Author's Note

Please be aware that some of the content in this book is adult material and may be sensitive to some readers. Enjoy, comment, vote!

Candlelight burned hot and steady by the king's bed, but the stone floors kept the room chilled despite the many foreign, lavish rugs. The damask walls of purple and gold seemed less regal now and carried the stench of death within the paper. Many of the court gathered around; the royal chaplin echoed prayers beside the king and dashed drops of sacred water from Athme across his highness' decrepit figure. The treasurer scribbled anxiously on King Galwain's will at a desk by the door, trying to remember all of the orders he was given.

Galwain's uncle, Lord Roman Goldrock and his child bride, Lady Perri, stood with their young boys, Lidal and Oreus. Lady Perri dabbed her sodden eyes for the dying monarch. Prince Galwain, ten with short, sandy blonde hair and soft brown eyes, laid his head by his father's feet. He tried not to cry but whimpers escaped his little lungs every so often. Queen Alse held her husband's hand, her pale skin falling behind to that of King Galwain's. She dressed in a black gown with bell sleeves, a high laced neck that had sewn pearls scattered about her throat, and a hooded cloak of coal that hid her rich red locks. Her eyes were ashen and she seemed tired, but her hand never left the king's and her posture never faltered once.

Dimia wore a forest green gown, which was uncommonly and inappropriately low cut, and her breasts nearly spilled over. Her crimson hair spun up in a tight bun that accentuated her frail neck. With her hands clasped in front of her, she overlooked the scene of her father's death. Too many people were present, she noticed. Her father was loved by many and hated by one: his own flesh and blood. Dimia's elation was naught to be diminished today, even though she disapproved of the crowd.

Galwain stirred and the room stiffened in unison. Queen Alse perked up, reaching a kind hand up to touch his cheek. "Are you in pain, my love?" she whispered, tracing her fingers across his brow.

The king's eyes had gone dark, and his hair became a striking gray above his ears in contrast to the limp gold covering the rest of his head. His crown still perched there, with much effort to keep it in place each time he rolled his head from side to side. He grumbled and coughed, a spattering of blood bubbling from his mouth and landing in a clot on his chest.

Not so comfortable in this bed now, are you father? Dimia pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Her eyes danced down to her brother, who stared at their father with such a horrified acceptance. He curled at the foot of the bed and wiped at his dampening eyes. Dimia sighed and moved to sit next to him. She resided to playing the part of the grieving daughter so the court would respect her after the king's final breaths. The prince caved into her side and tangled her dress in his hands, burying his face into the soft fabric. It was not a welcome gesture, especially from her brother. He was innocent of any crime and full of life, and she full of bitterness and disgust. Nonetheless, she placed a careful hand on his back and endured his suffering.

"My children," her father croaked. "Where are my heirs?" Some spittle dripped from his lips and the shame on his face was apparent. Queen Alse gave her children a pleasing glance and motioned for them to acknowledge the ailing man.

"Papa, we're here. Me and Dimia and mother. We've all been here," the prince cried. He wiped his nose with his sister's dress. Dimia did not outwardly scold him, but her heart rate spiked and she tugged her dress free from his hands.

Queen Alse made room for her children and set the king's hand down gently on his chest, retreating to the desk by the door. She whispered something to the treasurer and he became alert, spinning with a dripping quill in his grasp. His final wishes, Dimia surmised. The royal children scooted down the bedside. Prince Galwain laid his head on his father's stomach and looked up at him with an admiration Dimia could never imagine having for the man. She falsely retrieved his hand all the same, and placed it in her lap.

King Galwain clutched a bunch of gown with his trembling fingers as if he never intended to let go. "I, King Galwain Goldrock, the third of Goldrock rule, wish to recite my final wishes before my death."

Again, the prince whimpered. Dimia squeezed the king's hand firmly until he released his hold on her dress. The queen approached silently from behind and touched Dimia's bare neck, the warmness clashing with Dimia's cold blood. Lidal and Oreus giggled incessantly behind them, nudging at each other. A loud slap on their heads from Lord Roman silenced their yapping. The treasurer dipped his quill and persisted an ear for further instruction.

"It is my wish that my son, Galwain Goldrock IV, inherit the duties of Master of Trade when he comes of age. And it is my wish that Sir Wyliamme Carac be my son's mentor and tutor. When he comes of age to marry, Prince Galwain will receive his choice of any woman from any of the highborn houses in the city and will inherit any land previously granted to Lord Roman's eldest son, Grimmal, may he rest."

The room was solemn and respectfully quiet. Lord Roman bowed his head in thanks to the grievance. The quill scratched the parchment that decreed the king's will. A tall figure had entered and casted a shadow over her entire body. With a glance backward, she need only see the glimmering off the silver chest plate to know that Sir Wyliamme had been summoned. His presence was never exhilarating in any way to Dimia, though he seemed to have an effect on others when he walked into a room. He was tall, broad of chest and physically fit, with yellow hair and scruff that covered most of his face. His features were tired but proud and he was about twenty years Dimia's elder. He bowed to the king in silence and took his place beside Alse.

"For my flower, my Dimia," the king started again. "It is my wish that when she takes the throne to be the fourth Goldrock to rule in Oren, she is to wed Sir Wyliamme Carac."

The princess' throat was dry. She was not surprised by this; talk of their union was spoken of often and she had been courted by Sir Carac for months, in addition to the many letters he sent informing her of conspiring with her father, the king. Still, to hear it verbally decreed by her father's deathbed was less than ideal.

In truth, Wyliamme would make a fine husband, and Dimia had no problem wedding and bedding the man the more she thought on it. Her concern would be with his reaction to her blatant disregard for any feelings he might possess or come to possess for her. Her sex life would not diminish, and her need for solitude would not subside. He would be a play thing beside her on the throne. He was intelligent, and the commoners and highborn called him Pirate King in irony of his extraordinary ability to hunt and kill pillagers of the sea. Wyliamme would be good for war, should one ever arise. Dimia knew little of the country's politics, but was aware of the growing tension between the mainland and the new inhabitants of Dratsac.

These were the things she had to look forward to.

"I have left instructions for the dispensement of Dimia's dowry and responsibilities of Sir Carac's household whence they move to Ofund and Gruuthar." The king began a coughing fit, and his bowels erupted and he soiled himself. Those in the room exchanged worried looks and Lady Perri wept even louder. Queen Alse quickly dismissed the room in a protective manner of her husband save for her family and Wyliamme, and the treasurer in case any more was to be decreed before Galwain's passing.

"I want a moment... alone... with my queen," he struggled to say, his eyes watery. Alse shuffled forward and leaned around her daughter to kiss his forehead. "No," he choked. "No, the new queen."

Alse withdrew, her eyes falling down with an understanding. She collected the prince and nestled him close. Carac held his arm out to the soon-to-be widow and escorted her from the chamber. The treasurer rolled the parchment in a hurry and exited as well. And then it was just father and daughter left alone within the candle prison.

Dimia relished her father's ragged breaths. She made no move to comfort him or draw nearer, and simply looked down on him with a power she never had before. Her hand went to the back of her neck below her hairline and she smoothened stray locks back into place with a sinister smile. "Oh, papa, what wisdom can you possibly have for me now?"

The king stretched to touch her but his hand was swatted away. "My daughter. I love your mother," he whispered, frowning.

Dimia laughed and stood from the bed. "Love her? Was it the same way you loved me?"

"I've shared a bed with you more than I ever have with your mother, but I do love her. She has a kind heart. Feeble, but kind. And she must never be lonely."

The princess waltzed about the room. She stopped in front of a looking glass and admired herself. Her figure had faded over the last month from her diet of mutton, grapes, wine, and purging. But she still had a glow--today at least-- and her skin shown like the moonlight. She dangled herself in front of him like a last morsel of food for a starving man. Dimia had looked at herself through this mirror many times, and met her own eyes as her father violated her time and time again.

"Why are you telling me this, your grace?" she asked, her hands sensually running along her body. She spun slowly to examine herself in the mirror and sighed in approval of what she saw.

"My love, please come sit by me," Galwain pleaded.

"No," she replied plainly, moving to the armoire. She opened the drawers and plucked a shining jewel out of one. The family's jewels were passed down from generation to generation, and they'd be procured for her custom crown on the day of her coronation. She'd wear them til the end of her reign as her predecessors had before her. She pushed the drawers closed roughly and continued her roundabout.

"You must never tell your mother of our relationship, so to keep you two close. She will grieve for me, as will you. And I need you to be there for her despite your newfound position. And Sir Wyliamme," he coughed, spilling over on the bed. Dimia habitually ran to his side, and internally berated herself. "Give him children and warm his bed."

"I'll always be warming a king's bed, it seems," she said coldly.

Galwain looked pained by her tone. "We were unconventional. And I'm... I'm sorry. But your beauty is unmatched, and you have the makings of a beautiful queen, even more splendid than your mother." He held her hand. "And in my last moments, I want to be with my one true love."

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, leaving a trace of blood behind. His eyes closed and he relaxed in his bed. He reeked of shit and piss and would die here a pathetic man. What had killed him, they were not sure. It could've been The Curse of Kings, though they did not believe in those superstitions. Dimia honored it to be his poor and cumbersome drinking habits finally catching up with him over the years. Queen Alse feared the same.

The princess wiped her bloodstained hand across her lap and moved to adjust the pillows behind Galwain's head. It would take two minutes to end you, she thought, her fingers flexing into the feathered pillow. Her hands tensed and eased many times before she decided to let him die on his own. Suffer, and be shamed.

Muddled voices boomed outside of the chamber doors. Right on time. Dimia cracked the door and peeked through. Queen Alse and Prince Galwain and the others were nowhere to be found. A castle guard stood quarreling with a kitchen elf, forming a barrier between the servant and the door. It was Pandry. He stood with a filthy apron tied tight around his hips, trousers that cropped at the knee, and shirtless, exposing his bony exterior.

"Guard, stand down," she commanded. "He has come at the request of the king." She waved and hand. The guard looked baffled, but moved aside regardless. Pandry slid through the opening or the door and past Dimia. She pointed a manicured finger at the armored man. "Make sure no one disturbs his grace."

When she latched the door, Pandry was staring blankly down at the king. The disgust and shock were clear in his vacant eyes and he squirmed at the putrid stench. Dimia came to stand beside him and looked down on her father. Her hand trickled down the elf's side and around to his front where she grabbed at his manhood. Alarmed, he jumped and captured her hand where it lingered.

"What are you doing?" he accused.

Dimia did not reply. Instead, she leaned over her father and stroked his forehead, tapping his eyelids gently.

"Wake, father. You'll not want to miss my parting gift to you," she whispered. Galwain's eyes fluttered open weakly and stared at the two in front of him with some confusion. Dimia kissed him between the eyes and abruptly turned, dropping to her knees in front of Pandry. She ripped his apron off and unlaced his breeches with firm dexterity. When he tried to push her away, she clenched his privates, sending him wincing. Dimia pulled down his pants and took him into her mouth.

"Dimia, no. Stop that, damn you--" the king began.

After a few long pulls, Dimia stood and turned around, hiking up her dress and pressing her bare backside to her victim. She placed her hands on the bed beside her father and bore into his eyes. Pandry pounded against her and a smile stretched from cheek to cheek across the princess' flawless skin. Galwain closed his eyes hard, trying to turn his head away from the scene. But his neck was too weak and his head just fell back into place.

"Open your eyes," Dimia barked. She extended her hand and slapped him. His crown tumbled from his head and dropped to the floor. The king's eyes fluttered open, shocked.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" he asked, tears beginning to roll from his eyes. Panting, the elf filled the silence that followed and he found his release within her. Galwain was mortified.

Pandry backed away, pulling up his pants and lacing them quickly. He stared at the princess in abhorrence as he fled from the room.

Dimia sighed and collapsed onto the bed beside her father. "Because I can," she replied. "Because I'm the queen."

Galwain's tears turned cold and he sobbed gently. His last breath collected in his chest and he exhaled all of the pitiful life that had been left in him.