Royally Bewitched

 “Come on brother,” Prince Edward urged, “this is merely for charity. There is nothing embarrassing about the matter. It is something I have done for three years now including in my spare time whenever I feel extra generous, and it is quite relaxing once you’ve worked it out. Think of the children, or must I remind you of your own beginnings?”

“But men do not customarily sew or parade with ragdolls. Therefore, this whole practice of yours would be simply absurd of me to partake in. In short, I refuse.”

In truth, Prince Reagan had no issue spending a full day with orphaned children sewing ragdolls for charity. His stubborn display was due to the mere fact that he would also be spending that 24 hours with Edward whom he loathed. Therefore, back to his quarters he went where he could not be disturbed by the oppressive castle folk who despised his mere existence. The one thing he had to look forward to was finally meeting his only admirer whom he had grown an almost instant attachment to. This, however, was not where Reagan’s story began.

Rue was the bastard of a lady’s maid who had initially resided within the surrounding estate of the Curnbridge Castle. Sentenced to exile from the townsfolk for the scandalous manor in which the baby came to be, the mother had absolutely no regard for the child. As it was, Queen Alexandra was - at the time - unable to produce an heir and, upon hearing of the news, took the child into her care. The child was renamed Reagan meaning ‘little king’ as being the only child of the queen, who herself had no siblings, there was no mistaking the position that he was to take in the near future. Much to his disappointment, Reagan was not very accepted by the masses, neither within nor outside of the castle walls. He was not of pure blood; he was an outcast, a bastard, ‘the queen’s charity case’, a leech, a scoundrel. His only chance for acceptance, regardless of it being false or not, was to become the king upon the queen’s death.

The date was August 5th, 1818 when the queen produced, of her own flesh and blood, who was to become the new heir to the throne, Edward. A Leo born, blemish-less prize-baby- he was to be a truly fitting leader. Some say he came at just the right time as his mother began to ail rapidly and would have more than likely been preparing to hand over the reins to young Reagan who had then turned eight. As anyone could imagine, Edward’s birth did not sit well with Reagan for he was taking away his only opportunity to gain respect. He built a strong resentment towards his brother as they grew older, taking to heart the constant degrading that he faced daily. He was to be the heir. Not only was he older but wiser in the works of kingship having been exposed to the future duties for much longer than his brother had. It afflicted him to such a staggering degree that he began to do the unthinkable, or perhaps what was truly expected of him by the kingdom- canoodling with a witch- which, for the record, he was unaware of.

Just on the outskirts of the estate was a village of demi-mondes and outcasts of all kinds. One such woman - witch rather - had her own discrepancies with the queen and had been unceasingly but most cautiously in search of a co-conspirator on the inside of society. Only known to persons of her choosing - through means of similar interest and spiritual threatening - she had ears within the kingdom listening, in search of the perfect prospect to help her carry out her ‘malicious’ desire: to break down the walls of rejection which separated mere humans from their own kind. Who was it that determined the criteria that made one an outcast? Was it the cits and dandies? Valeska thought not. As it so happened, the latest on the dit was that there lay, within the castle walls itself, the perfect prospect - one who was both outcast and caster out. In other words, hope for Valeska and her scheme. 

One miserable morning, Reagan was awoken by the crash and clangs of his valet rudely slamming down a serving tray.

“My apologies. There is a letter for his highness.”

As soon as he stepped away, Reagan contemplated opening the letter. Was it another rude message from an unidentified maidservant wishing him ill will? Or was it something worth his while? The letter read:

Your highness,

Surely something is the matter. What have you done to deserve such deplorable treatment? Can they not see your value, your honor, your kind heart? They have no right! One’s beginnings and circumstances should not be used to define them. I, your humble maidservant, will forever acclaim you.

And that was all.

He was intrigued to say the least. An actual admirer who respected him? 

Eighteen years had passed and Reagan had grown an attachment to this unnamed maidservant. He was quite entertained by their secret little amity and wholeheartedly welcomed the girl’s pity and flattery. Therefore, as his ego grew, Reagan fell helplessly in love with this mysterious woman. He gave in to the little blandishments she left here and there, for instance to encourage the scullery maids to introduce a new type of herb to the queen’s tea. He wanted so badly to plan an underhand rendezvous but had no way of contacting her. However, in a manner quite out of the ordinary, as if there were a royal bluebottle taking everything in, a letter arrived for Reagan. It read:

My dearest, your royal highness,

I am unable to sleep as my mind wanders over you. I long to see your face, for you to hold me. We shan’t meet within the confines of the castle wall for fear of prying eyes and judgmental gazes. My king, do me the greatest of honours and meet with me just on the outskirts, a place where none should suspect a future king to ever step foot. Therefore, none shall look for you there. Meet me, my king, just as the stars begin to sprinkle kisses on the black sky’s cheek. One more thing my love, bring with you a strand of Prince Edward’s hair. All will be explained upon your arrival if you so choose to meet with me.

Vanessa

Vanessa. Vanessa was the name that his true love went by. He was so distracted by her name that he completely disregarded the strangeness of her final request. The time stretched on as Reagan awaited the fateful hour. He had nothing to do seeing as he refused to accompany Edward on his charitable outing. He also lacked much of the responsibility that he once had thanks to his brother. Therefore, when the hour had finally come, Reagan fled out the castle gates unable to wait any longer and waved down a hackney. He ran into Edward at the most unfortunate time, however, it seemed as if he himself was about to secretly depart as well.

“Oh, I see we are in the same boat brother. Care to join me instead? I’m heading to play a bit of cards and I’m sure, at this hour, you would be heading in my direction anyway, am I not right?”

“Your act of kindness is well received Edward. I am indeed going to my own kind of hell. I would be delighted to accompany you but we must make haste.”

“Trust me brother, I know.”

Together in Edward’s finest cabriolet, the two set off, in an uncomfortable silence, for a path much more alarming than the dark walk. They were venturing into the outskirts of the castle’s surrounding estate, a place that would make any respectable mother of society faint at the thought of her child even mentioning the place in conversation. Imagine two Princes, one dressed in a scarlet single-breasted tail-coat, fitted to the body and the other in his best black greatcoat parading three capes. How foretelling. 

Reagan stepped out of the chariot, not before pulling his brother into a forced and awkward embrace, head in arms, remembering his true love’s request. He looked around shivering despite the ankle-long woolen coat and two extra capes. The air was thick with a kind of darkness too dark to be described by a colour. Then as Edward drove off, a demure lady with soot-black hair emerged from the darkness and Reagan felt his heart smile but his stomach sink. He could not, for the life of him, understand why.

Completely enamoured by this sphynx-like, pencil-thin creature before his eyes, Reagan ignored the eerie atmosphere surrounding them. He was completely blinded by what he thought was love.

“Let me hold you my love. You mean almost as much to me as the queen herself and that is saying much.”

Everything was going according to plan, not for Reagan but for Vanessa. She convinced him - as they were already far from decent society - to channel through the thistles and weeds and enter her wooden-shed-of-a-house, alone. Not even God was welcome there. She then offered him a drink to diffuse his apprehension; that was when she began to act strangely. Drink after drink Reagan became more comfortable, more accepting and Valeska brought out a stained wooden box containing sewing material and a half finished ragdoll. She took Reagan’s hand in hers, kissed each knuckle, then flipped it over, kissing the center before placing upon his palm the dark ragdoll. Just like earlier, he heedlessly thought to himself.

“Do you have the strand of hair my king?”

“Why is it that you refer to me as king, turtle dove?”

“It is in your very name and who you were meant to be is all. The strand my love, attach it here and help me to sew this closed.”

“What is this hideous thing?” Reagan belted out throwing down the ragdoll that he now noticed he was holding. The thing looked satanic, cursed; it truly frightened him. He felt a pang of fear and at once became uncomfortable with the sense of imminent dread pricking at his spine. This led to a heated confrontation with Valeska trying to subtly manipulate Reagan. She was trying her best to explain that in order for power to once again be bestowed upon him, he had to partake in this seemingly harmless ‘hobby’ as she called it. But he was beginning to understand whose company he was in and what she meant for him to do.

“It is not so strange if you simply view them as dolls.”

“Poppycock! Neither will I be seen with that thing nor partake in its creation.”

“But imagine how much you could control? Have you not always wished to be the next in line, the heir to her majesty’s throne? If Prince Edward were to suddenly fall ill- or worse -” Valeska propositioned, “all I am saying is that your dreams lie in your own hands. And if you were to partake in this little hobby of mine, your fate would quite literally be yours. They would have no choice but to accept you, to love you like I love you.”

“And what of you? What do you gain from all this madness?”

“A friend.”

“An accomplice for your nasty schemes which I am yet to become abreast of. I will do nothing to come in the way of her majesty’s happiness when she has shown me nothing but kindness my entire life!” 

“I will do nothing to come in the way of her majesty’s happiness when she has shown me nothing but kindness my entire life! Edward is to be king.” 

“Then why does his royal highness not refer to the queen as mother if she is held so dearest to his heart? My apologies, is that term too gracious to appoint to the likes of you who should be living amongst aliens such as myself?”

Valeska knew exactly what to say to sway his mind but in order to be sure of her success she quickly offered him a sixth glass of blue ruin, this time with a drizzle of laudanum making his eyes go cloudy.

“Why do you tolerate me Vanessa?” he slurred. Were they really in love? Was Vanessa even her name?

“I do not tolerate you. I love you and all I want is to ensure your happiness above all else. That is why you must trust me and do as I ask my darling.” She rested her head upon his heaving breast. “This will take away your pain.”

“Nobody has wanted me before. None has ever regarded me.” How much of what she had told him was mere codswallop?

“Preposterous. You are as sinful to gaze upon as the devil himself.” 

“I could never be- sinful.”

“Oh, but you could be, my king.”

After a little more encouragement she placed the doll back in his hand and put a threaded needle in the other. She helped to steady his hands and together they sewed up the doll leaving only a small opening. All the while she whispered seductively into his ear, manipulating him by any means necessary.

“Finish up the rest on your own Reagan.” 

“I- I can’t. I will prick myself for I have drunken one too many.

“Go ahead Rue.”

Reagan attempted to sew up the last hole but pricked himself much to Valeska’s approval. She took his finger, first sucking it to taste the metallic splendour then squeezed a drop of Reagan’s blood onto the strand of hair that she discovered in the pocket of his breaches. Carefully placing the strand into the doll, Valeska sewed it closed and placed it in his hands. 

“It is time my king. Listen and trust me. You must squeeze the doll at the point where the heart of any live man would be. Release your pain as you do so. Let this heal you.”

“I will never do anything to break the queen’s heart. My mother-” he slurred, “my mother.”

Valeska inched closer and closer to his lips consuming his personal space, and pressed his thumb against the heart of the doll, squeezing. Tears began to fall down Reagan’s face and he pleaded with her to make his fear go away, to take away his pain. A surge of energy coursed through him, a supernatural power of sorts. It was almost too much for his body to handle. He groaned not being able to comprehend what he was feeling. What he did not realize was that it was the feeling of his spirit being bound to that of Edward’s, that and the spirit of Edward passing through him as it left his own body lifeless surrounded by not-so honourable men. The force threw Reagan’s head back and his body was on fire, not in a pleasant way. He threw off his greatcoat and ripped open his thin, linen shirt trying desperately to cool himself down. His body then went limp and he looked soulless for an instance. Valeska spared not a second to come on to him and she came to know him most dishonourably.

“London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady,” she sang as Reagan created life within her, “my fair lady.”

The following morning Reagan awoke in his quarters quite unaware of how he got there after the occurrences of the night before. He began to wonder if it had all been a dream until he exited his room and heard the queen wailing. News had come to the castle that Prince Edward had suffered a heart attack late in the night in the most disgraceful of circumstances. That was the very moment that Reagan became acutely aware of just how real the night’s occurrences were and what had really transpired now that he was no longer under the influence of alcohol and sedatives. Had he been bewitched? As much as he knew what Vanessa was, he was not ready to believe that all that he had experienced with her had been mere subterfuge all along. It was as clear as day that she meant for him to partake in maleficium of all the deplorable acts and he had, hadn’t he? The icing on the cake was that he had dishonoured her as well, not even a lady, but a witch. The position of heir was once again his but he did not see what that had to do with the witch; he could not make head or tail or her intentions.

Three weeks had passed and the queen’s health had completely deteriorated. Unbeknownst to the rest of the castle, Reagan also had a hand in that. They began to pity him, finally observing the fact that it had not been his fault that he had been placed in such a position from the start. The queen eventually passed away - apoplexy - and all blamed it on the death of Prince Edward as it had taken a toll on her body. A week later, a particularly wretched letter was sent to King Reagan as if he did not have a hard enough time transitioning. He saw that the letter was from Valeska and his heart sank. He dreaded opening the cursed thing for he could not imagine what it was she could have to say to him after all that had transpired. What he did not know was that the details of this letter would completely destroy his life as he was to become even further entangled into a web of deceit and disgrace. He was to marry Valeska lest she make known to all the land how the king ravished her and practiced maleficium to kill both Prince Edward, heir to the throne, and Queen Alexandra in order to achieve his current post. This was simply the beginning.