A Throne of Fangs

5 - Double Standards

A knock came, and the bird woman entered, followed by a few women and someone I was assuming was the doctor. He was calm but jittery at the same time. I hated that I couldn’t read him.

I stood and walked toward them but directed my voice at Ms. Thatcher only. “If I am to stay here, you and everyone else are to wait for me to invite you in before you enter into my private chambers.” I held my head high and inclined my chin to the doctor. “Especially when bringing a man in.”

Ms. Thatcher opened her mouth and shut it again.

“You may speak,” I told her.

“Yes, very well, miss.” She hung her head in what might have looked like a bow to others, but I knew it wasn’t.

“What is this?” I asked.

“The doctor is here to make sure you’re pure,” she squawked.

“How will he do that?” I asked, tilting my head, the picture of innocence.

“You just need to lay back,” The doctor said and coughed, motioning to the bed.

“And then?” I asked.

“Then, he will check your sacred walls to ascertain your p.urity,” Ms. Thatcher said. I struggled to fight back my laugh at that description.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to be looking at anything but me, so they didn’t notice my eyes start to water with the effort.

“But wouldn't that make me impure?” I asked. “Letting a stranger, a man,” I whispered, widening my eyes. “Touch me?” I put a hand over my heart and took a step back.

“It is what’s done,” Ms. Thatcher said.

“I have never been touched, and you want this, this man,” I motioned to the doctor, who was looking increasingly more uncomfortable. “To tarnish that?” I wondered how far I could play this innocent act, but I was fairly certain at least the crowd believed me.

“I, uh, it's medical,” the doctor stuttered, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

I think he wanted to be in this situation even less than I did. I felt for him, but he was just collateral damage in the game they started.

A game I was determined to somehow win... Once I figured out the rules.

“Show me,” I motioned to the bed. “I want to first see what is to happen.”

“H-how?” he stammered, looking at the bird woman.

“On her, I guess.” I waved to Ms. Thatcher.

Once I heard the other women in the room's stifled giggles, I remembered them. Their stifled laughter fueled me; it was the only realness I had felt in I didn’t know how long.

She pursed her lips, her cold, dark eyes fiery. “That would be-” She clamped down on her beak.

“It would be what?” I asked, tilting my head. She looked away, her thin hands clenched. “It would be what?” I repeated.

“Improper,” she snapped.

“But it wouldn’t be improper for your future princess?” I asked. “To have a man that is not The Prince touch me?”

“This is what's done,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

I turned to the doctor and asked, “And of The Prince? What is done to prove that he has not touched another?”

The doctor openly balked. The longer I stared at him, the worse he got.

“There is no way to test that,” he finally managed.

“He has an a.sshole, does he not?” I asked. “Test that.”

The women were openly laughing now. Even Ms. Thatcher's harsh glare couldn’t quell them. I feared their laughter was a mix of pity for my ignorance and the complete absurdity of it all. However, I did think that I showed how unfair it was, and I wanted to make a small stand, even if I knew the outcome.

“Enough,” Ms. Thatcher demanded.

“And these are?” I motioned to the women still clustered at the door. “Here for an audience?”

“These are some of your ladies,” Ms. Thatcher responded, visibly calming down now that the conversation had turned to something more proper.

“I will choose who attends to me, but I thank you for volunteering them for the moment,” I told her before turning to them. “Not to say that you are not remarkable women. If Ms. Thatcher has chosen you, I’m sure you are the best of them.” Some of them bristled at the compliment. “But I do want to surround myself with a variety of women. I’m open to being guided, being challenged, and I would like my court to reflect a certain level of progress.”

Ms. Thatcher turned to me, opening her beak, but I lifted my skirts, cutting her off. “Now, shall we have a look at my v.agina?”

______

The doctor left, and Ms. Thatcher turned on her heel after him, but she gave me a long assessing look first. I was fairly certain she was hoping I wasn’t pure. I still held out hope as well. That whatever magical wall of purity and goodness, or however she called it, was not intact.

But apparently, I was pure.

D.amn, my past self.

The ladies stayed, and I found out they were to help me get ready for the ceremony tonight, where I would officially be introduced. I wanted to ask when I was to meet the prince, but I didn’t want to sound desperate or ignorant. I had to admit there was much to be learned about the royal court.

The ladies bustled about in skirts of rich colors, their hair perfectly pinned, and I tried to collect any tidbits of information that might be useful, but there wasn’t anything.

I was scrubbed, oiled, lotioned, and plucked. My body felt raw after I emerged from the bathroom, and despite their smiling faces and oohs and ahhs at my beautiful complexion and rich dark red hair, I did believe some of them actually had it out for me.

I wondered if that was due to my future position, or who I would be marrying. I suspected a bit of both. But these women were from great families, full of wealth and connection. Their lives seemed pretty easy.

No.

I stopped myself. I would not assume that of them, as I did not want people to assume that of me. I would get to know them personally. Whatever hate they had toward me was the product of prejudice and ignorance. I would forgive them for that.

I would prefer much more to have them hate me for something I actually was than because of something I was forced into. That was a hate I could live with. It would have at least been earned.

The tall doors of my wardrobe were open and out spilled rich fabrics in vibrant colors stark against the dark wood. All the colors did seem to suit me. Maybe I was being vain, or perhaps these were indeed chosen for me.

“These are beautiful,” I murmured, reaching up to touch a dark blue one.

I was used to a level of splendor, but gowns such as these only made their way out of my much smaller closet at home for a formal event. I preferred something simpler, choosing comfort over style when I was in my own pack.

But now I was not, and I would have to pick my outfits more carefully. The thought was tiresome, but it would give me something to focus on, to learn the styles of the court. Anything to cling on to at this point.

“What do you think I should wear?” I asked them.

“The Prince loves gold,” one of them responded, blushing. “So I’ve heard.”

“Thank you, Alexandra, was it?”

“Yes.” She dipped her head demurely.

“Then, I shall try the gold first.”