Oh My gerd you guys!!! So I decided to start writing this story along side Love Coffee, maybe it will help me get my creative juices flowing. It’s something completely different than anything I have written as of yet so that is pretty good. I hope you all like it and will love it just like I do. Love You all!!! <3 Manda--

Dorian

Becoming a King was never something That I desired to take part in. I witnessed my father when I was a young lad, and he revealed to me through small actions that being king was a demanding, and overburdening profession. However, it was never something that selected for myself, I was born into the role. I always knew that I had obligations I would be required to fulfill, and when my parents were murdered, I did just that. When I was 19 I married, however before we could sire any children the very first queen died of disease. She was extremely ill, and I’m sure she counted it a blessing to go when she did. By the next year I was again betrothed, and this time the queen blessed me with a son whom we called Lear. Unfortunately his mother did not make it through the night of his birth, and died soon after. Three years after my third marriage I sired another, Seth. Unlike the previous marriage the queen survived, but it was not three months later that her wagon was attacked by brigands and she was killed. The fourth marriage brought upon me my third and last son, Noa.

I would like to say that this marriage lasted eternally, like they do in the nonsensical tales the old wives whisper to their children at night. However, that was a far-fetched romanticized version of the reality. I caught the fourth queen laying with another lord that was visiting our palace for the festival. Most people would say to omit it, just a light slap on the wrist or a turn of the head would do perfectly. But if there was any bit of knowledge I had acquired from my father, it was that a King should never show weakness. You must not be lenient with those who betray you, leniency gives others the idea that you are a King who lacks power over those around you. So rather than overlook it, I dragged her from her chambers and had her sentenced to death. She was hung in the town circle soon after.

This was the point in time that the Kings curse was designed.  A juvenile speculation that traveled quickly throughout the land. It told of a curse that was placed upon me, that any person that I should wed would suffer a horrible fate. The rumor was indeed preposterous, however I could not prove it wrong. Especially since every individual I wed thereafter betrayed me and laid with another man, and was henceforth put to death.

That is quite possibly the reason that even now I am unfazed as I look out my bedroom window into the hedges to see my currently betrothed entrapped secretively in the arms of one of my guardsmen. On how many occasions have I had to sentence my lovers to death? Four? Now five? Will I never feel comforted that my betrothed will not run off into the embrace of some other man? What does a king have to do in order to maintain a semblance of loyalty from his people? Frustrated I pull my curtain closed and march out into the hallway.

Truth be told, I have never known the meaning of love. The sole reason behind my marriages was to find an outlet for my desire. That is why after the fourth marriage I only betrothed men. They could give me no children, and yet they could still bring me pleasure. No matter how often I contemplate, I am unable to form an incentive for these men to deceive me. I have always thought that I had been satisfying them sexually. But was I wrong?

Furiously I throw the back doors into the garden open and storm into the maze of hedges. I’ve memorized my way through the labyrinth, as a result it doesn’t take me long to discover them. When I come up behind the guard my Queen sees me. Immediately panic strikes through his eyes, and he is shoving his lover away from him hissing at him to run. The man does not hesitate departing away through the maze, not even glancing back for fear of what he might see. “Dorian.” Keegan mutters and I can detect the wheels turning furiously in his head, attempting to come up with a plausible explanation for what I just witnessed.

“Silence.” I order grabbing his wrist and dragging him behind me towards the doors. He squirms pushing at my hand wrapped tightly around him.

“Dorian please, let me explain.” He says hurriedly, I can hear the panic in his voice rising.

“Do not speak a single word!” I growl at him, as I slam the door shut behind me pulling him through the stone hallways. “You were warned of what was to come if you dared betray me, and yet you still chose to do so.”

“I did not betray you!” He screams, and I nearly laugh. Still he clings on so violently to his excuses? The Guards stand in the hallway unmoving, staring blankly forwards. It’s almost as if they cannot see what is happening in front of them.

“Oh spare me the lies!” I roar, tugging him forcefully after me, ignoring his cries of pain. “My eyes do not deceive me. I have been through this many a time. How dare you think you are unlike the others!” I shout, briefly looking back at him as he stumbles after me.

“I do not dare to think that I am above anyone my Lord!” He objects.

“And yet somehow you thought that you could deceive me?” I laugh bitterly, “Tell me again that you do not think you are above my rule, why else would you commit such a foolish act?”

He is silent for a moment, and then the sobs and wails begin. He drops to the floor grabbing hold of my arm. “Please my Lord, I have a family!” he beseeches.

I glare down at him in disgust, “You should have thought of that before you committed such infidelity!” He howls as I continue to drag his dead weight down the halls to the front of the palace.

 “My parents were to come see me in three days’ time, you mustn’t do this my Lord I beg of you!” he sobs clawing at my hand.

“Then they will be just in time for your funeral!” I shout throwing open the front doors and hauling his body down the steps. The people in the town who are milling about the front of the castle stop to look up as I throw Keegan down the stairs and onto the dirt path. He lies on the ground his face in the dirt as he sobs in horror. The daily bustle dies down to complete silence as people gather to stare at the man on the ground. “Are you content now Keegan?” I spit at him. “Because this is where you belong, in the dirt…like the filth that you are!” I shout.

The man sobs unmoving as I turn to the guards posted on either side of the castle doors. “Take that THING to the dungeon, and prepare him for his execution in three days’ time……we wouldn’t want his PARENTS to miss it!” I shout striking dirt into his face before storming up the steps and into the castle. As soon as the doors shut behind me I sigh in exhaustion, resting my back against the wood and closing my eyes. Why am I unable to have peace? Is it possible that there really is a Kings curse?

“Did it happen again father?” A voice asks from off to my right. Hurriedly I stand and tug at my clothes pulling them in to their proper placement before running a hand through my hair and turning to my eldest son Lear. At seventeen, he is accustomed to the betrayal. To the deaths. He is old enough to understand.

“Yes, regrettably.” I sigh slowly making my way to his side. I wish to place my hand on his shoulder, however I am unsure of it so instead I bring my hands to a clasp behind my back. No weakness. No Weakness.

“Why do they do it?” He demands after a moment of silence looking directly at me. His blue eyes shining with curiosity. “They don’t want to be here, with you, with us?” He asks.

Sighing I shake my head turning to walk away from him, “Don’t dwell on it Lear, go find your brothers and inform them that there will be another execution in three days, make sure that they are prepared.”

Lear stands silently for a moment before giving me an obedient nod and hurrying away in the opposite direction. Yes, I do make my sons attend the executions. I’m not disturbed about it in the least, they need to understand that love is not something that exists in this world. The sooner they learn to be fearless leaders the better off they will be.

Two days later the town is gathering in the courtyard for the mandatory attendance of the execution. The circle is filled with the town’s people young and old, some look sad others look bored. I had waited all morning for Keagan’s parents to arrive as he said they would, but they never made their appearance. Unable to wait any longer I hurry into the circle to take my place next to my sons. Lear and Seth are standing tall and strong, but Noa is still too young. He hesitantly gazes across the circle, nervously hanging on to Seth’s hand, his feet shuffling back and forth. When everyone has filed into the square the executioner comes out and silence falls upon the crowds. “Bring out the prisoner!” He orders, and from around the corner guards lead a soiled, and fatigued Keagan out, his hands bound behind his back.

The guards lead him to the stump where he places his head down, kneeling unpleasantly. He stares vacantly into the crowd, looking but not really seeing anything. He seems entirely unfazed that he is now being put to death, and his life has come to an end. The executioner wastes no time as he reads off the reasoning behind why Keegan is being sentenced to death, and asks if he admits to being guilty. They enquire him if he has any last words before he expires, but he says nothing. Continuing to stare off into the crowd.

“Very Well, let the execution commence.” The man shouts loudly. And there is a brief moment where he picks up his sleek deadly sharp axe, and then everything shifts abruptly. The axe comes down, and there is a strident thunk as the blade cuts through flesh and bone to the stump of the tree. Keagan’s head falls to the ground, while simultaneously a loud cry echoes across the yard.

“NO, MY BOY!!!!!!!!!” Keagan’s father comes hastening into the circle to where his sons head has tumbled onto the dirt. Without disgrace he clutches the bloody orb enclosing it in his cloak, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BOY!!!!!!!” He screams, while behind him his wife loses consciousness on the steps. Guards hurry to her assistance, while the town’s people begin to break away.

“Take your brothers to their rooms.” I order Lear who nods, seizing a queasy looking Seth’s elbow and wrenching the two boys up the steps and into the castle. When they have disappeared I amble over to where Keagan’s father is sobbing, embracing his sons head. The servants begin to scour the blood, hauling the body up from the stump. When Keagan’s father catches sight of them he comes to a stand, fury filling his eyes. “Don’t you touch him you heathens, how dare you lay your hands on my boy!!!”

“Lord Donahue, they will not harm his corpse. My servants will take the body and cleanse it so that you may take it back home with you.” I assure him stepping up to his side. The rotund man turns to face me his cheeks red with ire.

“What is the meaning of this King Dorian?” He growls gesturing around the still emptying circle. “I come expecting to meet with my son, and this is what I arrive to instead?” He chokes out.

“Lord Donahue, I warned you and your son of the repercussions of infidelity when I sought to marry him. Still he chose to betray me knowing precisely what would occur as a result. I waited three days for I knew that you were on your way here, but I could not hold the execution off any longer.” I assure him. “If you would like you and your wife my stay here for the night while you gather your bearings.”

He does not speak, staring at my servants as they haul his son’s body away mopping up the blood diligently. Deciding that he is not going to speak I turn towards the doors only to stop at his words, “You disgusting man, I pray to god that you will pay for this moment.” He hisses. Raising a brow I nod, and continue on my way leaving him to mourn his loss alone.

                It is about five months later when I resolve to attend the town festival. Having kept myself in doors laboring over my duties for so long I decide that I need to take in fresh air. And what healthier way to do it then at the town festival. Every month there is a festival where farmers and bakers, butchers and basket weavers and all other manner of people bring their goods to sell for a slim price. It is the time of month when the town is thriving, and breathing delight.

I make my way out into the town square, inhaling the scent of fresh fruit and vegetables. Reveling the feel of the stone pathway underneath my feet as I admire the hard work, and labor that the people have put into their goods. Everywhere I look there is someone selling cloaks, boots, hair pins adorned with flowers for the young girls and women. The stalls are compiled close together, leaving very little room to breathe let alone move about. From my left incense is burning inside a stall where a gypsy woman with long curling tendrils of hair as black as night dances. Her naked skin shows through the transparent material that is covering her breasts. Her hands with their long painted nails twine above her head as she sways her hips back and forth hypnotically. A small jewel pierced to her navel shimmers in the sunlight, gathering attention from the peasants passing by.

Beside the woman a bearded man sits playing a strange instrument. His eyes are focused on a tweed basket where a snake is undulating back and forth to the tune of his flute, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth as it tastes the air. I pull my eyes away from the attention-grabbing display, moving further on to a stand where a woman is selling apples. She notices me and attempts a smile. “Your highness, would you care for an apple?” She offers, holding the fruit out to me. Stoically I take the red fruit in my hand, admiring the solid feel of it, before pulling coins from my pocket and slipping them into her palm.

“Oh no your majesty, you do not need to pay me!” She objects shaking her head diligently.

“Nonsense, I’m the King of course I should pay you.” I respond drolly, and with that gem I depart leaving her with a look of astonishment. Although my people are at times alarmed by me, I am not an unfair ruler. I treat my people the best I can, and make sure that they have adequate living quarters. Their trepidation is a small price to pay for their loyalty. Most of the people are timorous when they want to keep their children away from me, not willing to subject their kin to the Kings curse. How can I blame them when they have seen so many die because of it?

Taking a mouthful of my apple I continue to make my way through the carts of food and jewelry. Stopping at a blacksmiths shop to admire the hot pinging of heavy rock on metal. The hot coal mesmerizes me for a moment until I hear the sound of a shrill festive instrument rising into the air. The melody carries on the slight breeze right into my ears. The sound is round and warm, and tastes almost sweet. Before I know what I’m doing I’m making my way through the crowd searching for the source.

It seems like a century before I finally come into a small clearing where a circular fountain sits, the statue of a nude man erected in the center of the pond. Liquid spurts from the stone flute clutched in the statues hands, my eyes follow the flow of the liquid down to the edge of the fountain. Below the flow of water sitting on the stone ridge is a boy.

But not just a boy.

The most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.

His hair is a white-gold mixture that resembles wheat, while his skin is a contrasting caramel. The color gives him a warm attractive aura as his fingers move up and down on the small flute in his hands. He bobs his head ever so often smiling at the small children gathered around him, twirling and giggling as they dance. The boy taps his foot against the pavement setting a pace for the children, his eyes sparkling happily. Even from where I stand I can feel his cordiality hit me like a ray of sunlight, it feels restful and forthcoming, and unexpectedly I have the desire-no the NECESSITY to go to him.

He seems to sense my eyes on him, for he glances upward with his crystal blue orbs searching the crowd of people. Before he can see me gazing at him I look away turning to the nearest shop. Someone is bound to know the boy’s name, if I can locate someone and ask them…….It is essential to discover his name. The shop owner exits out of the door, and as soon as he sees me his eyes widen. Before he can rush away I beckon him towards me. He anxiously dries his hands on his apron, stumbling past mountains of crates to stand at my side, “Your Majesty.” He bows, “I’m sorry I did not recognize you, I haven’t see you in the markets for many months now.”

“Yes, well I required fresh air.” I explain bowing against the wall of his shop gracefully, “Truthfully, I have an enquiry I was hoping you could find a solution to.”

“Oh yes, of course your Majesty anything.” The shop owner nods, moving closer to my side.

“Ah yes, well then um….”I turn to address him but realize I do not know his name, “I’m sorry but may I ask your name?” I ask politely, for it is not becoming to ask favors or investigate those whose names you do not know.

“Schmidt your Majesty, my name is Schmidt.” He responds with a smile.

Nodding I look back to the fountain, “Schmidt, would you say that you know the towns people quiet well?” I ask gazing at the boy who is now holding a small child in his arms, attempting to teach him to play the flute.

“Oh yes, of course I do I’m the butcher your Majesty, I know just about everyone.” Schmidt replies placing his hands on his hips confidently.

“Then can you tell me the name of that boy, just there by the fountain?” I nod towards the direction where the boy is sitting. Schmidt squints off into the distance, searching the sea of faces.

After a moment of gazing he smiles, “Oh you’re speaking of the O’Brian boy your majesty, his name is Dryston.”

The name sends tremors up my spine and I nod. Dryston, what a suitable name for the boy. “Dryston you say?” I parrot, tasting the name on my tongue and relishing the way it sounds escaping my mouth. Why have I never felt this way before? This strong of a desire to own something. “Where can I find the boy’s parents?” I inquire.

“Collin and Gwyneth? Collin works in your royal stables sir, his boy alongside him, but today is festival so I suppose Collin will be at the bakery with his wife and daughter.”

“Lovely.” I mutter, feeling a familiar heat clenching in my belly. It’s been five months since I’ve had someone, I am beginning to feel that compulsive itch. “If I go down this road will I come across it?” I ask Schmidt, watching as Dryston laughs heartily at something the child in his arms says.

“Yes your majesty, just straight down that way.” He points assuredly. I thank him, stealing one last glance at the boy before I make my way through the market towards the bakery. I doge my way past the blacksmith, apples, jewelry and gypsies towards the end of the road where the bakery sign comes into view. It sways slightly in the cool breeze, taunting me further. Before I enter the bakery I give myself an appearance review, I assure myself that I look brilliant before pushing open the door.

The room that I enter is warm, and there is a delicate aroma wafting through the air that smells like contentment. Behind a hard oak desk there rests a man, his hair is as red as roses and his eyes are a serene blue. That is where Dryston must have inherited his crystalline blue orbs. When the man hears the door shut his head darts to attention. “Welcome!” He greets from his stance at the oven, his back turned towards me as he inspects whatever is resting inside. He bolts the oven and turns around with a cheery smile, “What can I do you fo-

I am not astonished that the people in my town seem to be surprised whenever they find themselves alone with me. I am an intimidating man of stature, and position. That is why I take his stupefied expression in stride, moving forward to stand directly in front of him. He admittedly seems to gain his composure at my proximity shaking himself out of his stupor, “Your Majesty!” He gapes, dropping to his knees before me. I want to feel despicable for letting a man such as himself bow to me, however I am a King. My people have an obligation to me, as I do to them and if I am still laboring away at my duties so must they. I have no feelings on the matter. No feelings, No weakness.

I allow him a brief dip of my head, before gesturing him to rise to his feet. The man does so clumsily, before looking down at the floor in order to avoid my gaze, his callused hands clasping together nervously. This indeed piques my interest, with a raised brow I walk further into the bakery gazing around the small, quaint room. “Am I correct in assuming that you are Mr. O’Brian?” I investigate running my finger along the mantle of the fire place that houses several trinkets, and paintings.

“Yes your Majesty.” He addresses still refusing to look up from the ground, it must be a sign of respect. I don’t tell him to stop.

“Hmm, and where, may I ask, Is your wife Mr. O’Brian?” I adventure pulling out a chair from the small table in the corner of the room. I move my cloak aside and take a perch on the stool gazing about the small bakery. My eyes scan every piece of wood, every carving, and every precisely placed plant.

“She is upstairs your Majesty, would you like me to retrieve her?” He asks politely, his eyes still glued to the floor.

I tap my fingers across the wooden table, and nod, “Yes Mr. O’Brian, that would be much appreciated.” The man nods and whispers a polite excuse me before rushing up the steps. I listen languidly, running my fingers along the grain of the table as he disappears up the steps, only to momentarily return with an exquisite blonde woman at his side. As soon as the beautiful woman sees me she curtseys prettily her eyes looking at the ground all the while.

“Your Majesty.” She greets before rising. Once she is at a stand I examine her, and again I can see pieces of Drystons attractive features in her. Gwyneth’s hair is piled on the top of her head in a wheat colored bun. Her eyes resemble Drystons, almost uncannily, stinging like sharp shards of ice. The only difference between the two is the color of their skin. While Dryston looks as if he spends an abundance of his time out in the sun, gaining a delicious sun kissed hue to his flesh, his mother looks as if she has never seen the in her life time. Her skin is a milky white shade resembling the finest of porcelain, which she must have acquired spending the majority of her days inside the home baking.

Mr. O’Brian pulls a chair out for his wife gesturing for her to sit, she remains silent and observant taking the seat graciously. I watch the transaction with interest, never having committed the small yet oddly affectionate act. As soon as she sits and whispers a genuine thanks to her husband she turns her attention to me and I pull myself back to reality. “Your Majesty, may I inquire as to why you have come to our home so unexpectedly?” The delicate women asks her voice like a velvety hum.

The brief memory of Dryston siting at the fountain side, his fingers dancing along the small flute sending out an unearthly sound comes to my mind. A smooth pool of desire begins to fester in the pit of my stomach, and I feel my fingers twitch. I want him in my hands, I want to touch that bronze flesh. I want to feel his warmth underneath me as I delve inside of him, his fervent cries of satisfaction bouncing around me, fueling me forward. Ignoring my now erect manhood I lean forward at the table, placing my hands on the scarred wood. “I have come here to inform you of my interest in your son.”

The O’Brian’s give curious looks to one another before looking back at me, “You Majesty is referring to Dryston?” Mr. O’Brian asks hesitantly, his wife’s shoulders visibly tensing. I watch her carefully, examining the way in which she bites the inside of her lower lip. Her teeth kneading away at the flesh violently.

Leaning back in the minute wooden chair I nod, “Yes, I have not had the pleasure of addressing your son as of yet, I came today to request a meeting.” I make my voice final. I attempt to portray through my whole being that this is not me asking for his hand is marriage. This is me demanding it. The pair of them sit in silence for a moment contemplating, dissecting the situation in front of them as if they do not quite understand the meaning behind my words.

After a few brief minutes Mr. O’Brian straightens up in his post on the arm of his wife’s chair, his brows knit together tightly “Well I have no qualms with setting up a meeting between the two of you, but I have to admit your majesty that I do not quite understand what it is that you desire.”

I do not hesitate in clearing up the confusion, “I will have your son.” I inform them brusquely, holding my head up high. “I will marry him, however I would like to meet him prior, to inform him of the matter.” The O’Brian’s look between each other once more, and this time I do not miss the look of dread on Gwyneth’s features. I gather the woman does now want her son to be betrothed to her King.

Perturbed I give the couple a raised brow, glancing briefly between the two of them, “Well, is something the matter?” Mr. O’Brian gives Gwyneth a pleading look, it says to not utter a word. It demands that she stay calm, and keep her wits about her. However, she will not be silence. Gwyneth turns to face me courageously.

“Your Majesty, are you positive that you desire our Drystons hand? I just do not understand, there is nothing extraordinary about him. He is but a mediocre stable boy.” Ah I see what the woman is trying to do. She is attempting to convince me out of marrying her son, an admirable thing to do however more so inadequate.

“Mrs. O’Brian, I fear you do not know your son at all.” I inform her stoically clasping my hands together, “He is the most remarkable, exquisite creature I have ever seen. And I will have you know that I did not come here to ask you for permission.” I glare dangerously at her, refusing to let her steal away the one and only thing that has made me feel this much yearning. Her confident stature diminishes in a matter of seconds. Her eyes shoot respectfully back down to their rightful place at the table. “I came here because I thought you might want to be informed before I announce our betrothal to the entire town.” Slowly I stand, my height and stature demanding their respect. “Now that I have done so, when should I be expecting to return here to greet him?” I do not ask this of Mrs. O’Brian, but instead to her husband. For he seems to know that there is nothing they can do against me, I respect his admirable capitulation.

With a smile he stands from his perch on the chair running a quick, calloused hand through his copper hair. “Hmm, Your Majesty should return tomorrow once the festival is over. We will be sure to have Dryston awaiting your arrival.” He advises me cheerily.

“Very good.” I say moving towards the door with strong slow strides. I pull open the plank of wood and turn to look at the pair of them stoically, “Thank you for your hospitality, and I will look forward to our meeting tomorrow.” And with that I shut the door behind me, thankful to be out of the cramped space. I can’t help but think that I should feel wicked for stealing their son away from them, but truthfully I do not. The moment I saw him, I knew that his place was in my arms quaking beneath me, bending to my every will. As I walk away from the respectable little bakers shop I can’t help but feel content if but for a moment. By this time tomorrow I will have myself a new bride, a new lover, and one of exceptional beauty and sexual appeal. The boy has awoken cravings in me that I cannot deny and now I simply must have him.

The other wives I had taken were to provide heirs or simply to sate my desires when they came upon me at night. Even during those times the act of pleasure seemed to resemble more of a chore. However, now that there is someone I desire with all of my being, there is no plausible way that I will let him escape me, even if he refuses me I will have him.

The next morning passes at an impossible rate. The time is unhurried, and I find myself once again staring out the window in my bed chambers. Watching as the gardener trims the hedges to a straight sleek shape. I find myself counting the number of times he snips the knives he is using to cut the hedges. I ignore the servants who come to wait on me, and I ignore my children when they enter attempting to have leisure time with their father. Dejected all three of them abandon my chamber speaking of playing ball outside in the training arena. I cannot be bothered to feel bad, my father never felt bad about leaving me all to myself. At least my sons have each other. I was all alone, trapped in my own head. Even now I am speaking to myself, comforting myself, even when I have many others around me. I suppose I am a creature of habit.

When the time finally arrives for me to make my way to the bakery, I do not hesitate, or dawdle. I stride purposefully out into the town. My hard demeanor keeps others from bothering me along my way, as I pass the town’s people they mutter to each other asking one another about the king. I do not stop to listen or inform them I simply plow my way to the Bakery. Upon entering the bakery, I cannot help but notice how quiet and clean the small space is. Even the ovens look as if they have never seen a speck of dough. It is almost as if they shut down the shop in wake from my arrival, the thought has me standing taller. Of course they should have shut it down, I am king. Almost as if they could sense my entrance the O’Brian’s are in mere seconds at my feet bowing respectfully. I watch them carefully as they do so, and then order them to stand. There is no use talking to people who aren’t looking at me. “Where is Dryston?” I ask them after they have sufficiently bowed, allowing my eyes to wander across the room.

“Upstairs you Majesty, in the living quarters.” Mr. O’Brian informs me with a grin while Mrs. O’Brian glares off into the distance, clearly unhappy with the arrangement. Not as though I am affected by how she feels. Her son will be mine, whether she blesses us or not. Mr. O’Brian scurries to the stairwell gesturing upwards, “Please your majesty.” I nod a thank you, before placing my hand on the wooden banister, gliding up the stairs. The O’Brian’s follow behind me easily, and despite their attempt at being inaudible I can hear them bickering all the way up. Mrs. O’Brian is hissing at her husband over the unfortunate fate that has now befallen their child, she is blaming him for everything when it is her fault for giving birth to such a beautiful child. I almost feel badly for Mr. O’Brian….almost. No weakness.

The steps cry out beneath out feet as we ascent, and I’m beginning to feel the weight of ownership settling on my shoulders. I have to remind myself to not attack the boy when I lay eyes on him. I know that when I see his golden skin up close, the desire will be too strong. I can nearly taste him on my tongue, and I have yet to see him. However that all changes when we reach the landing and push the door open. The room is filled with sunlight streaming in from the open curtains, lighting up the scene. Dryston is perched on a stool, a little girl curled up in his lap while he plays her a sweet song on his flute. His fingers dance across the petite holes, changing the note in the air. The little girl beams up at him sweetly, her little fists held tight in her lap. The scene is appealing, sending bolts of electricity down my spine. And I feel an urge, to take him and push him over the table.

Calm yourself Dorian. In time, in time. You shall have him, be patient.

Dryston glances up upon hearing us enter the room, and he immediately halts his playing and pushes the little girl from his lap bringing himself to an assertive stand. The little girl hurries over to her mother, taking her hand shyly, while Dryston turns to face me his expression cold and unaffected. “Your Majesty.” He greets properly kneeling in front of me. His voice is like a luxurious breeze, caressing my skin sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Or a flowing river of melted gold. And when he bows to his knees in my mind I see him going down in front of me for an entirely different motive.

“You may stand.” I order him confidently. He nods gratefully, and rises to his feet before me, looking directly into my eyes with his ice cold orbs. In his eyes I see dowsed defiance. He doesn’t want me here, he doesn’t want to marry me, and he doesn’t want to kneel to me. I can see the desire in his eyes to snap, and insult me but something holds him back. His family perhaps. I wonder what he will say if I get him alone. The idea is suddenly extremely appealing as I drag my eyes up his body back to meet his. He glares at me, knowing exactly what I was envisioning but rather than smirk I gaze at him stoically. “Hello Dryston.” I greet simply. “I’m assuming that your parents have informed you of the intention of this meeting.”

Dryston nods, not breaking eye contact even once, “You wish to marry me.”

I nod walking towards the window, “Yes, I have decided that I want you. I desired to meet you before I announced to the town of our betrothal.” Dryston glances at his parents before casting his eyes down at the floor. I know he does not wish to marry me, and I am very nearly offended over his blatant undisguised distaste of me, but it does not matter. He will be mine regardless. The craving I have for him is too great to ignore.  I turn away from Dryston now to address his parents, “I will announce our betrothal tonight, and our wedding shall be placed in a weeks’ time.” I notify them.

“A-a weeks’ time?” Mrs. O’Brian stutters taken aback, “Your Majesty does that not seem hasty?”

“I am not a patient man Mrs. O’Brian, I desire what I desire, and I will have him.” I emphasize, staring her down, daring her to defy me. In truth I had pondered over the length of time to wait before the marriage all night long. However, no matter how many angles I considered my desire won over my decision. I cannot wait more than a week to hold him…..to be inside of him….to make him mine. I can barely wait one day let alone seven, however it was a compromise in my mind.

“A week is plenty of time dear.” Mr. O’ Brian assures his wife, and again I find myself admiring the man. No weakness. No Weakness. “We are unquestionably thrilled to have you take our son as your new betrothed your Majesty.” He cheers appreciatively lifting the little girl up into his arms where she sits obediently.

“Good, now you may leave. I need a moment to speak with your son alone.” I order them turning away to look at Dryston. He hasn’t moved since I last cast my eyes at him. His crystal orbs remain locked on the floor, observing it closely. And I notice his teeth working at the inside of his lower lip, a habit he must have inherited from his mother.  Behind me I hear Mrs. O’ Brian make a sound of objection however Mr. O’ Brian is prodding her out the door and down the stairs before she gets a chance to speak. When the three of them have disappeared down the stairs I turn my gaze to the handsome boy who is soon to be mine. Slowly I walk towards him, clasping my hands behind my back in an attempt to restrain my hands from wandering. I circle around him, like a starving vulture dragging my gaze over his tight body. “I know that you are less than pleased over this arrangement Dryston, do not think I am fooled.” I drawl as I circle him.

His gaze lifts from the floor, pinning me, “Oh your Majesty, I was not under the assumption that I was fooling you. I wasn’t even trying.” He snips at me watching me as I pace languidly around him.

“Hmm yes, well whether you are pleased or not in a weeks’ time you shall be mine and only mine.” I come to a halt in front of him, feeling a wave of pleasure pool in my stomach as his eyes stare up at me defiantly. “You do understand the order of things in my house do you not?” I ask carefully.

“If you are referring to the infidelity and death, then yes I am familiar.” He quips vapidly, and a jolt of glee shoots through me. Never have any of my previous husbands been so playful, it is quiet arousing.

“Frankly,” I begin stepping forward into Dryston, in turn he glares and takes a step back. We follow this pattern until his back comes against the wall and he has nowhere else to go. He glares up at me as I push my body forwards reaching up to stroke his cheek, “There is no reason for you to betray me….I can assure you I am…….  VERY satisfying.” With these words I press my awakened manhood against his front and a flutter of delight goes through my chest at the sound of his sharp inhale. His eyes dart down to my nether regions fearfully as I press myself against his stomach. The feeling of my cock stuck between our bodies is pleasurable and I find myself leaning forward to nip at his flesh. In attempt to escape he leans his head backwards with a very sharp objection.

“Your Majesty, It is not appropriate to have such interactions before we are wed, I will have to ask you to step away.” His voice is so demanding, and yet I relish the sight of his blush crawling up his neck. He is correct, it is not appropriate to touch him in such ways before we are married. No matter how greatly I desire to rip off his clothes in this moment and slam him against the window taking him right here and now I must not. Slowly I back away, catching the path of his eyes as they dart down to glance at my semi-erect manhood within my pants. His crystal blues widen with terror and I smirk inside my head. I am not yet fully aroused either, but if he knew that he might try to escape before the wedding, and we cannot have that.

“Very well, but be prepared for our wedding night Dryston. I am certain I will be.” And with that I turn on my heels marching to the door, before I exit however I say one last thing. “Do not betray me boy or you will pay the consequences.” Then I slam the door and make my way down the steps.

“I will prepare everything for the wedding, and in a week I expect to see you and your son in the castle.” I address Drystons parents as I march towards the door. The finality in my voice has both of them nodding obediently and before they can say another word I am exiting the small bakery on my way to plan my next and with any luck final betrothal.