Chapter 1

Wedded bliss

I fell asleep again. I felt completely guilty, but I couldn’t help that I found chatting about my future boring. My parents had already arranged my marriage to Benedict, the Duke’s son. Unfortunately, for a girl of my station, arranged marriages are a fact of life.

So, I was sitting in the conference hall in my family’s home, which I shared with the Duke, the Count, their wives, and their families. The other children were out terrorizing the local Helot village, while poor Mercy Walton (also known as me) sat in the midst of chatter. “We’re mighty flattered that you’re letting your daughter marry our son,” the Duchess, a curly-haired scatterbrained vain woman named Beatrice said. “The two of them would produce several highborn children.” I swear that woman had only one thing on her mind, having heirs. “Thank you both, Savannah and your handsome husband Roderick.” She gave a slight giggle, or maybe it was a gasp for breath. After all, that woman, in an effort to look beautiful, had a tendency to lace her corset a little too tight.

“It’s the least we could do for you, Elizabeth, Nathaniel, and Mordecai letting us live in your humble home,” My mother, a pale woman with shoulder-length brown hair, replied. “We want to better Ghoul Society.”

“When shall we introduce the future bride and groom?” My father, a scruffy man who worked as the tailor for the Nobles, asked.

Beatrice’s husband Mordecai blinked once. He was a strong man, a war veteran. Scars covered a good portion of his body. He always wore the same faded blue military uniform, though I think he had different copies of it in his room. “Later this week, over tea.”

Since I lived with the nobles, I knew just what kind of man Benedict was… a colossal jerk. He had thirty previous girlfriends and his parents wanted him to settle down. That’s why I was “engaged” to him. Sometimes I cursed the nobles under my breath.

“Mercy, you may leave and engage in enjoyable activities,” Mordecai told me. I got up, only then realizing the chair leg had my skirt pinned to the floor. I had no desire to pull the black fabric out from under the wooden obstacle, so I slowly lifted the chair and retrieved my skirt. I didn’t feel like ruining a dress my friend Sally gave me. I walked out of the room and down a long narrow hallway, past portraits of the previous residents of the manor. Chandeliers hung overhead, giving light to an otherwise dark place. I pushed the door open and made my way to the mountain pass. The rain felt cold against my skin. Inside I criticized myself for not having the foresight to grab my coat. I began the long trek down the mountain to the Helot village. With every step, the sounds of torment got louder. Sally. Hasn’t she tortured those peasants enough? I finally made it to the peasant village.

“Mercy, you’re here! Just in time for the fun!” a familiar voice cheered. Sally walked over toward me. Like her mother, Countess Elizabeth, she wore her brown hair up. Her wardrobe always consisted of floor length black dresses. “I enjoy torturing the Helots.” She rested her hand on one of the ramshackle houses that the Helots built. “It’s fun having power.”

And even more fun abusing it. I thought.

Sally looked at the immense clock in the center of the village square. “God, it’s dinnertime already?” She took off running. “See you at dinner, Mercy.” I followed her back up the mountain pass to her family’s palace, lamenting the briefness of free time and my eventual wedding to Benedict Doyle. I rushed back in the palace and ran to the dining room, trying not to trip over my skirt.

Sally’s parents and younger sister strolled into the dining room through another entrance. Elizabeth was nothing like her sister-in-law. Beatrice was a gaudy, scatterbrained blonde, while Elizabeth was a strict, no-nonsense brunette. Her dresses were in dark, muted colors. I asked myself why her skirts dwarfed her skinny frame.

“Good evening, Mercy,” Count Nathaniel said. “I heard you’ll be getting married. Aren’t you delighted?” He straightened his tie and proceeded to sit down at an empty spot at the table. His wife sat down beside him.

Sophie, a pigtailed girl who looked very much like Sally, sat down beside her parents. Everyone else came in and took their places at the table. My place happened to be right next to Sally.

“Well, aren’t you lucky to marry my cousin?” Sally asked, smiling. She always asked me questions like this before the cook presented the evening’s meal.

“Cousin? I never knew you and Benedict were related,” I replied.

“Of course we are,” she said. She sighed. “I wonder what we’re going to have for dinner tonight. For lunch we had some unfortunate sap the huntsman found only recently.”

I sighed, knowing about another fact of Ghoul life. I couldn’t help the fact that my diet required that I ate human flesh every once in a while or else I’d die. I remembered it wasn’t cannibalism, because I wasn’t human.

The cook, a gaunt haggard woman with graying hair, walked in, carrying a huge pot. She gingerly placed it in the center of the table after lifting the pot lid. Inside was a wonderful-smelling lamb stew she made. I groaned, guessing that the poor lamb used to belong to one of the Helots. I sometimes grew sick of the wanton cruelty the upper crust exhibited toward the lower class, ever since a childhood friend of mine, a Helot boy named Josiah Craw, saw his older sister murdered by the Baron for stealing a loaf of bread. I never really knew that the Baron existed, until then. However, I felt extreme pity for the Craw family. Like all Helots, they struggled to live.

I felt wicked for living in luxury.