Killing a Godking Chapter 5 (Patreon)

** So this is as far as I've gotten with Godking. It's a really tough story to write and slow going as a result. It might see the light of day, it might not. Chapter 6 is a few paragraphs in and I'm adding a few more sentences each day, but it's hard. I hope you liked what I managed to get done though. I'll post more whenever they get finished. **

“Photie,” the boy said, eyeing me up and down with bored curiosity. “Father said you were going to die. They were going to stop doing the magic that was keeping you breathing.”

“Good thing I woke up then,” I said mildly, staring down at the perfectly arranged cutlery in front of me. Mother and father hadn’t turned up yet, my first appearance at a family dinner since I had been thrown into this body. It was a far cry from the sloppy TV dinner that I’d grown accustomed to in my previous life.

My new brother and sister sat opposite me at the moderately sized table, with places for our parents at either end. It was disgustingly formal, but I kept a carefully blank expression on my face, lest it betray any feelings on the whole ordeal.

My older brother had light brown hair, the sort that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be blonde or not. It was short, but not exactly well cut. I guess he didn’t warrant too much attention in the hair department, given that he would probably just get it all messed up while playing.

On the other hand, my younger sister was fairly meek, staring down at her lap without saying a word. Her brown hair was done in a braid similar to mine, but hers was far longer. She had father’s eyes, as did my brother, the dark brown of charred wood left to soak in a puddle for a day.

I found myself leaning to the side slightly, trying to get a proper look at her face. When I did so, she glanced up to meet my eyes, if only briefly. My eyebrows rose in surprise that I quickly tried to cover up. There was an intelligence behind those eyes, not anything eldritch or fae, but just… I could tell the nine year old girl was smart. I watched those eyes of hers widen into something like fear before she plunged her gaze back down. I felt a pang in my heart, what was that look about?

My brother didn’t seem to know what to do with my answer, frowning at me with his little child brows furrowed. What was his name again? Cain? No, that was the biblical figure. Oh, Caim! That was it.

“You don’t act the same,” Caim accused, after more than a minute of silence.

I laughed. “Yup.”

My amusement at his obvious observation had him even more perplexed, and with a sullen sneer he resigned himself to simply glaring at me. Our sister, who I now remembered was named Olleta, hadn’t glanced up once to look at either of us, other than the time I’d dipped down into her range of vision. I had a sinking feeling that she had been the victim of something awful, or was currently.

Mother and father came in soon after, and the servants followed with the food. It all looked pretty standard for rich people, roasted fowl of some kind, drenched in gravy and adorned with garnish. There were steaks that appeared to be beef. Actually, the simple fact that I knew the word for beef in this language was reason enough to suspect that it really was a hunk of cow.

I stayed silent during the meal, something that proved to be more than wise. It appeared that us children were only allowed to speak when spoken to. Our father called on Caim a few times, but he didn’t really have anything to say to us girls. At least until the topic of marriage came up.

“Aphota,” my father said, starling me out of my increasingly bored thoughts. “You will begin your matrimonial studies in one month.”

I blinked, staring at him blankly as I tried to figure out what he meant. Matrimonial studies? Marriage studies? What the hell did that mean?

Mother seemed to pick up on my confusion, clearing her throat to clarify, “Classes in how to be a good wife. I’m sure you will excel, you are an intelligent young girl after all.”

My stomach dropped, but I didn’t let it show in my expression. Being a wife. To some boy who was probably a snotty little shit like my brother.

“House Pitrenne, right father?” I asked, not sure which of my parents to be addressing, causing my eyes to bounce between them while landing on neither.

“Yes,” was father’s gruff reply, cutting the conversation off like an axe to the neck.

The rest of the meal passed without much conversation, and in the following month I learned that this was normal. The whole family was less than warm with each other, with the exception of mother and I. Apparently she had a special place in her heart for me, where Caim had dismissed her motherly care as beneath his twelve year old self, and Olleta was… distant. It was hard to get any words out of her at all, she was so meek that she elevated it to an art form.

By the time that month was over, I had a pretty good handle on both my situation and my new body. It was a child’s that was obvious, but what was also obvious was that I was going to be beautiful down the line. In a world where it was obvious women didn’t have a whole lot of rights, the idea that I’d be good looking terrified me.

Thoughts raced through my head each time I stared at my new body in the mirror, thoughts of scarring myself, burning or stabbing at my face in an attempt to marr the beauty to come. I couldn’t make myself do it though, fear of the pain holding me back.

Around the house, my new brother was a little cunt. Spoiled and feared by the servants in equal measure. At first I thought he was acting out, being a brat or whatever, but no… I was from a different planet, a different culture with different expectations.

He really was expected to be a little asshole, it was the done thing for the eldest sons of a noble house, something about teaching the kid to control their people. I thought it was strange as all hell, and tried my best to make up for him by secretly helping his victims out where I could. Just because they had a foul culture, didn’t mean I had to ascribe to it.

Then came the “Matrimonial Studies”. It was a lot of stuff I already knew from high school, maths had always been a good subject for me. Not the best, mind you, but pretty good, so when I came out and aced all the insultingly simple problems that my mathematics tutor put in front of me, she went to mother. The next lesson, she sat in on it and her frown deepened to almost comical proportions as I blazed through increasingly harder and harder problems.

This, compared to my appalling ability with the history of this land, served to confound all those involved in my education. Anything that was transferable from my old life, I was disgustingly good at by this world’s standards. These people were only just properly dipping their toes into early high school algebra for crying out loud. When I whipped out my senior year calculus knowledge, my tutor practically melted down on the spot.

There was a lot of other subjects, but it basically boiled down to teaching me to be a walking talking baby factory and google search engine combined into one quiet woman. I was expected to supply useful knowledge and help to my future husband so that he would be able to run his estate as best as possible. All of that while remaining demure and subservient to his every dark and fanciful whim. Every time I thought of it, I felt a ripple of fear and horror run up my spine.

My husband on the other hand would get a less extensive course in similar materials, just enough to function in his role. Instead, he would be trained in combat, tactics and strategy, then be expected to lead troops in the Godking’s name as he waged his many wars of conquest. Well, that or staying closer to home, fighting in defense of civilisation against the wild monsters of this world. I couldn’t find fault with that part, considering the awful nature of what had befallen the previous owner of my body.

Months began to roll into one another as life settled into a routine of lessons, lessons and more lessons. I had to be taught how to bear myself like a proper lady of the nobility, as well as dancing and singing lessons. About a million things that were deemed of value for someone striving for femininity. I hated it, I hated it so much. Sure, I liked being cute and pretty and all that shit, but I also liked being strong and in control of my own destiny, which were both things I sure as hell wasn’t.

Three months after starting my classes, I was in my room reading up on the history of this world by the light of the lazy afternoon sun, when mother drifted into the room like the ever present dust, aimless and erratic. I glanced up and gave her a tentative smile, inspecting her expression in an effort to glean some foreknowledge of the reason for this visit. I found lines or worry written into her beautiful, aging face.

“Mother? Hello?” I asked quietly, eyeing her as she sat down in the big comfy chair next to my bed. I was sitting cross-legged on my desk chair, which meant I had to wriggle around on the spot until I was facing her.

“Legs down, dear,” she commanded absently, clearly ordering her thoughts before she spoke. “Ladies sit properly, with their legs together and hands in their lap, not sprawled across the chair like a vagabond.”

“Vagabonds have more freedom than ladies then,” I sighed, although I still sat up properly, like she’d asked.

My words earned a sharp look from my mother, and I cringed, expecting to be told off for my flippant remark. Instead, I received a confused frown. “What’s wrong, mother?” I prompted, searching her expression for answers.

“What language was that?” she asked, staring right through my eyes and into my soul.

“What do you mean?” I blinked, and then with a sinking feeling I realised what I’d just done. I’d somehow spoken in english. Shit! Carefully, I kept my expression innocent and confused as she stared at me, until finally she seemed to put it away.

With a shake of her head, as if dismissing any thoughts on the matter, she said, “Nevermind, I’m here to talk about something important. I thought we’d have more time to prepare you, more time for you to learn about the world again…”

That didn’t bode well. Anxiety began to creep through my bones while my mother paused, and it was all I could do not to hop off the chair and shake her until she kept going. That probably wouldn’t go down well.

“Your betrothed is on his way. We received a letter this morning. There will be no wedding until you are fourteen, of age to be married, but considering your past… affliction, the Pitrenne house is demanding to see you in person before they recommit to the marriage,” she explained wearily, unaware of just how hard my stomach had dropped, falling out of me and onto the floor like the cold lump of ice it resembled.