Flash Fiction Friday (7)

Dottie over at Tink's Place have come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt will be posted and if you choose to participate you post your story on Friday - 350 words, give or take.

I have to thank Blodeuedd at Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell for introducing me to this fun meme. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with every week, but I'll give it a try from time to time.

The Image this week:

The Fathers Daughter

By Melissa

I stood behind my father, my King, watching as the muscles in his neck bulged with rage.  He sat in his mighty bronze thrown chair ramped with anger screaming at the villager weeping at his feet.  I knew what this poor mans verdict would be.  The same as all the others and I couldn't stand to watch another one.  A brutal death.  He would be beat, cut, and when he could no longer scream or cry from the pain, his head would fall from his shoulders by my fathers mighty blade .  His head would be put on display on the kingdom walls as a reminder to the villages, not to cross the king.

I had worked for the last five years diligently to gain my strength in the crowds of people in the kingdom.  I even promised myself and my lands to my father's enemies son.  I had to have this murderous behavior stopped.  Even my little sister was starting to follow in our fathers footsteps, now that our mother was gone.  Gone by way of our fathers hand.  He trusted no one and I didn't know how I had had the ability to form an army of my own in the short five years with out being found out.

I thought to myself, I don't know how I came through to be kinder of heart, or at least I think I am.

All the guards I drew into my faction where mostly here, but once action started the rest would come to the calling.  I looked to my childhood friend, Cross.  He saw my anguish and gave a short node.  He knew the time had come.  We would act now before this poor man was murdered for a minuscule act.  They were waiting for me to give the cue.

I watched and waited for my father to wear from his rage and energy.  When he slowed, I taped the outside of my right thigh twice and put my hand on my stomach sliding it around to the back.  My men knew this meant they should come and circle around with protection as I did what needed to be done.

As I brought my hand down from the back of my bodice I pulled the jeweled silver dagger my father gave me on my tenth birthday.  The one I was to wear for protection against our enemy and doers of harm.  I stepped forward to my fathers back, now that he was standing in front of the man laying in a crimson pool on the floor.  He never saw me coming, but heard my leather soled shoes tapping the marble floor and turned to me.  As he turned my hand came up, hard and sturdy as he taught me.  The dagger meet his chest, his eyes wide with shock.

"How?" He whispered. A small smile worked at the corners of his lips. "I've raised you well." was all he said as I let him hit the already bloodied floor.

My men stood around me waiting for the attack that never came.  I looked around at the shocked and frightened faces of the crowd and wondered; which is worse, that I could do this to my own blood or that I pulled it off... just like he would.

I will keep telling my self, it is the end result that matters.  And things will be different, better, now.