Palace of Bones

CALYPSO'S LUNGS BURNED, her legs ached, her bare feet slapped against the rocky terrain of the village's worn roads. Her hair fluttered in the wind like Greek fire, struggling to catch up with her.

 

She glanced back, her view partially obscured, heaps of tangled curls floating in her vision.

 

Dirt and grime smeared her skin, making her skin crawl. Her wrists chaffed, still burning from the mark of chains. Her arms pumped, desperate to cover more ground.

 

 "Halt!"

 

Not looking back, she pushed herself further, imagining the all too familiar sting of the whip. 

 

"Halt! Halt, in the name of the King!"

 

The King. That just made her run harder, though it felt as if her lungs were emptied of air. There was nowhere to hide, and the path only got rockier by the second. She started to stumble, her footing faltering, and soon she was eating the dust, her skin grinding against the rocks of Cyper. 

 

Brown-black hair scatters on the path, a curly waterfall over the rocks run with her blood. With a groan, she blinked sluggishly. 

 

 The scenery blurred in front of her, her ears filled with roaring water. 

 

 "Arrest her!"

 

She felt herself being lifted, felt her body being moved. Time rippled as she lost consciousness, her body going limp.

 

 When she came to, she shivered, amber eyes darting about. 

 

 "Ugh..."

 

 The guard outside the cell sneered.

 

 "Did you think you'd escape, slave?"

 

 She didn't respond, but the guard continued to taut her.

 

"Perhaps you should've stayed where you were. You're in the Palace of Bones now. No prisoner leaves alive."

 

Calypso had heard tales of the legendary Palace of Bones. She'd heard of King Zaid, who slew his family to gain power. Who vanquished his enemies ruthlessly and slaughtered those who opposed him.

 

 And she was in his dungeon.

 

"Huh," the guard chuckled evilly, "yeah, I'll be dragging your corpse by tomorrow. Today's inspection."

 

Refusing to show fear, Calypso sat against the stone wall, reveling in the frigid air that swamped her, pebbling goosebumps on her brown skin. 

 

King Zaid would be coming that night, and more than likely, he would kill her.

 

 • • •

 

HEELED BOOTS CLICKED emphatically against the stone steps, waking Calypso from her fitful sleep.

 

It seemed the air heated at the incoming presence, a simmering in the atmosphere. 

 

Silently, Calypso watched the guard smirk at her as a shrouded figure approached the guard.

 

 It leaned into the guard and left.

 

 Her cell opened, and she was yanked up by her arms and led up the stairs into the main part of the Palace.

 

The Palace of Bones should've rightly been called the Palace of Glass. It was pristine, crystals seemingly shooting from the floor, which was smooth and translucent itself.

 

 Every sound was amplified against the hollow shards of ice. Even her bare feet made a pattering sound.

 

 She was handed off to an older maid, who smiled kindly at her. 

 

 "Come, let me draw you a bath."

 

 With a mocking sneer, the guard left her with a push.

 

 "Good luck, slave."

 

 • • •

 

THE OLD MAID led her to a large room, larger than the one her old master slept in. The bed was clad in satin sheets, blood red, with a mesh canopy surrounding it ethereally.

 

Warm rose water filled the claw tub, and, graciously, she sank down into it, not minding the maid's eyes.

 

Sighing in utter contentment, peace encompassed her, water rippling like waves of the sea, effortlessly stripping dirt off her body.

 

Slipping deeper into the warm silk depths, Calypso let the old maid wash her hair, ever so gently swirling out the knots, separating the curls gracefully.

 

The silence that swamped the room was a peaceful one, the lull in the concerto before the music swells and the score ends. 

 

 "The King requires your presence in the audience room,"

 

 "Where?"

 

 The Asian woman smiled softly, "I will take you there."

 

 "Thank you. What's your name?"

 

 The maid balked, as if her name were an obscure value that no human would ever seek to uncover.

 

 "Yema," she whispered, almost as if she'd forgotten it, "My name is Yema."

 

 "Nice to meet you, Yema. I'm Calypso."

 

 • • • 

 

 SATIN SLID DOWN Calypso's now clean body, bathing her in golden splendor. The dress was sleek and fitted to her body, contrasting her dark brown skin perfectly, making her glow.

 

 "You look beautiful!" Yema gushed, eyeing her in pride.

 

 "All thanks to you, Yema."

 

 "Ah, no. It's all you, darling."

 

 Smiling at the small woman, Calypso hugged her, feeling odd.

 

 She hadn't hugged anyone since she was young.

 

 "Thank you so much."

 "Just stay alive, darling."

 

 Foreboding filled her like water in a cup, overflowing with the chilling substance of fear.

KING ZAID WATCHED the woman float into the chamber, her eyes settling on him. He reclined on his sofa, a chalice filled with blood-red wine in his hand.

“Come,” He thundered, beckoning her with his eyes. They were a silverish blue, electrical storms in their own right.

Hesitantly she stepped forward, a curtain of curls shielding her from his piercing gaze.

“What is your name?”

“Calypso,” she told the translucent floor.

Not commenting on her lack of eye contact, King Zaid eyed her form curiously.

“You were a slave?”

“Yes.”

Taking in her form once more, he licked his lips.

“Dance for me.”

Calypso's eyes sharply met his. “Your Majesty?”

“Dance for me,” He demanded.

Reluctantly, Calypso danced, the one her old master forced her to learn. She used to love dancing.

Looking into the amused eyes of the King, she remembered why she didn't love it anymore. People like him made her passion entertainment.

A joke.

As soon as the number ended, she bowed, straightening her spine but keeping her eyes on the floor.

She didn't dare raise them. Her back ached; she was not meant to be a slave. It was not in her nature to be controlled, to blindly follow orders.

She fought, spat, cursed, and stabbed. But this was King Zaid. She kept her glare on the floor. She still valued her life.

Or at least, she thought she did.

“You are angry, little butterfly,” King Zaid mused, “Tell me why.”

Well, he asked, she thought with a smirk. I must obey the King's orders, right?

“I don't think you have enough time for me to explain why I'm angry.” As an afterthought, she added a hasty, patronizing, “Your Majesty.”

King Zaid studied the girl. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor, but he would bet all the gold in the world that if she had a knife right now, she would stab him.

With no hesitation. And most likely minimal regret.

A smirk spread across his features. She amused him, he enjoyed her anger. It was... refreshing.

“Don't worry about my time. Speak.”

Calypso knew this was a trap. But a chance to curse the King of Bones? Oh, she couldn't pass that up.

If it ended up being the last thing she did, she would die satisfied.

Lifting her baneful glare from the floor, she zeroed in on him.

Her dark eyes radiated a hatred so strong and sincere that he slightly frowned.

“Oh, King of Bones,” She started sarcastically, “Thank you for your time. I am but a slave... Your Majesty.”

Every word she said was brimming with contempt and sarcasm. She didn't sound remotely sincere. She sincerely didn't care.

“Skip the flattery, little butterfly. We both know you don't like me.”

Something like hesitation took over her features. It was wiped away almost instantly.

“Oh good, I was going to throw up. Listen, you suck at your job.”

The King quirked a curious brow, but was not visibly angry.

“Pray, what am I lacking?”

His tone was as condescending and sarcastic as hers.

She almost, kinda, liked this King.

“This is gonna take a while. One, do you even know that the land you own has people on it?”

Blinking twice, he answered. “Yes, I am aware.”

“Truly? You don't seem to be.”

Before she could speak again, he interrupted her.

“Come, sit here. Your poor feet must be tired.”

Calypso narrowed her eyes.

“I'm a slave.”

He just smiled threateningly, beckoning her to sit with him. His movements mimicked that of a snake, enticing.

Though she knew she would die, she did anyway. The King reclined on the sofa, his long body stretched out. There was very little space for her to sit though. She was forced to sit against his reclined body. A small smirk wriggled onto his face. He liked this woman.

“Continue, little butterfly.”

Shooting him a look of disdain, she did as he demanded.

“The common people are starving,” She stated in a soft, harsh way. Coal eyes burned into his blue-grey ones, almost as if she were compelling him to feel the agony of her words.

“There is no food, no jobs. A few have money—they keep it. The rest have nothing, and it stays that way.”

“How is that my fault?”

“How is it not? You sit here, reclining in your palace, leisurely sipping wine—from a gold chalice.”

He looked at said cup. “Most of us have never even tasted wine. In fact, just that cup of wine, not including the gold, would be enough to sustain a family for months.”

The King showed no emotion outwardly.

“You don't need any of this. We do. You are the King. It is your duty to take care of the people, not sip wine and watch them suffer.”

Calypso said nothing more. She would not preach to a King who knew these things. Who simply didn't care.

Wouldn't waste her time.

“I would like to return to—”

Where would she go? She didn't want to stay in the palace, but if she set foot outside it, because of the color of her skin, she would be enslaved again.

Though, she knew that the price of this comfort would be enslavement in its own right.

“To where?”

“The dungeons.”

King Zaid blinked rapidly, his dark brow furrowing.

“You wish to return to the dungeon? What about the room I've provided?”

Calypso just put her hands in her lap and looked down at them as if they were the most intricate thing she had ever beheld.

“Yes.”

King Zaid sipped some wine pensively. He finally spoke.

“Open your mouth.”

Calypso's head shot up. “No.”

King Zaid fought his instincts.

“Open your mouth, little butterfly, or I will rip your beautiful wings off.”

She didn't know exactly what wings symbolized in this context, but she suspected it would be a vital part.

His lower half was too far down. The only thing he could do was—

Strong, long elegant fingers gripped her jaw, prying it open. Then, ever so carefully, he put the cup to her lips, letting the sweet wine trickle down her throat and warm her belly.

His eyes crackled with intensity, though one could not decern any particular emotion.

Only that it was strong.

His gaze never wavered as he slowly, steadily fed her, until the cup was empty.

Calypso was enraptured by the warmness in her belly, the buzz of delight in her blood.

The King smirked, the first real expression he'd shown her.

“Now, you have tasted wine,” he rumbled in a low voice, his grip on her jaw not moving.

“Do you enjoy it, little butterfly?”

She nodded slowly.

“I will not send you back to the dungeons, little one,” he murmured, drawing her closer to his lips, “You will sleep in the bed I have provided or you will sleep in mine.”

Not allowing herself to be overcome by his scent, his strong grip, his alluring gaze, she looked away.

He let her, letting his hand drop.

Quickly, Calypso scurried out of his reach and rushed away.

“Have pleasant dreams, little butterfly,” He called after her.

She stopped, looking at him over her shoulder. “I don't have pleasant dreams, your Majesty. I have familiar nightmares.”

And with that, she left the room.

Long after she left, the King contemplated her words. Though he would not admit it, he knew she was an intelligent, discerning woman who paid attention to her surroundings.

She had fire in her, fire like he'd never seen before. It wasn't reckless—it was rampant, the kind of fire only someone with nothing to lose could master.

His eyes dropped to where she had sat, to the cup she had drunk out of.

Yes. She was an amusing little thing. He decided to keep her, if only for a little while.

After all, King Zaid had long been known to break his toys.