Exercise: NEED
Just a few days ago, the gilded matriarchal throne of Queen Miraculo the Sixth, supreme ruler of the nine kingdoms, had more than 20 successors-in-waiting.
Now, bells tolled as the quickly countered (but deadly) plague was brought to a halt. When the bodies had been buried and the tally counted, it was found that the only remaining noble-born heir to the throne of the aging Queen Miraculo was an impoverished earl's daughter from some little backwater town.
In a matter of hours, 19-year-old Pika Starbright had been swept from her childhood home and hurried to the capital to begin her training to succeed Queen Miraculo. It was a horrible experience from the first moment she was hurried into the palace, a slim country maiden in her best threadbare finery. Even the servants seemed to look down on her as some rural pauper not fit to follow in the footsteps of Queen Miraculo, let alone be allowed to tread the marble halls at all.
But the half-demon nobility were the worst. At least some of the women faked politeness. The menfolk (nicknamed "The Hollow Men") were utter snobs. Most were beautiful. All were awful. Especially nasty was Prince Dysan of the Furfures. Pika tried to avoid him, but there were times when she couldn't just scurry away. Like now.
Pale, tall, and slender, he swept into the chapel during the last song, like the first rays of a golden dawn striking a frozen landscape, illuminating hidden life in what moments ago appeared as a barren icy field.
Her assigned companion, Lady Vikel, kicked her. "Stop staring at him, Princess," she hissed. "He's an evil half-demon brute, hollow and void of any true feelings."
Pika shot a rebellious glance at Vikel. "I was just looking," she snapped under her breath. She suspected from the chance comments that Lady Vikel had previously let drop that she had attempted a romance with Dysan and been savagely rejected. But that didn't mean her character assessment was wrong!
As if he knew he was a subject of their conversation, Prince Dysan glanced over at the two ladies at just that moment. Pika felt like a deer caught in the light of a hunter's torch. Blushing furiously, she stared down blindly at what she was sure must be her songbook clutched in her hands and moved her lips in a pathetic pretense at singing.
It was evil to want him. It was just because he was pretty and SO BAD. She intended to marry a full human only. A nice sweet man. After all the heir to the throne couldn't fool around. So she best put the half-demon and all wicked imaginings out of her mind. Yes, certainly she would do that!
As the song ended and everyone sat down in their pews, the acolyte of Mikelsi stepped forward to preach:
"All humans – ahem, and half-humans - require love, but they don't yet realize that love is not an emotion: it is a decision to trust, respect, and forgive, even in times of difficulty."
Pika, being an intelligent young lady realized the creed of Mikelsi wasn't meant to address passion or coupling, but referred to a more rarified "love" among man and demonkind.
She had liked a few young men and greatly enjoyed their kisses, but never felt the explosively searing arrow of a less sanctified "love" until now.
She shot a peek at Dysan under her eyelashes. To her horror, he was staring impassively at her with an expression that she couldn't read but that made her cringe. Pika whipped her head around to face forward rigidly and didn't look at him again. That is, until they left the nobles' chapel and bumped into him outside.
"Ah. It's the penniless country bumpkin that's going to rule all of us," he drawled.
Pika felt ill with longing as he took possession of her hand and kissed it mockingly. This was terrible. Her sense of self-preservation was screaming at her. There was only one refuge, one strength left to her in the face of this feeling and that was to drive him off with scorn (rather than to fling herself into his arms).
"What an overwhelming intellect you possess, Prince Dysan!" she bit off. "What powers of deduction! Yes, I'm the pauper – oh no, let me amend that – the FORMER pauper and you're the prince of … my, oh - what was it again? The Furfure kingdom of nomads? The kingdom of nowhere? I know it begin with an "n" – but …?"
Dysan's amused cool demeanor turned furious and his face darkened. "You DARE insult me, girl?"
"Dare?! When did YOU become my better?" stormed back Pika. "Did you become the supreme ruler of the entire country while I wasn't looking? Did you think your kingdom's moneymaking from the slave trade has suddenly elevated your status, is that it?"
Pika and Dysan now had their faces close to each other in the manner of two snarling dogs with their respective lords and ladies in waiting clinging to the arms of each combatant, trying to drag them back, with eventual success.
Later that night, Queen Miraculo required the presence of Princess Pika in her audience chamber immediately. Pika knew she was in trouble when she spied Prince Dysan standing next to the Queen with his retinue. Curiously, his retainers looked quite smug while the prince himself was scowling horribly.
The queen read both of them a lecture on their horrid behavior of today that had Pika's ears burning in shame. She snuck a peek at Dysan and even the tips of his ears were pink, though the look on his face remained proudly haughty. Then the world shook for Pika, the Queen announced Pika's immediate marriage to Dysan this very moment. The young people both began to protest vehemently while their elders wore sly smiles.
"SILENCE! If either you protest against my direct order again, I will have my guards cut off your left hands," growled the Queen in displeasure. "I'm sure either of you can rule the country one-handed, in fact I believe Prince Dysan has been heard to state this several times, much putting my mind at ease. Now, if there are no more treacherous murmurings, the ceremony will proceed."
In a whirl, Princess Pika found herself wedded to Prince Dysan and then they were whisked off to be dressed in night clothes by their companions and then hurried to the ceremonial bed for the public consummation. Although Pika had done this and enjoyed that, she had never gone so far in her romantic relationships as she would tonight! Thank all the deities, the couple was at least allowed the privacy of the ample bed hangings, although the lighting might cast their silhouettes large across the drapings.
Pika sipped from the crystal flask of water at the bedside as she awaited her angry bridegroom.
This would be awful. It would hurt (that's what her ladies promised her) and she would scream and he would hate her. And she WANTED it to be nice, she NEEDED it to be nice. So maybe he would like her. But now he never never would. She gave a self-pitying little sob.
Just to have something to do, Pika kept drinking nervously from the flask in her hands. Oh, but it was evil to think of his lovely hands touching her, possessing her; his mouth everywhere. Her heart rate sped up and she gulped down some more water. My, but she was wicked to think such things when he had been forced into marriage, but she found herself becoming impatient for his arrival. What if he ran away? Oh no, that mustn't happen!
Thus, when the extremely agitated and nervous Prince Dysan parted the bed hangings, rather than finding an angry harpy that wanted to drink his blood, he found a completely relaxed and eager Princess Pika, her lovely auburn hair unbound and falling to her waist, and her beautiful black nightgown hiked up around her thighs as she bounced up to meet him. "Hi, Dysan!" she sang out, her sea-green eyes shining in welcome and appreciation as she looked him up and down.
Puzzled, the prince had the presence of mind to close the bed hangings behind him. Then he noticed the flask in her hands.
"Did you drink ALL that?" he asked her, having a good idea of what the answer would be.
"I was sooo thirsty," she told him with a radiant, slightly dopey smile. "But there's a few drops left. Do you want some?" She held the bottle out to him, shaking it slightly, but no liquid sloshed around in it.
Of course, the provincial little idiot had no idea that they were supposed to share the newlywed's flask, thus ensuring the public consummation had a VERY happy ending. But she was HIS provincial little idiot now and he wouldn't allow anyone to speak a word against her from now on.
He stuck his hand out through the bed hangings and commanded: "Flask!" (Not that they needed it, certainly he didn't. But a Furfure always liked to hedge his bets. And there were many hours ahead until the dawn.)
