Love, and Other Torture Devices

Edmund stops in his tracks upon entering the large room, seeing a mop of curly brown hair pour over the arm of the couch. Slowly, he walks into the library to get a better look.

Almira is lying on the couch, with a large book covering her chest. Her head is tilted to side slightly and her eyes are closed.

He smiles, "you're so pretty without that scowl on your face."

She doesn't wake up, but she does take a deep breath.

"Almira," the Prince speaks quietly, standing over the couch.

The young woman's head remains tilted to the left. A thin chunk of curly brown hair is draped over her face and blows gently from the breath of her open mouth, with every rise and fall of her chest.

"Almira," Edmund clears his throat lightly, hesitantly reaching to touch her right hand.

Her eyes snap open and she gasps loudly, retreating back into the couch's cushions. "Edmund."

The Prince quickly takes his hand back, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's... alright. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

He clears his throat, gently rubbing the back of his neck as he watches Almira close the book and set it on the couch cushion to her left. "We, um... we're attending dinner tonight."

"Where?" She rises slowly, backing away toward the opposite end of the couch – and away from Edmund.

"In the dining hall. My father is back in the kingdom."

Almira's eyebrows rise slowly. She nods gently, turning and walking to the door.



"I'm not wearing that," Almira crosses her arms. "I refuse to."

Cassandra swallows loudly, "Lady Almira... we made this dress especially for you."

"And it looks like something a whore would wear. Do I appear to be a whore to anybody in this room?"

"Of course not," all of the maids shake their heads.

Almira's lips purse. "That neckline is nowhere near modest enough for anyone of the high courts."

"This is what the women of Latovia wear, Lady Almira."

"I do not wish to have my cleavage spilling out onto the dining hall table."

Cassandra's lips purse gently as she bows her head. "Lady Almira. The prince has requested that you wear this dress specifically. He will likely be angry if you do not respect his wishes."

A loud knock at the bedroom chamber's door causes the group of women to collectively start, turning their heads to the source of the unexpected noise.

Almira quickly pulls her silk robe on, tying the waist as she walks across the large room. Pulling the door open, she puts on a cheery façade. "Edmund," her facial features fall quickly, "you think I'm some kind of whore?"

"Put the dress on, Almira." Edmund's voice is monotonous and quiet. "I won't ask twice."

She smirks, "you didn't ask a first time."

"Put. The. Dress. On." He speaks through clenched teeth, leaning down until his nose is less than two inches away from Almira's, "now."

She blinks slowly, glaring up into Edmund's fair eyes. Saying nothing, she steps back and watches the man simultaneously do the same. With a flick of her wrist, the door is once again separating them. Her feet are silent on the ground as she crosses the room again, untying her robe. "I hate him."

"You don't mean that," Cassandra says quietly.

Almira shakes her head as two of the maids hold the torso of the dress open, "you have no idea how much I do, Cassandra. No idea."

“I don’t think you hate him,” Cassandra says with a shrug. “You’re just not used to him yet. Now step into the dress.”

“Step into?” Almira crosses her arms over her underdress and corset. “What kind of contraption am I wearing to dinner?”

“A dress,” Cassandra smiles. “Trust me; it’ll look lovely on you. I promise.”

The young brunette glares at the older blonde for a moment before dropping her arms and taking a single step toward the dress. One of the maids takes her hand to balance her as she slowly steps into the dress, one heeled foot at a time. Staring at her reflection as the dress is raised up her body, she shakes her head when half of her arms are still exposed, “you’ve made the sleeves too short!”

“The sleeves are supposed to be that short, Lady Almira,” one of the maids smiles.

“No, they’re not,” Almira argues, feeling the dress tighten over her lower stomach. “What’re you doing back there?”

Cassandra chuckles, “buttoning you up, Lady Almira.”

“Buttons? This dress has buttons?”

“More like cloth fasteners, but yes,” Cassandra shrugs, continuing up the back of the dress.

Almira watches her own nostrils flare in the mirror, “I hate him.”

Cassandra’s head pops up over her shoulder in the mirror’s reflection. “You’ll get used to him.”