sage wisdom.”
Landos and Vye shared a small laugh. Just a little one, amidst the chaos that had so suddenly overtaken their young lives. They were charged with deciding the fates of the people and the Kingdom, yet they had not fifty years between them.
Landos sighed, “Well, let’s find out if what we have is enough.”
Chapter 20: A Match Made In A Match Factory
Timothy Brimford and his wife, Emily, traveled south for the funeral of the Royal Family. For Timothy, it was a formality. People died, so you have to bury them. But for Emily, this was a devastating trip. The Royal Family was also her family. As far as she knew, she was the last surviving member of that same Royal Family.
Timothy was the second son of Duke Brimford. This had given him many reasons to pout as a child. While is brother Eric was destined to earn the title Duke, Timothy would forever remain a Lord. In other words, he wouldn’t get to rule over a lot of people and carry a nifty scepter.
But his father, being the political strategist that he was, didn’t like to let a child go to waste. If Timothy couldn’t rule something, the least he could do was enhance the Brimford influence through marriage. So, Duke Brimford arranged for Timothy to marry Princess Emily Rone, the third child of the recently deceased King Vincent.
The arrangement was a bit unorthodox. Timothy had just turned twenty when Emily Rone was born. But as long as the couple was biologically capable of having children, it was considered a smart match. The happiness of the couple, at this level of politics, wasn’t really a factor.
So, it was a strained relationship from the beginning. Timothy continued to live in Brimford, in the north, while Emily Rone grew up in Anuen, on the southern shore. It was kind of bizarre, meeting her for the first time as an infant. And as he wiled his twenties away, she was still only ten. They didn’t have a lot to talk about.
It was even weirder from Emily’s perspective. When she was a toddler, Timothy was just this awkward guy who would show up once in a while in her life. Whenever the Brimfords were in town, there he was. And he always talked to her as though he cared what a five, six, or seven year-old had to say. Why couldn’t he be like the other adults? Why couldn’t he just say hello and then go off and talk to adults about adult things?
When she turned eight, her sister Helena broke the news to her. And so ended all her dreams of meeting a Prince and living happily ever after. She loved her father, and wanted to please him, so she held her tongue. She didn’t complain, not once, about the arrangement. But she dreaded becoming this man’s wife. The best that could be said of Timothy was that he was well dressed. Other than that, he was a Dork, as far as she was concerned. A social misfit, powerless, passionless, and probably, she mused, impotent.
Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t. And while the official story was he was saving himself for his wife, he was a man, after all. And he had money. He became a regular fixture at the local brothels. At least the working girls acted happy to see him, though they were really just happy to see his coin purse. If he didn’t look too closely, he could pretend it was the same thing.
When Emily turned fifteen, she was wed to the thirty-five year old Timothy. She had kept her matrimonial promise, and was a virgin entering the marriage. She lost her virginity the same night she gained half a dozen sexually transmitted diseases.
For a short while, Timothy enjoyed the novelty of a woman living in the bedroom, where she couldn’t really do anything but obey him. He was older, he had home-court advantage, and he was certainly more practiced in what they were doing. But never had sex been less impassioned. Never had it involved less emotion, less love. Timothy was sure he had experienced more meaningful encounters at the houses of sin.
Eventually, Timothy tired of the convenience of his
Landos and Vye shared a small laugh. Just a little one, amidst the chaos that had so suddenly overtaken their young lives. They were charged with deciding the fates of the people and the Kingdom, yet they had not fifty years between them.
Landos sighed, “Well, let’s find out if what we have is enough.”
Chapter 20: A Match Made In A Match Factory
Timothy Brimford and his wife, Emily, traveled south for the funeral of the Royal Family. For Timothy, it was a formality. People died, so you have to bury them. But for Emily, this was a devastating trip. The Royal Family was also her family. As far as she knew, she was the last surviving member of that same Royal Family.
Timothy was the second son of Duke Brimford. This had given him many reasons to pout as a child. While is brother Eric was destined to earn the title Duke, Timothy would forever remain a Lord. In other words, he wouldn’t get to rule over a lot of people and carry a nifty scepter.
But his father, being the political strategist that he was, didn’t like to let a child go to waste. If Timothy couldn’t rule something, the least he could do was enhance the Brimford influence through marriage. So, Duke Brimford arranged for Timothy to marry Princess Emily Rone, the third child of the recently deceased King Vincent.
The arrangement was a bit unorthodox. Timothy had just turned twenty when Emily Rone was born. But as long as the couple was biologically capable of having children, it was considered a smart match. The happiness of the couple, at this level of politics, wasn’t really a factor.
So, it was a strained relationship from the beginning. Timothy continued to live in Brimford, in the north, while Emily Rone grew up in Anuen, on the southern shore. It was kind of bizarre, meeting her for the first time as an infant. And as he wiled his twenties away, she was still only ten. They didn’t have a lot to talk about.
It was even weirder from Emily’s perspective. When she was a toddler, Timothy was just this awkward guy who would show up once in a while in her life. Whenever the Brimfords were in town, there he was. And he always talked to her as though he cared what a five, six, or seven year-old had to say. Why couldn’t he be like the other adults? Why couldn’t he just say hello and then go off and talk to adults about adult things?
When she turned eight, her sister Helena broke the news to her. And so ended all her dreams of meeting a Prince and living happily ever after. She loved her father, and wanted to please him, so she held her tongue. She didn’t complain, not once, about the arrangement. But she dreaded becoming this man’s wife. The best that could be said of Timothy was that he was well dressed. Other than that, he was a Dork, as far as she was concerned. A social misfit, powerless, passionless, and probably, she mused, impotent.
Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t. And while the official story was he was saving himself for his wife, he was a man, after all. And he had money. He became a regular fixture at the local brothels. At least the working girls acted happy to see him, though they were really just happy to see his coin purse. If he didn’t look too closely, he could pretend it was the same thing.
When Emily turned fifteen, she was wed to the thirty-five year old Timothy. She had kept her matrimonial promise, and was a virgin entering the marriage. She lost her virginity the same night she gained half a dozen sexually transmitted diseases.
For a short while, Timothy enjoyed the novelty of a woman living in the bedroom, where she couldn’t really do anything but obey him. He was older, he had home-court advantage, and he was certainly more practiced in what they were doing. But never had sex been less impassioned. Never had it involved less emotion, less love. Timothy was sure he had experienced more meaningful encounters at the houses of sin.
Eventually, Timothy tired of the convenience of his
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