You were the queen.

Intelligent and beautiful, yet constantly living in the king's shadow. You were a pretty jewel for him, something that he could show off once in a while to other monarchs, eliciting their contented gasps and sighs.

You had ideas, good ideas on how to improve the king's reign. But oh how he loathed you criticizing his conduct. He did not allow your opinions to cloud your judgment. No, he hated when you tried to protest or even worse, give him advice. He never sought a wife as intelligent as him. He only married you for political purposes, and of course because you were beautiful to him and his people. Having a wife as unique as yourself, he could easily beguile anyone into doing whatever he wished for.

But recently he has been more easily irked than earlier. Every snarky little comment of yours was met with a punch, a slap or even a jab in your arm. He hated you. And he would not tolerate your criticism.

One day the king beat you up awfully bad. You were in a critical state and needed medical care immediately. With a groan, the king shoved you into his most trusted doctor's room and simply left. The doctor, Ougai Mori was a calm and patient man. A stoic, one who you felt safe around. His bony fingers attended to your wounds with practiced skill. His hands were steady and gentle when he took care of every bruise.

You have been meeting Mori approximately twice a week now. And you enjoyed every single visit. You enjoyed them too much, to the very point where you provoked the king to massacre you, just to have Mori leisurely cleaning your wounds and fixing you up. His room was silent, cold yet it felt like home. He felt like home. You preferred his company over the king's greatly, you marvelled at Mori's knowledge and composure.

"I do not wish to bother you with trivial questions, your majesty. However should you decide to tell me more about the origin of those wounds, this old man would be delighted to listen."

Mori said softly while tracing a finger over one of your scars.