what do they call me, mad? Deranged? Sadistic?" Sharp teeth—like fangs—brushed my neck, but the woman hesitated last second to break the skin, knowing that she made a promise to keep me intact. 

I understood her more than ever, or at least wanted to believe that I could, when she explained the horrific gift she had been bestowed. It ensured her survival from such a young age, but at the cost of great comfort. Imagine having to endure such excruciating pain day in and day out, until you become used to such a sting and close your heart to sympathy altogether. "That's..."

"Hush now, I didn't permit you to speak. I... that's why I'm like this, maybe?" She somehow managed to pluck the indelicate words from my mouth, hand reaching up to stroke my chin affectionately even if it felt more hollow than the pain she gave me. "I'd ask a doctor but they're all too scared of me to tell the truth. I had my childhood physician put to death in a fit of paranoia, only later realising he bore no ill intent and that the medicine I had assumed poison was perfectly normal. Everyone makes mistakes now and then, right? We sent such a lovely arrangement of flowers to his grieving wife and when she returned them covered in pig shit..."

"You had her join him." My voice was a low whisper as I finished her sentence despite being told to remain quiet, a long pause holding over the two of us before the reverberations of my Princess's laughter shook my shoulder and I joined her in a hearty chuckle. 

"I don't trust anyone, people are ungrateful and life is disgusting. You're the only human being I ever looked at who didn't turn my stomach upside down, so please never disappoint me or I'll finish where we left off with the pincushion, okay?" I could have listened to her voice all day, even if the words she spoke were often ugly and abrasive. 

"I'll... try not to." I spoke honestly, as she had requested of me, not quite able to parse exactly how to keep her ingratiated towards me besides maintaining my appearance. 

"Don't worry, nameless girl. It'll be easy enough to stay in my good graces. You'll come to hate me for a time if you've any wits about you, it'll be a torturous experience adjusting to life as my property compared to the comforts and freedoms you are used to. It's better than a sword in your throat, but only just. It'll be okay though, really. I promise, silly girl. I've called for a doctor from across the ocean whose medicine should help you adjust. Your humanity holds you back from displaying your true self." The Princess giggled again, her tone ranging from lilting to threatening at any given moment. Hands cupped my cheeks from behind and only then did I realise how warm I had become, the frigid thing at my back feeding off my heat through her icy palms like a vampire. Given her supernatural ability, perhaps she really was one. My excitement only grew in spite of my fear, or perhaps because of it. It's a far superior sensation to indifference, having nothing to live for makes life a living hell, but now I had Her. 

"All you need do is... never stop loving me."

If only She knew then, how deep my devotion would one day run.