A Woman's Place (Working Title of my Novel)

note: all names that are not Melaine or Aiden are subject to change.

CHAPTER 1: THE BARD’S TALE

My son looks like his father, almost identical, except that he has my smile and my mother’s eyes. He is tall and strong with a set jaw that reflects a determined young man. And thankfully, he also resembles his father--at merely sixteen he is more highly respected than any person I know in our village. Adults and peers look to him for political advice, for intelligent banter, and for guidance in hard times. His father was every bit that leader…
Before the Queen arrived, and the hierarchy and aristocracy were turned upside-down, I know he would have married noble blood--merely through his respect. However, once the Queen establishes a new aristocracy, I do believe that he will be named noble, and, therefore, will still marry nobly.
This is my story… and yet it is not. It is a story of an infant who brought a world to its knees, and at the same time, a young woman who brought about a transformation…

I grew up in a small village, Xlton, just outside of the main city, and castle-town, of Lewa’oh. Our tiny kingdom, consisting of hardly three-thousand people was immoral and corrupt. Gambling, alcoholism, drug addictions and polygamy were supported--in fact, that was precisely how a new Queen was chosen… through polygamy, that is. The king was allowed as many wives as he wanted—all of them broodwenches for the breeding of the new prince—and whoever produced the most worthy son would become the next Queen and live a life of luxury. All other broods would either be slaughtered or left for the next generation. Most daughters of these broods were murdered upon birth; others were kept as slaves to the kingdom, to work as kitchen drudges and handmaids.
Women were not respected when I was a little girl; we had no future to look forward to. No life of luxury or hope for success—if you were born low-class, you would marry low-class. Men would work, gamble their earnings away, then return home, usually drunk, and beat their wives. Little girls were often raped by their fathers, and the Imperial Army did nothing to punish these offenses.
I was born low-class, I was to marry low-class, and if my father had wanted to take what was rightfully mine, I could not, by law, protest. However, I was a lucky child. My father, in that world of immoralities and cruelties, was still a moral man. He had always taught me to dream highly, and make a name for myself. After my mother died, he remained a widower, and cared for me as two parents in one.
My father educated me when he wasn’t working and taught me to think for myself. I became independent and proficient through his teaching… perhaps this is why I now feel compelled to retell this story.
Now that I have set my humble scene--now that you, as an audience, can understand the conditions a young woman was forced to live in, I may begin the actual tale. May the realities of Lewa’oh illuminate your mind and your heart as you read; perhaps you will find your own kingdom is just as corrupt.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Melaine looked at herself in the mirror, thoughts focused on her new uniform—or, rather, the thin pieces of lace that were to resemble a uniform--and sighed. She hated her job, but not only was it the best paying, the king required it of her. She was forced to work as a bartender at a pub and brothel, The Bait-Shop. The name, itself, was a pun. The women who worked there, unwillingly and scantily-clad, were the bait to lure in those rich noblemen who had been noble before the Polygamy Clause of Year 17 of King Vhat’s Reign had gone into effect. These men were only allowed to marry once, and often came to The Bait-Shop looking for “a good time” as it was advertised.
Again, she absolutely hated her job. Man, woman, child, beast--none should be exploited for that kind of pleasure--it was immoral, corrupt, wrong and down-right dirty. How could these men not go home with guilty consciences? How was it possible for a man to take pleasure from forcing women into such degrading lifestyles? It sickened her, and every time she saw one of the Bait-Shop’s “customers” on the street, she wanted to murder them--it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to not slaughter them.
She had allowed her thoughts to slip away from her, and now she was running late for work. That was an offense punishable by death. Quickly, Melaine, fastened her nearly-lingerie outfit securely, and took off for work, her shoes in hand--she would don them upon arrival.
She appeared behind the bar literally seconds before her boss, a heavy-set man who closely resembled a pig, arrived through the front entrance.
“Good morning, Khot,” She said, as perkily as possible as she slipped on her black, high-heeled, stilettos.
“My, my,” He began in his chauvinistic, growling, make-one-want-to-vomit voice. “The new outfit is nearly perfect,” He smiled, his round little nose red with glee. “Nearly. You know my motto, Malaine…” He expected her to recite his demeaning semblance of a motto.
“Less fabric, more skin--it helps to bring the noblemen in.” Melaine recited, smiling as best as she could. She hated this place. She wanted to dissolve rat poisoning into every ounce of alcohol she served, and laugh as the men fell, writhing in pain before they died, slowly. The first to go would be Khot, she had always planned.
“Good girl,” He leaned across the bar, reaching to touch her shoulder.
“You’re such a pig, bastard.” Melaine muttered beneath her breath, eyes glowing in pride and anger; she could feel the heat seeping up her face.
“What was that?” He wrenched onto her shoulder with his stubby fingers, crushing the bone.
“I said, ‘I love ‘em big, master.’” She lied, convincingly, and sighed heavily as he released his clenched hand from her shoulder. She could have shot him right then and there and lived in prison happily…
However, despite murderous plans, Melaine smiled her best, provocative smile, until he left to unlock the front doors. It was going to be a long day--the overcast had reflected it, the unstill water had reflected it, the quiet canines had reflected it. All were bad omens.


“Yes sir, Good King Vhat,” A greasy looking man bowed before Vhat’s throne. The kingdom of Larthon was on its third King Vhat in a row. Vhat the 3rd, that is. Often the king would change his last name, in an attempt to separate from the line of kings before, but as everybody knew, the kingdom has belonged to the same family since the dawn of time, beginning with King Pelmy Larthon. From king to king, it had been a father-son direct descent.
“I will send Sir Aiden to Xlton immediately.” The greasy man bowed, once more, before looking up to the king with dark, almost-black eyes. His hair was slicked back, yet messy, and his nose was long and crooked.
“That is all; leave my court!” Vhat demanded, his piercing blue eyes staring coldly to his nobleman, Sir Ghalin Fresth. Watching the man scamper, Vhat sat back in his throne, his sand brown hair falling in perfect tendrils about his head. In all honesty, Vhat was the most attractive man who had ever graced the kingdom. He had beautifully healthy hair that always sat perfectly atop his head, accompanied by ice blue eyes. His jaw was strong and determined and met a strong, yet elegant neck. A muscular torso rest below Vhat’s neck and met with strong, athletic legs. He was perfectly proportioned, and an incredible sight, indeed.
However, Vhat was the worst tyrant of a king Larthon had ever had the displeasure of having. He was spoiled and ill-tempered, mean-spirited and cruel. He found joy in injuring helpless animals, and in bringing about the legalization community control, or the killing of children aged five and younger. Some truly believe that he had no soul.
He had no conscience, no morals, no ethics. Only pride and greed and anger. Money and power were important to him—not his people, not his commitment to his kingdom, nothing. He was the devil incarnate, and was destined to fall. Very soon.