Chapter Text
From the tender age of eleven, Rosetta Croyso learned that the very atmosphere her world was built upon could be as lovely as the finest of silks and sharper than the bloodiest knife.
She didn’t have many memories before she had her eleventh birthday, she didn’t even remember her own mother, who had died from an illness shortly after she was born. Faceless nannies that fed her and combed her hair took up the only maternal memory space in her mind, but other than them, she was mainly alone. Rosetta heard whisperings of an elder sister, and would occasionally see her at the dining hall, eating quietly at the end of the table, her pale hand shaking as she clutched a spoon. But she had no memories of playing alongside her sister, and if someone were to lump Maximilian in a group of other pale, red-headed girls, Rosetta would only be able to identify her based on the vast emptiness of her silver eyes.
It was when she was eleven that her eyes began to show the same expression.
The moon had been high in the air when the nanny knocked upon her door that fateful night, the winter wind beginning to whistle through the pines. She had been shaken awake, gently, and led down the marble hallway to the foreign part of her father’s castle. That wing of her home that had always frightened her for reasons she couldn’t understand or explain. There was something so sinister knowing her sister lived there, all alone, like a ghost haunting the halls.
The nanny had stopped when they reached a door, and through the wall Rosetta could hear the sharp sound of her father’s voice. Fear spiked in her heart when the nanny gently pushed her into the doorway before locking the knob behind her, ensnaring her in a room full of darkness. The only sign of light was held ahead, shimmering like glass. Mustering all the curiosity and bravery she could manage, she had crept over to the small mirror, what she then didn’t know would be the portal to her own misery.
The first thing she saw was blood.
So. Much. Blood.
And between that blood were curly strands of red hair, tangled into the sharp, swift curve of a whip.
A whip.
It didn’t take her long to realize that the man with the whip was her father, and that the thing he was whipping was no animal; rather, her elder sister.
The youngest Croyso daughter was unsure of how long the brutal display of violence went on for, but she was unable to tear her eyes from the scene. It was until her father curled the whip back into his pocket and barked for a healer that he left the room, his gray hair bouncing against his back with a calm, clear sense of satisfaction. She watched in silence as the sixteen-year old girl before her sobbed, her head lying shamefully in her hands, her body trembling as she gulped oxygen like it were some sort of rare luxury.
Only minutes later, the door to her prison had opened, and her father stood menacingly at the doorway.
Rosetta did not need to be told to approach him.
“I want you to listen to me, and I want you to do so closely.” Her father had uttered, his voice so flat it sent shivers down her spine. “If you ever go against me, or bring shame upon this family, you will be in your sister’s exact position; on the ground with a whip to your back. Do you understand?”
The girl’s mouth formed a terrified, wobbly line, as she forced a nod. The Duke’s features tightened, and he violently slammed his cane to the ground, causing a loud echoing to bounce through the hollow room, making Rosetta jump. “Words, girl.”
Her throat was dry, comparable to that of sandpaper as she forced out a desperate nod. “I understand.” She said, the words dripping from her throat like the blood on her sister’s back. She watched as her father’s lips became a twisted curve, representing that of sick satisfaction.
“Good. Don’t forget it.”
Only minutes later she was back in bed, sitting emotionlessly while facing the wall, clutching her sheets as though they were a lifeline in a world of darkness. She waited for salty tears to drip down her cheeks, but was left with nothing but the sound of her own heart beating. It wasn’t until she noticed the sun rising in her window that she realized she had yet to fall asleep.
When Rosetta had shuffled out of bed, sitting quietly while her nanny attempted to comb her tangled flaxen hair, she could feel an odd heaviness looming inside of her chest. It reminded her of illness, symptoms of the common flu, and yet it felt all the more permanent. It wasn’t until she ventured downstairs for breakfast and took her place by her father’s side at the table that she realized that twisted feeling in her chest would be there forever.
And, like always, Rosetta Croyso did not see Maximilian Croyso at the breakfast table. Only this time, she knew why.
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Four Years Later
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It was in her early teen years that Rosetta realized her father did not see her as a daughter, but rather some sort of weapon. Without a son, he had lost many of the opportunities he desired to pass on his legacy, continue his name. He didn’t wish for daughters, no esteemed nobleman did, but the Duke was a crafty man, and if he wanted something, he would surely get it.
For as long as she could remember, Rosetta had been trained in lessons of etiquette, finance, socializing, grammar, how to master the string instruments, all things her father believed would make her stand out amongst other noblewomen, all whose fathers also wanted them to catch the royal family’s favor. She spent hours a week cooped up in the library listening to her tutors yap on about manners of a royal princess, and essential duties one must uphold. Even at the age of fifteen, Rosetta had always felt a little too over prepared, as though her father thought without a shadow of a doubt that she would be the maiden to marry Prince Elias one day. The whole ordeal seemed rather peculiar to her; the prince was only twelve years old, and would certainly attend a university before getting married, which would take at least an additional three years. And although she had met King Reuben (been shown off to him, more like) the royal man’s bored behavior led her to believe that he would rather his beloved son marry any other noble lady.
But, Rosetta was different. She knew it, and the royal family did, too.
She was confident and efficient, capable of mastering any task given to her in a timely manner. She never paused or stuttered, unlike her sister, and had been a healthy girl for her entire life, certain to one day bear equally healthy children of good breeding. She was a Roem descent, and although her lineage wasn’t as rare or valuable as Maximilian’s, her mother still had been a cousin of the Roem family, which counted for something, even in King Reuben’s eyes. And, more than that, she was beautiful.
Very beautiful.
Rosetta Croyso knew that and she knew it well. She knew that she was desired, even at her young age of fifteen-years old. It was not about what she saw in the mirror every morning, which was nothing but a young girl slowly becoming a woman; her flaxen hair parting perfectly down the middle and her turquoise eyes becoming more narrowed, the shape resembling that of almonds, while her waist was slowly tightening and her bust accentuating. No, it wasn’t her own self-image that confirmed her beauty; rather, she saw her worth through the eyes of others. She saw her beauty in the eyes of her father, who determined she was attractive enough to be his prize, the one child that would make him proud, that could give him power. She saw her worth in the eyes of the nobles in her father’s court, all of whom complimented the slenderness of her figure and the perfect balance of her face. She saw her beauty from a very young age, the very moment she was told by her father that she was a contender for a royal prince’s wife.
So if all those people could see it, surely the Reuben royal family could as well.
It was a warm spring morning when Rosetta had been called into her father’s study. She had already been up for hours, having been plagued by a nightmare of a sobbing young girl, so she was dressed properly and looked nothing short of elegant.
“A message from the King,” the Duke had said, lifting up a golden envelope with a twisted smile, one that screamed arrogance and accomplishment. “He is inviting us for a visit to Drachium Palace this summer to socialize with the royal family and their court. Perhaps, you will even meet the prince.” She remained quiet, watching as her father celebrated the clear victory. It was a rare feat; King Reuben wouldn’t invite a young maiden to his palace, to be around his family and court, if he didn’t see strong potential in her. “I guarantee you, he will propose an engagement between you and his young highness before the year is over. The moment the prince turns sixteen, you will be married.”
Rosetta gave her father an affirming, respectful nod. “I see. Thank you.”
Yet, the news did not remove the heavy weight of pressure and expectation upon her heart. If Rosetta had learned one thing in her fifteen years of life, it was that the wickedness of men could strike at any time, and could leave a fire of rage and destruction burning for decades to come.
Which was why she failed to be surprised when she learned her father was planning on marrying off Maximilian as blackmail to some lowly knight.
Only weeks after King Reuben’s first message did a second come, curt and malicious. The warning of the Dragon Campaign was a heavy burden that a strong man had to take on, so knowing that the King would put someone as weak and slimy as her father in charge of it filled her with disgust. Of course the Duke would find a way out of it, and of course he would loop some innocent, unsuspecting individual into it without a care in the world for their own life or wellbeing.
And that individual was none other than Riftan Calypse.
Rosetta had not heard much of the man, only meeting him once beforehand when he visited Croyso Castle a few months prior. The man, despite being rather good-looking, was burly, foul-mouthed, and destructive in a way that she had learned all men were. She was unaware of what her father was holding over his head, but she knew it had to be blackmail given he had first rejected the Duke’s proposal to marry Maximilian only to take it back near instantly.
It was disgusting, and filled her with rage. Not just over her father, but for Maximilian, too. Her sister, for all intents and purposes, was an attractive enough bride.
It was when she opened her mouth to speak that the cracks in her value showed.
A part of Rosetta couldn’t help but hate her sister for having such an evident flaw, but any dislike she had for her impediment dissipated when she would be reminded of her father’s cruelty; after all, it wasn’t as though Maximilian could help it. Rosetta knew that her sister spent much of her time mumbling out old Roemian poems and excerpts of speech as a way to improve her jumbled words. Perhaps, if their father showed the girl an ounce of care, the problem would have fixed itself long ago.
Rosetta scoffed at the idea, cursing herself for even thinking of it. Her father didn’t have it in him to be kind, to show an ounce of affection for anyone.
Even for her.
The wedding was held on a beautiful spring afternoon, the weather a stunning mix of sunlight and warmth that bounced off the multicolored leaves. It was almost cruel, how perfect the day appeared to be, as though God himself wished for another way to mock her sister, to pair such beauty with grim misfortune. If it was almost too much for even her to bear, Rosetta couldn’t imagine the effect it would have upon Maximilian.
She spent that day alongside her father’s court, standing diligently beside him while he welcomed nobles into Croyso Castle with fake greetings and nauseating smiles. Rosetta knew that the wedding had been rushed, and even if it hadn’t, her father would certainly not want to waste time putting together an expensive ceremony for her sister. She hadn’t even seen her sister once the whole day.
“Lady Maximilian is undergoing preparations,” a maid had replied diligently when Rosetta asked. Even the servant couldn’t hide her surprise at the youngest Croyso daughter’s curiosity-so rarely did anyone ask after Maximilian, least of all her. “His Grace instructed that she not leave her room until the ceremony begins.”
Rosetta’s lips fell into a thin line. Despite being only fifteen years of age, she had mastered her usual haughty expression perfectly. “Very well.” She paused momentarily before clearing her throat. “Do not tell her I asked after her.”
The maid’s eyes widened but she nodded quickly before scrambling around the corner, leaving the young mistress to her lonesome. She sighed, her eyes glazing towards the long hallway. It was hard to believe that in just a few short hours, her useless sister would be married off to a man their father thought so lowly of. But truly, could she really be surprised by such a turn of events? What other use did Maximilian have, if not being used for the Duke’s selfish schemes?
She silently sneered. It was more than apparent that the Duke of Croyso did not give half a damn about his daughters, either of them, yet sometimes she felt such utter shock that nobody else could see through her father’s lies. How could anyone listen to him gush over Maximilian, speaking proudly over her beauty and intelligence, as though he hadn’t been beating her like an animal that very morning?
How could the world keep falling for his lies?
Inhaling sharply, Rosetta smoothed over her green gown before turning her body around the corner, her usual fixed expression settling into her face as she skillfully marched forward. Her eyes were so sharp and fixated forward that she couldn’t help but jolt to a surprising stop after nearly knocking into a man.
A massive man, with jet-black hair and cold, dark eyes.
Riftan Calypse.
Her sister’s husband-to-be was handsome, even she could admit that. With golden skin and ink black hair, he was the embodiment of strength and rare masculine beauty, and yet there was something so deeply unpleasant about the constant grimace that graced his face. Riftan Calypse was, for all anyone knew, a grump. He was grumpy to his superiors and he was grumpy to his comrades. The young man, who had apparently grown up as a mercenary, Rosetta overheard, clearly was filled with scorn over his background and racial identity. In a strange way, Rosetta could see herself in the burly knight.
His anger. His need for revenge, his desire to make those who doubted him hurt.
It was like looking through a mirror.
Instinctively, she took a step back, her mouth suddenly dry with disdain as she stared up at the man. “Pardon me,” she said icily, skillfully moving around his large figure as though he were nothing more than a bug in her way. Straightening her posture, the youngest Croyso daughter fixed her gaze forward and glided back down the hall as though she never saw the knight in the first place.
The wedding was quick, like she had expected, and before long she was shuffled off to the grand hall for the lavish afterparty, which was so clearly an excuse for her father to flaunt her around on her own sister’s wedding day. It wasn’t long before the new wife Maximilian left the hall, her husband following after her shortly. Rosetta could feel her mouth sour as she watched the moon rise further into the sky. Each minute that passed made her sister’s union all the more real.
Once she shuffled off to bed that evening, she slept more fitfully than she could ever remember, plagued by nightmares of a young red-headed girl racing down a hallway, the back of her shirt torn to reveal bloody marks. The dream was so real a part of her knew it was a memory.
The years following the wedding passed slowly, practically inching by. Though her father rarely spoke of it to her, she had a feeling his plan was not unfolding the way he had hoped; after all, Riftan Calypse was still alive, and from what the hundreds of dead Croyso knights told her, the Dragon Campaign was fierce and gravely difficult, proving the man’s strength and determination. Each day that passed by, the Duke grew more anxious, and Rosetta knew he was desperately awaiting news of his own son-in-law’s death.
More than that, King Reuben was furious with the Duke, utterly rageful that the slimy man managed to slither out of his seemingly flawless plan and capture the King’s favorite knight in the process. For nearly a year after the Dragon Campaign began, there was no news from the royal family, and Rosetta began to feel that the betrothal her father so desperately craved would not happen. Each day passed painfully, and she struggled to keep herself level-headed knowing that if she managed to disappoint her father in any way, she would be the one on the floor, a whip to her back.
She felt utterly wicked by the feeling of twisted, spiteful gratitude she felt when her father turned his negative attention and anger towards Maximilian rather than her.
Of course. Why would he ever lay a hand on his most treasured child?
Still, Rosetta spent every night tossing and turning from worry, horrified that her sister’s fate was being determined by her lack of a betrothal. She began to pray feverishly each day for news from Drachium.
And, after over a year of worry, good news finally arrived to Croyso Castle.
“The betrothal is practically confirmed by now,” the Duke had bragged like he had a year before, a grin eclipsed across his aging face. He had called Rosetta into his study that morning for tea, and she knew that there had been some sort of news from King Reuben based on news that his messengers had arrived early that day. “The King said a wedding would take place shortly after the prince’s sixteenth birthday. He wants you to come out to the palace for a visit, like originally planned. The other young noble maidens failed to impress him, so he wants my daughter again.”
The pride in his tone made her feel sick.
Rosetta’s lips thinned, and all she could do was nod as her future was ruthlessly stripped from her.
Soon I will be the most prized jewel in my father’s treasure chest.
Yet no matter how much she tried, Rosetta failed to find a speck of comfort in that realization.
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Then, before she could even realize how long it had been since it started, the Dragon Campaign had finished, resulting in a massive victory for Wedon and for Riftan Calypse. Not only did he slay the dragon, but he was awarded with the offer of Princess Agnes’s hand by King Reuben. An utterly remarkable, honorable offer.
An offer that utterly enraged the Duke.
“He’ll divorce her,” her father spat mercilessly, only moments after freeing Rosetta from her confined two-sided mirror prison. The beating she witnessed Maximilian suffer was among one of the worst ones she had seen, which was evident from her father’s stress and fury. “he’ll divorce her, of course he will. Who would want a stuttering, useless wife, when the man could have a princess?”
Rosetta said nothing in response, her silence the only agreement the Duke needed. She herself had been to the capital several times and encountered the princess almost at every visit; she was radiant with shocking beauty, intelligence, and liveliness, all the things her sister lacked. For the first time in her life, she was going to watch her father lose.
Or, perhaps not.
To say she was shocked when she had awoken one morning to find that Maximilian had been swept up like a nymph in a fairytale and taken to her husband’s land would be an understatement. So rarely did she choose to express emotion, but upon learning of her father’s newfound victory, she could hardly resist.
“She’s gone?” She said that morning, her eyes widened as she stared at her father from across the breakfast table, who sipped his tea idly, a wry expression upon his face. “Calypse took her?”
“From what I have been told, he rejected the very prospect of a divorce.” The Duke replied coldly, as though he were disappointed for not having a reason to finally dispose of his useless eldest child. “I pray he does not bring her back here once he realizes that she has no skills or importance. Hopefully, he’ll leave her in that wasteland he calls an estate forever.”
Rosetta bit her tongue, hating the pure venom that radiated from the Duke’s voice. Once again, he had won, gotten the upper hand, and yet all he could do was wither in his own vindictive misery and hatred for his own flesh and blood. It was heinous. Rosetta couldn’t even begin to understand; she didn’t want to understand.
In a world of cruel, violent men, there will always be helpless, terrified women.
With that thought, she silently prayed that she would never be considered “helpless.” She would remain her father’s puppet for the rest of her life if that meant she would never be in Maximilian’s place; thrown onto the cold ground, utterly broken, entrapped in her own depressing world. No. She would be everything she was expected to be and more. She would raise herself to a level of power and self-influence that would forbid her to ever be perceived as weak.
Unlike Maximilian, I will never allow anyone to hurt me.
Even if that means to cease feeling emotions altogether.