The Kingdom - Clare B Dunkle - Hollow Kingdom 01 - The Hollow Kingdom

“What if I don’t?” Kate asked mulishly.

“Do you see this?” Marak asked. Part of the cup rim was shaped like a metal whistle. “I grab your hair, and I yank your head back, and I wedge this between your teeth. Then I pour the drink down your throat. It’s not that hard, really.” Kate glared indignantly at his impassive expression.

“Kate,” said the goblin, “remember what I told you. You offered to do this. This was all your choice. It’ll help you to think about that. It won’t make any difference in the outcome of the ceremony, but you’ll feel better about it, and you’ll keep up your courage.”

Kate lifted the goblet and took a small sip. Then she paused. What if I just refuse to swallow? she thought stubbornly.

Marak grinned at her. “It’s already worked. It just needs to touch your tongue. You can spit it out if you want to.” Glowering desperately, Kate swallowed with an effort. “That’s it, then,” he said, turning toward the inner door. “You’re all set to go to the women now and get ready. Remember, they won’t talk to you, and you can’t talk to them. And any frantic flailing around you do is sure to be palace gossip for years.”

“How perfectly barbaric,” Kate sneered. At least, that’s what she intended to say. What she actually said was, “Aaah.”

“Exactly,” said Marak approvingly. “I’m locking this door behind you, so your magic spells won’t work, anyway. The only way out is at the other end of the women’s chamber, and that’s where I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.”

Kate soon concluded bitterly that the ceremony itself couldn’t be any more humiliating than the preparation. Goblin women of all shapes and sizes seized her, popped her into a large, soapy tub, and scrubbed her as if she were a dirty cooking pot. Then they pulled her out again, wrapped her in towels, and set her on a stone couch. Two women started combing her wet hair while others rubbed her with oil, puffed her with powder, trimmed her toenails, and polished her fingernails. She felt like a horse being groomed.

Kate drowsily watched the monster women at work on her. Here I am, she thought bitterly, being hustled into marriage just like those poor Sabine women who were dragged away by the Romans. She wondered how many of those Roman men had been old, or ugly, or deformed. It didn’t matter because the captive women had to marry them anyway, but she doubted that a single one of them had a husband more ugly than hers.

She thought about the goblin King, with his gray skin, his big, bony head, and those eyes like different-colored coals glowing out of their deep sockets. Her father had taught her that her husband would be her closest companion, her comfort and guide, the guardian of her honor and virtue. A husband and wife belonged to each other body and soul. Husbands kissed their wives, just as Romeo had kissed Juliet. They slept together in the same bed; the stories were very clear about that.

She thought about the poems she had read, about that glorious love shared by man and wife that transformed the poorest people into cherished treasures in each other’s eyes. What a mockery of love this was, she thought with a sinking heart. She imagined Marak’s wiry arms around her, his awful brown lips kissing hers. When Eve left Paradise, she left with handsome Adam, but Kate was leaving with the snake.

No, that’s not fair, she told herself firmly. I promised to be this creature’s wife, and I can’t be a coward. I’m not really a captive like those Roman brides, and it’s not his fault he’s ugly. And those arms were around me on the way home. He wrapped me in his cloak so I wouldn’t be cold. He didn’t feel deformed and hideous; he felt strong, and he was kind. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, perhaps it won’t be so awful. I’ve never been kissed by a handsome man, so I suppose I’ll never know the difference. This was my idea. I have to remember that. I saved Em’s life, that’s the important thing, and now I have to live with the consequences. She recalled her father’s favorite lines from Milton: Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest, live well .

Kate became aware of a change in the activity around her and opened her eyes with an effort. Old Agatha stood beside her couch. Picking up a paintbrush and dipping it in black ink, she began to write in small, neat letters straight down Kate’s right arm, starting a little above the elbow and ending at the wrist. Kate felt annoyed. She hoped they would wash that writing off because otherwise she was going to look like a cannibal princess at the wedding. Of course, she reflected unhappily, she hadn’t seen her dress yet. An arm covered with black ink might be the most stylish thing about her before the goblin women let her go.

Coming to the end of her row of letters, the old dwarf woman picked up a glass bottle and dotted some oil onto Kate’s arm. Two of the black ink letters faded and then brightened into gold. Agatha dipped the paintbrush and started on another row. She wrote line after line, first on the right arm and then on the left. Each time, she ended with a dot of some liquid, and each time, one or two of the letters in the line changed to gold. Eventually it dawned on Kate that these were the tests of the King’s Bride, and it was obvious from the excited faces around her that she was passing them all.

The women had dried her hair as Agatha worked, and now they were winding it full of ribbons. Kate thought bitterly of Marak’s promise to Emily that the goblins would weave ribbons into her hair. Better Em than her. One simple ribbon would have been fine, but they must have ten or fifteen in there by now. The women stood Kate up and brought her undergarments, which she hurriedly put on, worried that they were so short and skimpy. Then two of the women stepped her into a dress. As they hooked up the back, Kate looked down at herself in real concern. Style was not really the issue, and neither was comfort. The simple fact of the matter was that there had better be more clothing than this.

Kate looked around anxiously for more garments, but the women beckoned her to a tall mirror instead. She stared at her reflection in complete dismay. Her hair, twisted and puffed into an elaborate swirl, rested high on the back of her head. One long, thin strand of hair hadn’t been put up at all, and now a goblin woman tugged it around to fall, loose, down the front of her neck. The dress left her arms and shoulders entirely bare, and her back was bare down to the shoulder blades. She felt deeply shocked at the sight of so much skin.

Even if the dress actually covered her up, it would never have been something she would have chosen. The tight bodice was of gold cloth, and it gleamed in the dim light like polished metal. The skirt was unlike any she had ever seen. It was made of many loose and wispy layers of red silk, as if someone had sewn hundreds of handkerchiefs onto an underlying petticoat without rhyme or reason. Poking out beneath were her shins in their gold bands and her bare feet. I look like a beanpole, she thought disgustedly. And those golden shackles are going to come in handy because if they expect to bring me out in front of a crowd looking like this, they’re going to have to use them.

Agatha appeared next to Kate’s horrified reflection and beckoned her over to the door. Kate instantly forgot the awful dress in a wave of pure panic. As Agatha pushed the low door open, she tried to reason with herself. How bad can it be? she thought. I don’t have to speak lines, and I won’t forget what I’m supposed to do next. The King said I have the easy part. She stepped forward bravely.

Ahead of her stretched a low, short tunnel. Two goblin men in golden armor appeared in the doorway. I wonder, she thought sarcastically, if that armor’s there to protect them from my powerful magic. After all, goblins don’t believe in taking chances. Each carried a short chain of thick gold links. They stopped on either side of her, touched the chains to her golden bracelets, and there she was, effortlessly shackled. But they didn’t haul her off. Instead, they hesitated. Kate remembered what Marak had said: “Don’t make anyone drag you around.” She squared her bare shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked down the tunnel, the armored goblins keeping pace on either side.