Branches of Time, The by Luca Rossi Page B

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.