End of Innocence

The portrait loomed above her, a beautiful collage of brush strokes and the gentle breath of a careful hand on canvas. The colors, even after years of aging, had not yet faded. Glistening lines of golden intertwined just so with the heavy crimson curls that framed a countenance of elegant alabaster, brows of the same tone raised minutely over eyes of graying amber. Even at the age of the one who stood admiring the image, the woman was wise beyond her years. And now, looking upon the face of her mother, Genevieve understood why.

It was different, peering at the mischievous, tired smile of the painted muse, now that she was older. She had been visiting this room since she was a toddler, toying idly with her mother’s trinkets and looking longingly up at the picture of the mother she would never know. Her brother remembered, and it stung to realize that at such an age, simply because of her already failing relationship with their father. It had never been fair; Troy remembering their mother and being favored by their father, Genevieve remembering nothing of the former and treated as property by the latter. Merely six years old, and deprived of affection because…well, she had never really understood it. But as she grew, she somehow found solace in starting up into the eyes of a person she had never known and yet always loved. The gentle crinkles in the corners of her mother’s eyes made her own bright amber irises glisten with the desire to know what had made her mother give such an unusual expression for her portrait.

As she grew older, she had sat, her eyes closed, and strained her memories for even one fleeting glance of the woman that her brother had praised so fervently. You look just like her, Gen, and when you smile, it’s uncanny! Despite her efforts, she never found even a meager piece of…anything. Nothing to cling to, nothing but that portrait and the feeling that no matter how much Troy thought she was looking at a mirror image of herself, he was wrong. Lady Annyliese Marloe was brilliant, poised…respected. And Genevieve was awkward, stubborn, and ignored.

It simply wasn’t the same.

That had been years ago. At sixteen, Genevieve was experiencing all of these tumultuous emotions at once. Dressed with a modesty that betrayed her childlike innocence, she sad in the great chair she had moved in front of the portrait, her legs pulled to her chest, and looked up, into the eyes of the woman that had remained there, on the wall, and watched her grow. This…inanimate thing, this mere picture had influenced her life more than the very real father than seemed to desperate to avoid being a part of her existence.

The young woman sighed heavily, her long lashes fluttering to her cheeks as she set her chin down upon her knees and fell into her thoughts. Her father had been acting so odd, lately, asking her questions about the strangest things, going out even more frequently than before, even speaking to her in a manner less…repugnant. Certainly, it was only to tell her to stand up straighter, to carry herself with more dignity, or to try something new with her beautifully unruly hair, but still…it was more than he’d ever cared to speak before. Troy was acting odd, as well, as though he knew what was afoot. For the first time in their young lives, however, he wouldn’t tell her, only insisting that it was certain that it would be best to ignore it and hope that what he suspected didn’t come to pass.

Something within her sickened at the thought. If her father had something planned, there was no way he was going to toss it aside. Maxim Marloe was a calculating man, and he put too much effort into his affairs to trash them at the last possible second.

She was so lost in her desolate peace of mind that the voice nearby hardly fazed her until Troy gently shook her by the shoulder. Genevieve opened her mouth to protest his intrusion into her private sanctuary, but was silenced immediately by the grave look on his face. It was as thought someone had died. For a fleeting moment, she hoped that it was, indeed, her father, and her mind shot off into the direction of dreams. Troy would inherit everything, she would be treated like a human being, she would-

-not be that lucky.

“Genevieve, you must come with me, at once.”

She tilted her head gently and sighed. “What is it, must I leave-“

“If you don’t hurry, we won’t have time to- oh, just come on, will you!”

Genevieve had never in her life heard him so impatient. Getting up rather reluctantly, she followed him into the hall, fussing rather profusely about his interruption until the voices reached her ears. She followed his motions to keep quiet and stay down as they approached the great staircases leading into the main foyer, and merely listened as they slid behind the great sculptures at the top of the edifice. Her father was speaking to someone, and he was speaking about-

“Genevieve is young, but I am certain she is quite ready. I have raised her well.” Maxim chuckled with a good humor that was so fake that the siblings could have choked. “We can sit down and discuss the business of it, the dowry, if you will, before you meet her, or we can-“

A voice she didn’t recognize spoke next. It was thick, husky, and rather unpleasant. The sound reminded her of that of the stable hands filing the hooves of the Marloe horses. Grimacing, she looked at her brother, who seemed to be gauging her reaction. She still didn’t understand what her father meant, by her being ready…she just knew that he hadn’t raised her hardly at all. “I am quite eager to meet the Lady, mi’Lord Governor, if it isn’t too…sudden…”

She was cut off from hearing the rest as her brother took her by the arm and looked at her, their eyes meeting, his filled with a kind of fear she had never seen. “Listen to me, Gen, you can’t let him take you!”

“Take me where? Troy, listen, you really-“

“Genevieve, if you don’t listen to me ever again, just be quiet and listen to me now!”

Her eyes widened as the forcefulness of his statement hit her. “What is it? Why are you so panicked, brother, please, you’re scaring me…”

“He wants to marry you, Genevieve, but I’ve heard things about him, things that frighten me, and you just can’t-“

“Marry?” She was much too young to get married, and without warning…what was going on, what was happening, it was all much too fast...she could hear Troy, but she couldn’t process it. Marry?

Father has been planning this, Genevieve, he’s wanted this all along, to sell you off, and I can’t let him do it, I just can’t, Mother would die before giving you to such an animal. You deserve better, you deserve to be given the courtesy of a warning, you-

“GENEVIEVE!”

Their father’s voice broke both of their frantic responses, Gen’s thoughts and Troy’s words. Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt as he spoke again. “Come here. We have a guest that you must welcome.”

Glancing fearfully at her brother, she backed slowly into the library in order to regain her composure, and, not bothering to straighten her dress or attempt to tame her curls, she emerged, not daring to look upon the pale face of her sibling and instead moving to the staircase with a grace she wasn’t aware she possessed. One step at a time, Genevieve, one step at a time…

The sight of the man waiting for her made her want to turn and run to her quarters. He was obviously much, much older than her, with graying hair pulled back into a severe sort of…was that a bow? The lines on his hardened face were deep, and his eyes were so dark they were like coal, burning holes through her very bodice as she approached him. His lips were drawn a thin line, and he moistened them with his tongue in a way that made Genevieve even more uncomfortable than she already was. Nearly at the bottom of the staircase, now…

“Genevieve, I do hope you aren’t looking at your feet…” The tone of her father’s voice, the harsh, threatening words, startled her, and as she glanced up, she lost her footing, slipping in what seemed to be slow motion onto her bottom down the last several stairs, landing on her stomach at the feet of her apparent suitor. He and her father both looked at her with an expression of the utmost distaste, and without a moment’s hesitation, Maxim had reached down and jerked her to her feet.

Trying desperately not to stutter as those black eyes stared straight down her bodice, Genevieve bowed her eyes and murmured, “mi’Lord.”

The moment she felt his calloused fingers touch her chin to raise her gaze to his, she wanted to vomit, and her stomach churned so violently she was certain that she would. The yellow of his teeth was revealed as he grinned just slightly in a rather sickening manner, his eyes exploring her countenance, the curve of her cheeks, which she was desperately trying to sallow without looking as though she was sucking in on purpose, the pout of her lips, which she was thinning in an effort to repulse him, and the brightness of her eyes, which, to her great displeasure, she really couldn’t do much about. After his initial observation, he circled her, touching her hair, the small of her back, her waist…she was utterly repulsed by his behavior and starting to understand what Troy meant when he broke all the rules and pinched her bottom as though she was a mere wench at a tavern.

Her startled expression was quickly followed by one of the utmost distaste, and before she could hold her tongue, her stubborn wit burst forth. “mi’Lord, that does not belong to you and I would be much obliged if you refrained from touching it.” She ignored her father’s huff of warning, simply waited for an apology.

An apology that never came.

Instead, in response to her request, the man placed his entire hand over her arse and squeezed with a raucous chuckle that made her skin crawl. Jerking away and moving back toward the staircase, Genevieve looked at her father as though he would say something in her defense, only to remember that he cared little. This was just…this was just to get her out of his manor. She was an unfortunate burden to his fortune, and he was willing to sell her off to a pig…

“Nice and firm bottom she has, Governor.” The Lord smirked as the Governor nodded complacently. “I believe we have an engagement.”

“Father, no.”

Her voice cut through the powerful nature of her father and the suitor in a rather convoluted manner. It was trembling, but firm, and she stood up a little straighter with the pride that she had, indeed, stood up for herself.

“You have no choice, Genevieve.”

“I’m not getting married.” She blinked, impressed at how easy this was. Genevieve had sat idly by and simply dealt with the hands her father had passed her way, but this- this was too far.

“Yes, you are.” She missed the severity in his voice, simply backing up the staircase.

“No.” Shaking her head, she repeated herself. “No!”

The suitor stared at Genevieve quietly as she and her father argued before shaking his head and clearing his throat. “I don’t want a wife who doesn’t know her place, mi’Lord.”

“Rest assured, she does.” Maxim was practically spitting venom. “Genevieve, come here.”

“My place is not in this pig’s bed, Father!”

The silence n the hall was deafening. Maxim simply glowered as the man bowed briefly, and, after giving Genevieve one last, hungry glance, began to depart with one final statement. “Perhaps, soon, you will come to understand that my bed is the best place for you.” He laughed darkly before disappearing behind the doors to the courtyard, and as the servants shut them and quietly made their exit, Troy made his entrance.

“Genevieve, let’s go riding.”

Without another word, the two of the disappeared from the foyer, leaving their father to bask in his anger and wonder what he given his usually so complacent daughter the fire that suddenly flared in her words.

……………………………………………

“He tried again, while you were gone, Troy.”

“He’ll keep trying, Genevieve, you know that.”

She chuckled darkly. “Hell, if he tried Alistair, he’ll try anyone.”

“I resent that!” The wizard was quite a distance away from the siblings, now nearly three years older, but he still heard them. Genevieve was almost relieved that he provided such instant comic relief.

“You didn’t want me anyway.” The words stung her, even spoken by her own voice, but she didn’t care. She had made herself untouchable to most and avoided sacrificing her most precious asset, but Genevieve was afraid that wouldn’t last much longer…she couldn’t keep this up without taking a more drastic step…

“Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“What you’re thinking.”

“Troy, you don’t know what I’m thinking, stop it.”

Alistair chimed in yet again. “I do!”

“Your powers don’t go that far and I know it, so mind your own business.”

“Genevieve…there are dangers to it. Drinking like you do is enough of a risk, and going to bed with men just…just to save yourself from one such as Father would pick?”

She swallowed, leaning against the tree thoughtfully, eyeing the approaching horse on the horizon. Troy watched her with a mixture of admiration and exasperation. She was so very different from the wide-eyed child he had raised. Her innocence was no longer there, it had died along with the first few suitors that came to call, and this was apparent in the spark that now remained a permanent fixture in her eyes as well as the revealing clothing she was beginning to wear. Her pessimistic, cynical nature had been born of this unfortunate set of circumstances, and he found himself wishing that nothing had happened to change the sweet, gentle young woman he had loved so dearly. It mattered little. He still loved her deeply. She was, after all, his younger sister, and she deserved his love more than and before anyone else.

Genevieve didn’t notice his gaze. She was watching the horse approach their gate on the road that winded through the countryside. Please don’t let him here…

This time, her brother did know what she was thinking. “You’re not going to be that fortunate. He’s coming our way.”

Genevieve huffed and watching from beneath the curtain of red curls in her eyes as the horse trotted closer, and closer, examining every inch of this new idiot her father had picked to be her groom. He was oddly familiar, very gruff, very…creepy. “Troy, has he been here before?”

Not waiting for his answer, she crept out of the line of trees slightly to get a better look at him, and in the process, locked gazes with his own. And what she saw froze her mid-air. Irises so black, so dark and foreboding that she wanted to run…

“It’s him.” Her voice was oddly quiet and very cracked. Troy watched her for a moment, then sighed.

“Gen-“

“No.” She rushed forward, winding through the garden paths and slipping in the back way, bursting from the back halls of the manor into the foyer just as her father was welcoming this man, the man that had repulsed her above all the rest. Stiffening her jaw as her father and the suitor turned to notice her, she spoke without being prompted. “mi’Lord, I believe I have already rejected your offer.”

He looked at her in that same, hungry manner, and smirked. “Ah, but this time, mi’Lady, I am more than willing to take you as you are. We’ll train that tongue of yours, I’m certain, with a bit of well-considered discipline…”

Maxim’s face was stoic as he peered at his daughter. Genevieve knew he was silently willing her to give up, to go away with this sick pig and live away from his sight, but she also knew that it was useless for him to try. “I don’t think so.”

“Come, mi’Lady, surely you understand what I could give you.” He smiled sickeningly and she resisted the urge to grimace.

“I understand that you could give me nothing which I desire, and thus I must, once again, reject your offer. I will not be marrying you.”

“You seem to believe that your tongue will drive me away. I assure you, you still are in possession of the most important of assets, and that is all I demand in a wife. Your submission is not necessary. There are better ways to render a woman to one’s will.”

Her father was acting as though he didn’t hear a word. Genevieve’s bloody boiled and her stomach flopped uncomfortably as she realized what he was talking about. How…brutish, how utterly disgusting, for him to assume that the remainder of her dignity was his…

“Excuse me.” Without waiting for a protest, she shot back from whence she had come, bursting through the terrace doors and into the garden. Troy and Alistair glanced up as she did so, the former obviously nervous, and forgot their words at the sight of her. She wasn’t angry. She was upset. Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears and her face was contorted in what could only be described as complete and utter disgust.

“Genevieve.”

She looked at him with determination on a level he had yet to see and shook her head. “No, Troy. I have to. I have to do this.”

Without allowing him to reply, she disappeared down the path to the stables, plucking from them her most favorite of horses and riding off into the hills. Her hair flew behind her like great ribbons of fire, and her tears flew past her cheeks without second thought as to staying. Genevieve would have refused their existence, if she could have. She didn’t cry. Ever. It showed weakness, and she didn’t have weakness. She couldn’t afford it.

Bringing her horse to a stop after riding it hard and fast for so long she couldn’t remember, she leapt off and sank into the grass, breathing hard with frustration, and slammed her fists into the greenery beneath her. This was ridiculous. The constant threat of being sold off to the highest bidder was taking it’s toll on her mind. Love was non-existent. Her mind strayed to the portrait of her mother, and she sighed. How could she have smiled for the painter with the knowledge that she had been chained to her husband by nothing more than a contract, a paper that proclaimed her property of someone other than her father?

No, Genevieve. You don’t know if your Grandfather was the sort of man.

At this thought, she snorted. Like a woman such as her mother could fall in love with a man such as her father. The thought was ludicrous. Standing, not bothering to brush the grass from her dress, she wandered over to the peak of the hill she had stopped upon, but before she could once again get lost in her thoughts, she found her gaze trapped by a figure wandering with his horse in the valley below. Genevieve stared at him curiously, her hand drifting to her curls as she twirled one out of habit around her finger.

His own hair was curly, unruly, she could even tell from this distance. He was dressed gruffly, but the curvature of the muscle on his arms was worth admiring. Seating herself on the edge of the mountain, she watched him for several minutes, rather idly entranced by this man (the only man outside of the balls she had seen that wasn’t after her hand in marriage), and smirked.

This was her chance. Standing a moving nonchalantly down into the valley, she paused a few feet away from him. My, he was a sight. The man was hard in every sense of the word, from the lines etched on his face to the muscle that defined his figure. Genevieve had never seen anything like him, at nineteen.

This is it. This is freedom.

Before she could speak, however, he had already spotted her, brilliant eyes moving over her in the most playful of ways a smile played on the corners of his mouth. “Hello, there.” Moving slowly toward her, he grinned. “What’s a vision like you doing out here?”

Smiling at the teasing that punctuated his tone, she titled her head. “Nothing, actually, until I found the most beautiful man I had ever seen.” Crossing her arms, she continued. “Are you insinuating that it’s dangerous for me to be out alone, mi’Lord?”

Smirking, he shook his head. “I simply meant that you need someone to protect you in case the need arises.”

“Perhaps you would like to fill that position.” It was her turn to approach him. She stopped and looked up at him, eyes full of mischief, mirth, and secret victory. “I haven’t the faintest idea who would keep an eye on me otherwise.”

“I’ll keep an eye on you, alright.”

The wicked smile that curled across her lips was accompanied by her laughter shortly thereafter at this man’s wit, as well as the thought that seemed to set her fate for years to come.

I win, Daddy. I win.