Branches of Time, The (12 page)

He understood that he couldn't back down from expressing his point of view. “Perhaps, priestess, we should take to the sea. I spent a long time looking at it today. I saw its splendor and I felt the promises that it holds. Perhaps we would die, in fact we probably would, but what do we have to look forward to here?”

He feels alone. Miril and I spend all day working on the tiring ritual protections, we don't even have time to think about these kinds of things
, Lil thought.

“It is a possibility,” Miril replied. “However, we don't have any nautical maps, not to mention a ship. Our ancestors got rid of everything because they wanted to stay on this island. Sometimes I wonder if there is a higher meaning to the isolation within which they voluntarily constrained us, not to mention the strength of the protection rituals for the Temple. In any case, they didn't want to return to the seas.”

She knows a whole lot more than what she's willing to tell us.
Since Lil had begun studying with Miril, she had begun to notice how much the priestess knew about the world, and how her understanding of it differed from their vision.

The two women and the man were exhausted from the day's hard work. Bashinoir, after hearing her answer, considered the matter settled and politely took his leave. After Miril and Bashinoir had gone off, Lil took care of a few chores before retiring to her own room.

This was her least favorite time of the evening. Spending the day in the company of Miril was comforting – often tiring, and sometimes she felt that she wouldn't be able to keep going, but those tasks helped keep her mind busy. Now, however, alone in her room with her own thoughts, she was once again wrapped in sadness and melancholy.

A gentle knock on the door made her flinch.

“I saw the light shining under the door and assumed you were still awake. Are you having trouble sleeping, Lil?” Miril asked. She was wearing her nightgown, her hair undone.

Despite all the time they spent together, Lil still wasn't too comfortable talking about personal things. “It's no big deal. I'm just having a hard time getting used to my new home.”

“As well as this sense of solitude, I imagine?” the woman asked, smiling.

“Actually, yes,” Lil admitted. “I've slept beside him for so many years. And before then, I slept with my sisters.”

“I see.” Miril continued smiling at her tenderly. “Would you prefer to have some company?”

Lil's eyes grew wide.
Why is she asking me that? She was the one who made it clear that, once I started out as a novice, I would no longer be able to lie beside Bashinoir. Has something changed?
A spark of hope ignited deep within her soul. “Yes, I would,” she revealed, not without a hint of embarrassment.

“Do you want me to come sleep with you?”

Lil was dumbfounded: that wasn't the suggestion she was expecting. She hoped the priestess wouldn't feel offended by the astonishment that was undoubtedly written all over her face. “That w-would be nice; but I didn't think that was okay...” Her words seemed strange.
I'm definitely offending her now.

“We already slept together. Remember the first nights in front of the fireplace?” Miril continued calmly, noticing Lil's agitation.

“Yes, but now...” Lil realized it would be stupid to question Miril's words. “That'd be very nice,” she hurried to correct herself. She wasn't Bashinoir, but it still would be so much better than solitude. She couldn't hold back a deep sigh.

“Alright. Can you make a little room for me?”

Miril seemed rather happy. Lil moved over to one side of the bed and the other woman laid down next to her.

Lil felt tense, but she didn't toss or turn. Miril smelled so good. Her hair had the scent of floral essences.

Maybe she really is happy. This is probably something new and pleasant for her,
Lil reflected.

The fatigue from the day got the better of her and Lil let herself fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

She woke up during the night, cold. In the darkness, she realized the fire had gone out. She wondered, half-asleep, if she should start another fire, but a warm arm comforted her and she fell asleep once again, content.

27

King Beanor nervously drummed his fingers against the arm of his throne. The large ceremonial hall was sumptuously decorated. The nobles of the city had come running as soon as the royal guards notified them of the event. Almost all of the king's wives were present. A few were still busy giving orders to the servants, who were trying to prepare the family members of the girl the king was about to marry.

Beanor motioned for the advisor Tuirl, seated in the first row, to come closer: “How much longer is this going to take? I've already been waiting for a half hour!”

Tuirl shrugged his shoulders: “Your Highness, we have managed to arrange a wedding in just a few hours during the middle of the evening. All of the nobles rushed over here. The tailors, however, are still working on the clothes for Milia's family members, who unfortunately didn't have anything appropriate to wear.”

“Milia? Who's that?”

“Your Highness! It's the name of your future wife!”

“Oh.” said Beanor, impatient.
I want to fuck her! I want that nice little ass in my hands! I want to see her bend down in front of me! And then make her pay for forcing me to wait for so long.

A royal guard, breathless, came forward and respectfully asked to speak with the king and his advisor.

“Yes, yes, go on!” Beanor, annoyed, granted him permission.

“Your Majesty, we can't find the girl's father! The wife told us he was coming back from a business trip. We went to meet him on the road he usually takes. We should have crossed paths with him at an inn no more than an hour from here by horse, thinking we could then bring him back for the wedding, but we didn't find him. The owner told us that, due to the bad weather, her father probably hadn't been able to get over the Sclir hill. Unfortunately, the first town on the other side of that hill is over six hours away by horse.” The guard spoke quickly, without pausing. The king's impatience was legendary and everyone knew that if he wasn't pleased with an explanation, he was capable of highly unusual reactions.

Tuirl remained silent. The king glared at the guard.

“And so? Now what do we do?”

“Your Majesty, tradition requires the bride's father to be present,” the advisor reminded him.

Damn weather!
Beanor thought of the girl's curves. He was so close! He had ordered an especially brief ceremony. As soon as the solemn vows were pronounced, when the nobles and their wives would begin to guzzle down all the food and drink he had paid for, he would take her to one of the tunnels behind the main hall. He couldn't think of anything he liked more than taking a young woman, slamming her against the hard ground or a wall and filling her with all of his virility, as her virginal blood ran down her thighs, a muffled scream trying to make its way through the fingers that covered her mouth, her head squirming underneath the hand that pulled her hair back.

Beanor couldn't think of anything else: he was already so close, he couldn't give up now. The image of the young woman's rump continued to torment him. “We must have the wedding without the father, then. Advisor, have the girl's family brought forward, wearing whatever they're wearing. We'll begin the ceremony.”

“Your Majesty, tradition does not allow for you to take a young woman as your wife in the absence of her father, unless...”

Why does this blockhead dare to contradict me?

“...the girl is an orphan. But we know that Milia's father is alive.”

For the love of the gods! Why does everything always work against me? I'm the king! Can't people just do what I tell them to do?

“Advisor,” Beanor retorted, with a threatening gaze. “This stupid wedding was all your idea. So you need to find a solution, unless you want me to kick your ass in front of the entire court!”

Tuirl looked around, embarrassed. He had no idea how to resolve the problem and Beanor's mood was visibly growing worse. Luckily, the hall packed with illustrious guests would probably prevent him from going too far.

If I have to do everything myself anyway, what do I need this idiot for?

Suddenly Beanor beamed, overjoyed after discovering what he considered to be a brilliant solution: “We'll declare the father dead! Then we can proceed with the ceremony!” he exclaimed, satisfied, sure that his stroke of genius had resolved the issue.

Tuirl softly objected: “But your Majesty, the girl's father is not dead.”

“Tuirl, you yokel, where's your imagination? I know he's alive, but we'll just say we went out looking for him before the wedding and someone at the inn told us he died in an accident on his way here!”

“If that is what you wish, your Highness, that's what we'll do. But allow me to point out that her father may come back tomorrow, or the day after. And that would certainly create a scandal.”

These nobles, they're always watching, always ready to judge me! They fear me, but as soon as I'm out of earshot, they all talk behind my back.
He hadn't thought that the father might actually come back.

He dismissed the guard, who had remained standing, frozen, a few steps away, and motioned for Tuirl to come closer. “Then do what needs to be done to make sure he doesn't come back.”

Tuirl's eyes grew wide: “Your Majesty, what are you saying? We can't have the father of your future wife killed!”

Beanor's hands itched. He wanted to lash out against someone or something, but the hall was crawling with guests and it didn't seem like the right moment. He tried to concentrate.
Hmm, let's get back to the main issue: I have to fuck that girl. Now or very soon.

The image of those buttocks continued to torment him. So compact, so well-proportioned, pure, never before touched. He tried to distract himself, thinking instead about her legs, her delicate ankles, her tiny little feet, her sensual face, her lips created expressly to wrap around his member.

And that girl, whose name he didn't quite remember, seemed to emanate a slightly impudent attitude. She really was the type of damsel he adored domesticating. He'd bring ones like her into bed, force them to endure incredible obscenities and, once they dared to rebel, he knew exactly what to do to break them. He felt he needed to get started on this right away, he couldn't wait any longer.

He looked at the group of his well-fed wives. Could he console himself with one of them instead? Or even three or four? No. He knew his obsession was stronger than he was. And he knew that, until he had reached his goal, he would not find any peace.

“What if instead of killing him, we just send him into exile?”

Tuirl seemed even more perplexed than before. “Sire, if we declare Milia's father dead now, the news would transform the wedding into a funeral. The laments, cries, and sobs of the family members would ruin the ceremony. And the young woman really wouldn't be in the best of moods. You'd risk losing sight of your goal completely. A girl distraught by the death of her father is not exactly the type of conquest one aspires towards.”

Beanor tried to imagine the scene: the wife dressed in black, sprawled out on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, as he moved closer to her with his penis erect. He would kneel down in front of her, yank her head up by her hair and force her tear-strewn face to look at him. She would gaze at him, begging. He would whisper that she would feel better soon and then push the tip of his member between her lips. She would still be sobbing desperately but would start to do her duty, until he exploded in ecstasy between her lips and all over her face: the semen would mix with her tears.

Actually the scenario didn't displease him.

28

Prince Beanor returned to his bedroom, holding his birthday gift.

“Oh, sorry, prince. I didn't realize you'd be coming back so soon. I'll clear out of here immediately,” said Braila, one of his servants.

“No, no, carry on. I...I couldn't wait to get back and read the book Father gave me. My birthday celebration will resume within a few hours.”

“Indeed. It must be a lovely book,” the woman observed, gazing at the inlaid leather cover.

“It is, see? It's got all of the kings from the last two thousand years.”

“Oh...how wonderful! And one day the master scribe will also add you. And then I'm sure you'll be far too busy to suffer conversations with your servants.”

“But no,” Beanor responded, flattered. “What are you saying? I'll be a good king, close to all of my subjects, just like my grandpa Bolis IV.”

Braila smiled, gave him a wink and continued dusting the bookshelves, turning her back to him.

The prince jumped on his bed, the precious book in his hand.

He read the first pages and started to daydream.
One day I'll be king and the scribes will faithfully write down everything I do. Everyone will be able to read about the accomplishments of the great and invincible Beanor! I'll take down the barrier and conquer the islands and the Southern lands!