Every girl in the kingdom followed her steps,
the way a cub learns to roar when his father bites a neck.
A child from the cold end was asked to reign the throne
by a gold hand. The cost veiled against the velvet curtains,
she was deceived to say yes.

How beautiful, they whisper, sight of rosy cheeks
and soft hair, gems carved into the hem of her dress.
She won’t disclose the violet lesions on her body
after having pledged her loyalty to the blue-eyed darkness
seated on the high throne.

If braids mark beauty, and bruises mark people,
does abuse mark love? The maiden moved the brush gently
through the delicate auburn waves. Better to stay silent,
or the king will have your head. The maiden denied,
grace breeding reason.

The queen wore her crown and directed her knights
to rise. Outside the walls she was glorified whole,
a display of the elite. Inside the castle her command dissolved,
auburn braids ripped off and scattered. After all, the kingdom so desires
a formidable king for power.