The Queen the King and the King s Aide
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For The King - Chapter 2 free porn video
I’m not sure how long I’ve been walking, but the castle is obscured behind rolling hills and my legs are threatening to give out.
I eventually see a farm along the road ahead of me. There’s an old man tilling fields by himself, and I stand at the fence and wave to him. “Hail and well met!” I call.
The man returns the wave and comes over, sweat falling over his wrinkled face. “And to you as well, sir.”
I clasp my hands behind my back. “Do you have any need for a farmhand? I’m good with housework, but I can take on any work you need done on the farm. I can sleep in the barn, I really don’t mind. I just…” I smile, sadly. “I have nowhere else to go.”
The man looks me over. I must seem rather pathetic to him; I’ve never done hard labor, and my body shows it.
Finally, he smiles. “I could use the help, for sure. Can you milk a cow?”
“I’ve never tried, but I’m willing to learn.”
He nods and gestures for me to follow him.
I resolve myself to begin this new life and to keep the memories of the king deep in my head. In a way, he would always be inside me.
I hold that warmth close as I fall asleep that night in the barn loft, surrounded by the stench of animal and hay.
I’ll be fine. I know I will.
I just wished I could stop the tears as I remember the way he held me, the way he called me his love. The way, for a moment, I’d almost believed it could be true.
I roll over and try to find sleep.
In the morning, I ache all over as I climb down from the loft. There is a washing basin outside, so I strip down to my underthings and sit on the small stool to bathe myself. The water is frigid, the cloth is rough, and I don’t really feel like I’m getting any cleaner.
The water at the castle was warm.
I groan and lean forward, dunking my head in the freezing water to chase away the thoughts.
Once I’m as satisfied as I’m going to be with my new standard of cleanliness, I dress in my breeches and shirt. I pull on the heavy boots the old man found in the attic for me, grab a pail, and trudge out into the fields. The sun has barely risen, and I see Cliff—the old farmer—already hard at work, tilling soil.
He waves, and I wave back with a smile I don’t feel. The fields are surprisingly vast, a good several acres, and the cows don’t seem inclined to cluster together in one location today. It takes most of the morning to track each one down and milk them.
I can already feel the sun bearing down on my uncovered head. My fingers burn from pinching and pulling on cow’s teats. I wasn’t prepared for this kind of labor. I’d never felt so weak and delicate in my life.
I had to get stronger.
Lunch is a hearty portion of bread, cheese, and some kind of stew. I didn’t ask what was in it because I had no idea, and I’d rather stay that way. I knew so little about the lives of commoners.
It takes most of the day, but I finish the milking before the sun goes down. Cliff comes over to where I’ve collapsed in the shade and takes a seat beside me.
“So, boy, what’s your story?” he asks as he chews on some dried meat.
I prop myself up on my elbows and look at the world in front of us, hills and forests and a sky of pale orange and pink.
“I… I had to get away,” I say, then snap my head to look at him. “Not because I’m a criminal, though! It’s nothing like that!”
Cliff laughs, the sound deep and raspy. “You’ll not get any judgment from me.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I’m no saint.”
I relax and lay back down to stare up at the sky as it slowly darkens. “If I’d stayed home, I’d have to watch as the person I love married someone else.”
The old man makes a sympathetic sound and nods. “Aye, that’d do it. I was going to ask if whatever you were running from was worth the hard labor, but…” He sighs. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”
He scratches his chin, his fingernails scraping against the white stubble that covers most of his jaw. Then he continues, “Not that it’s any of my business, but if you want to talk… It helps, sometimes. Shares the burden.”
I don’t say anything more, and he doesn’t ask. We just sit in a companionable silence until he stands and brushes off his trousers.
“Let’s see about some dinner,” he says and turns away without another word.
He never asks again.
I’m grateful, really. I can almost forget about my previous life. Each day is filled with milking cows, feeding pigs, baling hay, and doing more and more of the heavy lifting as I grow stronger.
My skin has taken on several shades as if I’ve spent my entire life under the sun rather than just a few years. My hands grow rough and calloused, and all of me is bigger. Stronger. Before, I had to wrestle and plead with the smallest of the pigs to go into her pen, but now I can lift even the heaviest hog on the farm.
I am strong, and yet inside, I still feel weak sometimes, especially when I’m alone at night with nothing but memories.
But even that pain fades with time.
I keep moving forward.
Until one day, Cliff doesn’t emerge from the house. I wait until the sun has fully risen before I walk into the house, trepidation tight in my chest.
“Cliff?” I call.
No response.
I go to the door to his bedroom and knock. “Cliff, are you all right?”
There’s a choking, pained noise from behind the door, before a weak, raspy voice calls out, “Come in, Noah…”
I open it slowly as if that might change the outcome of what’s on the other side. Cliff is lying in his bed, and he looks as unwell as he sounded.
He smiles, more with his eyes than anything else. “I think it’s about my time,” he says with a wheezing cough. “I’d like to ask a favor.”
My knees tremble as I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed. “Anything.”
“I’ve got no family. No wife, no kids.” His hand reaches out and rests on top of mine. “You’re the closest I’ve got to a son. I don’t want to leave you with the same burden I bore because I was too stubborn to settle down… Find someone, and live an easier life than I did.” His lips crack a lopsided grin. “If you have a son of your own, Cliff is a good, strong name.”
I give a strange sound that’s trapped between a laugh and a sob. “It’s a great name.”
His hand squeezes mine before he pulls it back under the covers. “Go on, son. I’m not gonna die right now. The autumn festival’s today, innit? Go. The farm’ll keep for a day.” He looks at me with soft eyes. “Maybe you’ll meet someone, and I can meet them before I’m gone.”
My chest grows tight and I shake my head. “I’m not going to leave you like this to go to a ball.”
He gives me a squinty-eyed stare. “You’re going to let an old man die without even trying to fulfill his last wish?”
“But—”
“I see, I see. No respect for your elders.” He turns his head on the pillow, but I can still see the corner of his smile. “Do you know if the lass you loved ever married?”
I feel the floor fall away from beneath me, and I’m grateful that I’m already sitting down. I don’t respond at first, trying to work through the competing thoughts in my head.
What would Cliff think if he knew the truth? That it was a man, that it was the king, that I’d slept with him? The weight of my shame and regret is heavy, but the thought of Cliff’s last thoughts of me being ones of disgust and rejection is suffocating.
The silence speaks for me, and he looks at me again. I realize in that moment just how much he’s aged since we met. The lines in his face could tell a hundred stories or more.
“What’s the matter, son?” he asks, and the sincerity in his voice breaks my resolve.
I look down at the quilted comforter on the bed as I admit, “I never heard that he took a wife.”
There’s a small grunt, followed by a chuckle. “So no son named Cliff, then.”
I hesitantly look up to see a fond smile on his face, and I can’t help but smile back. “Not likely.”
“Ah, well.” He settles back against the pillow and closes his eyes. “Makes you wonder, though.”
“Wonder what?” I ask.
“When I took you in, you said you had to leave because he was going to get married.” His lips curl slightly. “But he didn’t get married after all. Wonder why.”
I didn’t know what to say.
There’d never been any announcement of the king’s betrothal or marriage, and that was the sort of thing that would have spread to every corner of the kingdom.
I’d never let myself think about it too long, because I’d stopped looking back years ago. There could have been any number of reasons. Maybe he was waiting for the most advantageous political ally to have a suitable bride.
But there was that thought that sometimes came to me at night.
That awful thought that always started with what if. The most dangerous two words I’ve ever known. As each year passed and he still didn’t take a queen, those words got just a little bit louder.
What if he was waiting for me?
“Do you think he’d be at the ball?” Cliff asks into the silence that had settled between us.
A small huff of laughter escapes me. “He attends every year.”
“Mm.” He nods. “Then you best get to town and buy a nice suit.” Before I can argue, he adds, “I’ll be here when you get back, boy. I’m not leaving before I know you’re taken care of.”
I can’t argue with a dying man’s wish. Not when that little voice asks what if now that I can’t ignore it.
“Okay,” I say, and stand. “All right. I’ll go, but I can’t make any promises.”
He chuckles, but the sound is cut off by a cough. He waves a hand and manages, “Go on. I’m fine.”
I hesitate before I lean down to kiss his temple, then leave to head into town.
I have to prepare to attend the autumn ball. Nostalgia wants me to buy a gown, but I’m not soft and delicate as I was then.
So this time, I’ll attend as a man.
I find a pair of fine trousers and a white linen shirt at the local clothier, and a last-minute mask that was still left over. It is plain and simple, with only a small embellishment.
I don’t mind, really. He’d never recognize me anymore, with or without a mask.
The palace is as grand as I remember. People marvel at the statues and paintings, but I continue through the large foyer and into the main hall. Everything is so familiar and so foreign. It’s almost as if I’ve stepped into a dream.
There are dancers moving with grace and poise to the sound of violins and cellos and other string instruments I’ve forgotten the names of. I move along the edge of the room, looking at each couple, but my king isn’t among them.
Then, I see him, standing at the buffet table just like he had years ago. I’d almost think I was imagining a memory, but he’s changed just as much as I have.
His jaw is covered by a short beard that is peppered with age, and his hair is longer, still dark but now with a single streak of grey along one side.
I shouldn’t know him anymore. And yet nothing within me doubts that it’s Alain.
I want to approach him, but I keep my distance for now. I tell myself that I’ll leave soon. I’ve seen him, he looks well, and that’s that. I can tell Cliff something that’s neither the truth nor a lie, and then I’ll find someone to marry and have a son to name after him.
It’s a much more plausible future than, what, that the king has loved me all along, we’d get married, and live happily ever after?
I sigh and turn to leave. It is time to let go, once and for all.
But I don’t find myself back in the foyer. I must have taken a wrong turn. I try to backtrack, and only find myself lost deeper within the castle.
Somehow, I’ve forgotten the halls that I used to navigate without thought.
I sigh, slumping down on the floor next to a statue. I need to get out of here before someone sees me and questions why I’m here. But it’s hard to breathe all of a sudden.
All I can think about is how he’s still so handsome. And from what I know, he’s still just as kind and beloved by all the people. Gods above and below, how am I going to move on?
Someone clears their throat, and I jolt. Then I see who it is, and I jump to my feet.
Alain.
Right in front of me.
My breath catches and I struggle to remind myself that there’s no way he could recognize me. I’m darker, stronger, rougher. I look every bit the dirt-born farmer I’ve become, not the soft and meek little servant he’d taken like a maiden.
“You seem to be lost,” he says. The timbre of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“Yes. I.” I swallow and try not to panic. “I took a wrong turn. Got lost.”
There is a pause before he nods. “It happens.” His eyes shimmer behind his mask as he smiles. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
I manage some semblance of a smile in return. “I’m just a farmer, your Majesty.”
His brow shoots up toward his hairline. “You think I’m the king?”
My mouth flaps open and closed several times and I make some kind of strangled sound. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say, but I definitely don’t say anything at all.
“Ah, I suppose it’s foolish to think a mask can really hide who I am.” He chuckles softly.
I feel weak at the sound.
I want to kiss him.
I want to run away.
I want to break down and cry.
“How have the crops been this year?” he asks. “I’ve heard we’re expecting a good harvest.”
Ah, yes. Of course, he would never recognize me. I was just one servant among so many. He’d probably taken them all over the years. Perhaps that is why he was unwed: he had a voracious appetite for naïve young men.
“Yes, your Majesty,” I reply, unable to keep the quiver out of my voice. “The harvest should be particularly bountiful this year.”
He smiles and laughs a little.
I clench my hands into tight fists, digging my nails into my palms. “I should not take up your Majesty’s time when there is a ball to attend.” I bow. It’s one thing that’s not been forgotten; my body remembers exactly how to bend appropriately low. “Please excuse me, your Majesty.”
I can’t resist stealing one last glance, and his expression is thoughtful.
“Wait,” he says, and I freeze in place.
Please don’t recognize me.
Please recognize me.
After a pause, he asks, “What is your name?”
I freeze. I can’t remember. Did he know my name? How common is my name? My brain is just noise as a thousand questions crashed together all at once without an answer in sight.
His brow arches. “I asked you a question. Speak up.”
I blurt out the first name that comes to mind. “Cliff, sir.”
“Cliff,” he mutters as if tasting it like wine. “I do not know any young farmers with the name Cliff.”
My heart aches and I force a smile. “Of course not, your Majesty. I wouldn’t expect you to know the name of every farmer in your kingdom.”
“You would be surprised.” He holds my eyes with his own, and there is something a bit too piercing about his gaze. “I know of very many people within my kingdom.”
I feel my resolve start to crumble.
What if.
The words scream, clawing at my skull, trying to escape.
“I, uh…”
What if...
“The...”
What if?
“The ball, your Majesty,” I finally say in a small voice. “People must be wondering where you are.”
He smiles a bit. My heart pounds in my chest. I don’t know what I want, and it terrifies me.
“True. Please, then.” He extends the crook of his elbow. “Escort me to the ball. I would like to dance with you.”
Libbie
- 02.04.2020
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- Category:
- Historical
