An Execution Corporation

Flora spends her first day at the Wesley Farm

Chapter Four: An Execution Corporation

After staring into the darkness where the carriages used to be for what felt like a long time, I realized my bags carrying my nightgowns were downstairs. I contemplated whether or not to just sleep in my dress, but feeling uncomfortable, I opened my door and peeked outside of it. No one was there as far as I could tell.

                I crept down the hall feeling odd to even be in this house. Once downstairs I saw my bags near a breakfast table close to the front door. I searched through them and finally found my night clothes. I grabbed my bag and heaved it back upstairs.

                I looked down the hall of door and felt uneasy. Which door was mine?

                I felt horrified being in this situation. I could just open each door and alert me wandering around a house that didn’t belong to me. I gulped and decided to just pick a door and if it wasn’t mine I would just deal with it if it happened.

                I picked the third door on the right and grabbed the door knob, slowly opening it and peaking inside. A small girl laid asleep, snoring softly and clutching a stuffed horse. I closed the door, feeling nervous. Time to try another one.

                I tried the next door which was a closet, then the next which ended up being a toilet area. Irritated, I tried the next door and was glad to find the familiar room that had the window leading out onto the front yard.

                I quickly changed for the first time without a servant’s help and got into bed. It was soft and comfortable and I found myself moaning happily as I tucked myself in. This was what it was like to be normal.

                           *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

                Light shone in from the large window beside my bed. The smell of bacon and eggs caught my senses and I felt suddenly relaxed. I looked around, taking in my bedroom in the light and felt odd. There was no Hillary or Beth to wake me, or guards standing at attention outside my door. I was in a normal house, with a normal family. There was nothing to overreact about.

                My bags were all downstairs which meant I had nothing to change into before going downstairs. I pulled on my dressing gown feeling completely inappropriate, and left my bedroom. Following the familiar path I had traveled last night, I walked downstairs into the kitchen were a plump, kind-looking woman was cooking over a wood burning stove.

                At the breakfast table that was surrounded by my bags sat Mr. Wesley and a blond, curly haired child who I expected was the five year old daughter father was talking about and the little girl whose room I had accidently entered last night. The fact that they too were still in their sleepwear made me feel much more comfortable.

                “Good morning Princess Flora.” Mrs.Weasley said, flipping a piece of bacon. She seemed a lot less nervous around me than Mr. Wesley had. “My name is Margret, this is my daughter Abigail. Breakfast will be ready shortly, just take a seat wherever you like. I’ll have Anthony take your bags up after he’s finished outside.” I nodded and sat down next to Abigail who smiled at me.

                “You’re a princess.” she said grinning, she was missing her two front teeth.

                “Erm- yes.” I said, smiling politely.

                “I hear about you when we go to town.” she told me, “How is it being a princess?” I felt uncomfortable, never been asked anything so direct.

                “Abby leave Princess Flora alone.” Mr. Wesley said, setting down his newspaper, “She doesn’t want to be interrogated.” Abigail nodded and looked down at her feet.

                “It’s okay.” I said, feeling bad, “Being a princess is…well, erm- strict…” That was the first word that came to mind and it fit quite perfectly. That’s how my life was. Strict.

                “You don’t get to go to royal balls and dance with handsome princes?” she asked, disappointed. I felt bad for crushing whatever dream she may have had.

                “Er- not really.” I told her, “Most of the princes I’ve met are not exactly my age. Though I heard the prince of Eagalton is a few years older than me.”

                “Do you have pretty gowns?” she asked, eyes gleaming. Yes and were unbelievably uncomfortable.

                “Most of them are at home, but I have a few here you can see.” I told her. She smiled happily and Mrs. Wesley walked over carrying a tray of bacon, eggs, toasted bread, and orange juice. She set a plate in front of me, Abigail, Mr. Wesley and two extra on either side.

                “Is someone else joining us?” I asked as Mr. Wesley and Abigail began grabbing bacon and scooping eggs out of the large bowl.

                “Yes.” Mr. Wesley answered, “My nephew, Anthony. He stays with us over the summer when he doesn’t work at the Inn. He helps me around the farm. You’ll meet him.” Mrs. Wesley looked at me concerned but I pretended not to notice. “I think I forgot to mention him to your father.”

                “It’s okay.” I said, following Abigail and helping myself to the delicious looking food. “If he’s as kind and welcoming as you all have been I will be delighted to meet him.” Mrs. Wesley smiled nervously, making me feel concern. Was this boy a criminal or something?

 

Halfway through breakfast the back door opened and in walked a sweaty boy with dark brown hair. He looked older than I and had stubble around his chin and cheeks. His eyes quickly darted to me then to Mr. Wesley.

                “The weeds are out and the cows are milked- I’m going to go bathe.” and he left. He came across rude to me, but maybe I was just overreacting. However, the glances Mr. and Mrs. Wesley shared did not help me think so.

                “He seems nice.” I lied. Mrs. Wesley smiled kindly and began getting her food.

                We all ate in silence. The food was even more delicious then it smelled. How was Mrs. Wesley not working in our kitchen?

                “It was a superb meal.” I told Mrs. Wesley smiling, “If only I had room for more.” Mrs. Wesley chuckled slightly, her plump cheeks turning red.

                “Oh- it’s nothing really.”  She said modestly, “I’ll take the dishes, how about Abby shows you around. We have quite a bit of land here and some animals. We have a cat somewhere around here.” she looked around the floor and under the table.

                “Her name’s Nippy.” Abigail said happily. I tried to contain my enthusiasm. I’d always wanted a cat, but father had allergies so cats were banned from within a mile of our castle.

                “I love cats.” I said, probably with just as much enthusiasm as I hoped not to show. Mrs. Wesley smiled pleasantly.

                “Well then, Abby can show you around now that it’s daylight and maybe later we can go to the market. Have you ever been to a market before?” Mrs. Wesley asked me. No.

                “Not exactly…” I said.

                “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Mr. Wesley said, “Princess Flora’s in hiding, we can’t display her too much. If people talk….” he didn’t need to say much more. I would be stuck here as much as I would at my home.

                “Well, I’ll send a letter to your mother- just to check.” Mrs. Wesley told me. I doubt it would do anything. My mother would forbid me to go anyone near people- I was supposed to be at my grandparents after all.

                “Nippy, there you are!” Abigail called, running around the corner. A moment passed and Abigail returned, clutching a large, gray, black and white cat; it hissed loudly at being carried in such an unceremonious manner then jumped from the small girl’s arms. The cat dived under the table and across the room coming to a stop under the piano; there she stayed staring at everyone in the room as if daring anyone to try and approach her.

                “She’s a little shy.” Mrs. Wesley explained with a smile. “I’ll go write the letter while Abigail shows you around.” I nodded and Abigail took my hand. I had to stop myself from gasping in shock. No common person would ever grab a royal’s hand. I looked down at Abigail who hadn’t noticed my surprise and continued to pull me towards the door leading out into the yard.

                The backyard was acres and acres of green. The white fence continued out into the distance, blocking the cut grass from the forest area around the sides. Three cows chewed grass slowly a few yards away, a red barn with open doors stood colorful against all the green.

                “We keep the animals in the barn.” Abigail said, still holding my hand. “I help feed the chickens.” she said with much pride in her voice. I smiled at her and realized I did not mind her holding my hand.  

                “It is very pretty out here.” I told her, “You must love it here…” I felt my mind drifting into a very relaxing; almost dream like state, as I gazed out into the endless land. “…It looks like you could run forever…I wonder…I wonder how it feels to be free.”

                I didn’t know where the words came from, but as soon as I said them I knew them to be true. I felt Abigail look up at me, but I could not look back. I felt tears stinging in my eyes and I could not let her know. Never show weakness. Never act vulnerable. I heard my mother’s voice as clearly as if she were standing right in front of me.

                “We are all free.” Abigail said and nothing more. She gave my hand a squeeze and led me over to a small sheep that was eating the grass along with the cows.

                I turned my head back toward the house to see a curtain in the second floor close. I could have sworn I saw a man’s face looking out of it, but I was quite sure Mr. Wesley was still in the kitchen.

                “What’s Anthony’s story?” I tried asking Abigail casually. There was something off about him, and the fact that Mr. Wesley had not mentioned him to my father made me quite nervous.

                “He’s funny.” she said, giggling slightly, “He comes every summer.” The boy did not come across as funny, but I tried to keep my tongue.

                “How old is he?” I asked her, turning back to the window on the second floor. The curtain stood still.

                “Nineteen.” she said, “He’s old. He works at an Inn in Florin.”

                The conversation seemed to be over, so I did not press though my curiosity lingered.  

 

For a half an hour Abigail led me around the land the Wesley’s owned, showing me her favorite places and where she hid when Anthony and her played hide and seek.

                “He can never find me here. After a while I come out once he’s shouted I won. Don’t tell him.” she told me.

                “Not a word.” I said with a smile.

                “Abigail, Princess Flora, I am heading to the market.” Mrs. Wesley called from the backdoor. Abigail and I walked back inside the house, there the little girl finally let go of my hand and began putting a hat on.

                “Abigail and I will be at the market up the road.” Mrs. Wesley told me, “Mr. Wesley is in his study in that room right there- he is working on a novel.” she pointed to the room down the hall and on the right, “If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask. I shouldn’t be long; I just need to pick up a few grocery items and send the letter to your mother.”

                I nodded with a smile, trying to hide my disappointed about not being able to go.

 

After Abigail and Mrs. Wesley left I headed upstairs to my room.  All my luggage was set rather carelessly around the room as if throw in. I turned my head towards the door as if expecting someone to appear. Mrs. Wesley said Anthony would take care of my bags. I turned again to the door. Maybe he didn’t like me.

                No, of course not. He did not even know me, plus I am the princess of Owltania, my people loved me.

                I had not bathed in three days and was beginning to feel less and less like myself. As if I was leaving one life and beginning another. I did not know whether or not I liked this feeling.

                I grabbed one of my bath robes, determined to clean myself. Where was the bathing room? I looked up and down the hall and faced the same feeling I had faced last night. Deciding to go downstairs and merely asked Mr. Wesley I began walking down the hall.

                “Where are you going?” I turned around faster than I thought I could, facing myself with the owner of the deep, scruffy voice. Anthony stood there, cleaner than when I had last saw him. He looked a mix between angry and…something else, I couldn’t tell what, but it was something else.

                “I was looking for the bathing room.” I told him. I felt my voice quiver slightly, as though I was afraid.

                I wasn’t afraid, of course, I am the Princess of Owltania and he was merely some peasant boy who seemed to have some sort of bad attitude with me.

                “It’s through there.” he told me, pointing to the door on the left of him.

                “Thank you.” I said, though made no attempt to move. Perhaps this boy had some sort of criminal record and that was why Mr. Wesley did not tell father about him. The thought made me frightened. What if this was some sort of trap? What if Anthony worked for the Imposter? What if this was just some clever ruse to get me in the hands of whoever was after me!

                “What? Can you not walk without a servant by your side?” He did not even try to mask his tone of hatred; if he did he was doing a very poor job at it.

                “Excuse me, but do you know who you are talking to?” I said in my most dignified voice, “I am Princess Flora of Owltania-”

                “Yeah, I know.” he interrupted; the shock of it nearly killed me! “No need to boast around your title.”

                “I was not…boasting!” I said, my voice rising, “And if you don’t cease speaking to me in such a way I’ll-I’ll…”

                “What?” Anthony interrupted yet again, “Execute me like your father does? Like father like daughter.” his voice was not raised, yet the hatred in his voice made my stomach knot.

                “You know nothing about my father!” I said my voice still rose as if I had no house training; it made me angrier to even be this way.  “How dare you! You are way out of line!”

                “What? You think I’m just going to let you be here and act like your servant! After what your father did to me!” His voice began to rise and I could not think of anything else to say. I had never in my life been spoken to in such a way.

                “How-”

                “You think I have any respect for you or your family. I don’t give a damn what your title is and I don’t give a damn about whether or not you think it’s wrong for me to speak to you like this. I don’t want you here.” he ended simply.

                I felt the corners of my eyes sting. Not again. Not twice in the same day. I held my breath as though it would help. Anthony’s face seemed to relax a bit as he watched me in silence, but I was furious. He did not know me! Or my father! Or my family! He was treasonous and most likely a criminal!

                “Fine…” I finally said, “You don’t want me here…I’ll tell Mrs. Wesley to send for my mother. I’m not going to be anywhere I’m not wanted, especially around the likes of you.” I turned around and began to march off, when I felt a cold hand wrap around my arm.        

                The mere feeling of it sent shivers down my spine. No one ever touches someone of royal blood; your hand would be chopped off in the matter of minutes. Yet, it was not in an aggressive manner- how the Imposter had pulled me to him when I was nearly kidnapped, nor was it sweet and innocent like when Abigail did it merely minutes ago. It was foreign to me and that made me not like it.

                I pulled my arm away and rounded at him again.

                “You have no respect for your superiors, do you?” I asked, not waiting for an answer before I continued, “If you dare touch me again, I will have you on the next anchor to the bottom of the Atlantic.” He stared at me daggers, but then his expression change again.

                “Stop.” he said. How dare he command me, “Stop acting as if your some spoil, royal…arse.” Excuse me. “I can see right through you, so don’t try and threaten me with your daddy’s connection in the execution corporation he started.”

                “Are you insane?” I blurted out, “Are you some…mentally ill lunatic?” That would probably explain many things.                

                “What?” he asked, for a second looking a bit amused, “No.? I’m not some mentally ill lunatic. I am the son of a man who was executed for being a father.”

                “What?” I forgot my tone of anger, but it was too late for he had already begun speaking.

                “When I was seven my family and I lived in the Owltania Capital village. My father was a farmer and when King Robert decided to increase the taxes, my father struggled to keep my mother and my brother and I fed. More than half the money we earned from selling our food went to your king. Then a year or two later, King Robert decided to come up with another law. That all self sufficient farms must give a third of all crops and meats to the King; that left us even poorer than we already were. But we managed to get by. My brother and father worked hard on the farm, while mother taught me to read and write. She told me that she didn’t want me to have to scrap for every bit of food I put in my mouth.”

                Anthony closed his eyes for a second. I watched him curiously. I felt my anger melt away though I wanted to still be angry with him for all he had said; however, the look on his face as he reminisced made me feel a bit sad.

                “When my older brother, Roger, was eighteen- I was eleven- he got blackmailed into the army.”

                “Blackmailed?”

                “He had…slept…with a woman who was already claimed. I don’t even remember her name. She ended up marrying a Duke though. But, my brother died in the Battle of Ares.  They had called the fallen…a small loss for such a great victory…I remember…” he looked a bit angry again, “As if any loss is small.”

                “Anyway,” he continued, sniffing slightly, “Without his help the farm barley produced so much as a potato. And my father wouldn’t let me help. He said I had to focus on my education. My education! Look where that’s gotten me now. Him dead and me wifeless, living with my uncle and working at an Inn.” He took a deep breath, then finally looked down at me, his eyes were watering, “We couldn’t sell the food anymore because we needed it ourselves to eat. And without selling the food we made no money for taxes, and without producing enough food we couldn’t give any to the king.

                Then, when the tax day came my father refused. He told the men that the King would rather let his people go hungry rather than go a day without a second lunch. They threw him in prison. Two days later they hanged him, without a trial, while my mother and I watched.” he looked away from me then walked a few feet away from me.

                “That is why I don’t care what your title is or how I speak to you. It is because of your family- your father- that mine is rotting in the ground. Why my mom is stone drunk half the time, and why I will never see my brother again.” He turned back to me and looked completely different than when I had turned around only minutes before. He looked weak, not intimating and His eyes were full of tears, rather than hatred. “You can’t tell Margret you need to leave or your parents will come snooping around and I don’t want to cause any trouble to my only family.” he opened the door to the right and closed himself in it without another word, leaving me to stare sadly at his door.