Birthdays

“Wake up, Anna.” I heard my mum call.

“Mmmgh…” I groaned, rolling over.

“Wake up, the soldiers are here!” She hissed, shaking me.

“Th-they are!?” I cried, jumping up and nearly bowling over my mum.

“Yes, and they’re asking to see any boy in the house!” She cried, throwing some feminine clothes at me.

You see, recently the Orcish hordes have been increasingly violent. Naturally, that meant that the men of England, were dying. So, there was a law set up by King Tristram III that any boy thirteen or over must apply for the army. And, if they didn’t, the family would be sent to jail for thirty seasons. And, to help mass more than half the population, who probably hides their boys, they sent two soldiers to each house.

Unfortunately for me, a month ago, I turned thirteen. So, soldiers have come to get me three times, but apparently I’ve made quite a convincing girl. You might be asking yourself, why would a guy have a girl name? Well, I am a girl. But, with all the labor I’ve been doing, I look kind of like a boy…my hair is always messy, I’m dirty, and I’m strong.

I secretly became a thief a year ago, because I wanted to become an help my mum out, and that kept my body feminine, but not frail. And, in my mother’s words, a little make up makes me look like a lady. Damn I loathe dressing like this. And having long blonde hair helps, as well as distractingly intriguing blue eyes that distract you from what I want hidden. And taking after my mum’s side, a side of extremely beautiful women, probably helped disguise me. I feel like a boy trapped in a girl’s body.

I heard a loud and rude banging from downstairs. Immediately I pulled on a plain white dress, and let my mum do my hair and make up. Did I say I loathe dressing like this?

Anyway, she finished fast, so she told me to wait there. As soon as she opened the door, the soldiers barged in. Then they went into my room, a plain room with a bed and desk.

As soon as they saw me, they grabbed me and dragged me down the stairs. I didn’t understand, aren’t they looking for boys?

As soon as my mum saw me, she flipped.

“What are you doing with my baby!?” She cried, latching onto me.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, King’s new orders.” One of the soldiers, probably one of the recently recruited, put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“What?! Weren’t you looking for boys for the war?” She cried, hugging me tighter. I swear, if she doesn’t let go, I’ll suffocate.

“He recently set a new law… Any and all girls above the age of twelve are to be signed off by the parent or legal guardian to the King’s harem. And one of those girls will be a birthday present to his youngest son’s eighteenth birthday, Orin.” The older, more experienced soldier replied automatically.

“What? You mean the nice prince who actively gives out zeny to help the needy?! Why would he do something like this!?” She cried, accidentally letting go of me in surprise.

“We’ve been told that it’s a surprise for him.” The older one replied, taking the chance to drag me out the door.

The entire time, I didn’t utter a word. I knew in time that dressing like a woman, as my mum commanded me, would cause a big, big problem.

@@@@@

So here I am, in the middle of the Grand Hall, among rows and rows of girls. I doubt I’m the only tomboy here.

After about an hour or so of being pampered, changed into a different gown (thank god they let you change privately), and tossed around by old ladies, I thought I looked absolutely disgusting. I mean, I’m a tomboy! Why do I have to look like a lady?!

And it didn’t help to have the King staring right at you, examining you, as if you were a fruit at the local fruit stands.

It’s eery, because he keeps writing on a board. And we’ve been assigned a number each, so I’m sure he’s going to be picking the ones for his harem, and one for his son’s birthday present.

I hope to god I get rejected, and sent back home.

@@@@@

Damn the Gods.

I’ve been selected as his son’s birthday present.

Out of all these girls, me.

And I swear, if the guards didn’t immediately extract me, the girls would have murdered me with their glares.

At least his son is nice, and not a sixty year old man.

@@@@@

It’s the day, the day I become a sex object. God I hate my life.

Anyway, I’m in a fine, white silk dress, with a red bow at the back of my head tying my hair, it’s straight now, and washed. I also have been soaked in rose water, so my skin feels grossly soft to me. And with this mascara, eye liner, lipstick…you name it, I feel like a doll.

In ten minutes, I’ll be sent to his chambers to ‘entertain’ him.

I’ve thought up my plan of escape, and, well, there is none. Except suicide, but that doesn’t feel very comfortable.

And all too soon, I’m whisked away to finally meet my doom.

@@@@@

His room… it’s… it’s…. black.

No, really, almost everything is black. The wooden flooring, the walls, the framing for his full length mirror, his desk, his bed, his comforter…and some of his pillows are black, too. The rest is red. Is he a satanist, or what?

Just then, he enters the room. He must have changed, a lot.

He’s wearing all black, form fitting clothes, and showing his shoulders, and hands…and wearing black make up. His hair is black, and chin length, and his eyes red. Oh my god, he’s a goth.

He looks at me, and looks me over. He’s deciding something, hopefully to send me home.

“Perfect. Black on you would totally be sexy.” He said, grinning.

I just stood there, mortified. He closed his door, locking it, and grabbed me, seating me on his bed, before grabbing a warm cloth, and rubbing my face clean. He then ripped the clothes from me, and I covered myself indignantly. I might be a tomboy, but I still have self respect.

He then brought out some clothes, and forced them on me. They were a black bow, a black lace bra and panty set, and a form fitting black shirt (hardly covering enough to be a shirt), that stopped just above my naval, and had no shoulders. Instead, they had two wide straps that connected with a spiked collar, then going over the back and connected to the back. The sleeves were joined by the torso, so my pale shoulders were visible, and they reached to mid-palm, a short black skirt, and some net leggings. Guess what color? Black!

He then put on black lipstick, eye liner, eye shadow, mascara, and a few other things I didn’t know the name of, and painted my nails black.

What a freak, obsessed with black and lace. I mean, I felt like a skank. Most of my thighs are visible, and my stomach is visible, as are the top of my breasts, and my neck. The most covering thing are the knee high boots, which, of course, are black stilettos. They hurt.

“Wow, with that on… you’re like a Goddess.” He said, standing back and grinning.

“I feel like a whore.” I blurted, before covering my mouth in shock. Did I just say that to the prince!?

He was silent, for a few moments, before grabbing me and hurling my on the bed.

‘Oh, shit.’ Was all that ran through my mind.

@@@@@

I hoped you liked the first chapter. Yes, there are ties to the future. This is my first fiction, so R&R please! No heavy flames.