by Luca Rossi
“So, Milia. I imagine it's a nice change of pace to sit comfortably while someone else serves you something to drink,” she provoked her, sipping from her cup.
“Not quite, my lady. Despite my new position, I'm still forced to do what others tell me to do. You know I didn't come here by my own choice.”
What a personality this one has! “Yes, well, pleasing our king in bed is certainly not the same thing as cleaning the houses of other people.”
Milia looked away, and Aleia noticed a hint of deep sorrow.
“Before...I had hope,” she confessed absentmindedly.
So that's what it's about! “Oh, I understand. Listen girl, whatever that little hope was about, you'd be best to forget about it now that you're here. If the king ever becomes the slightest bit suspicious that you're not fully concentrated on your duties, and should he then find out why, the only thing you'll be able to hope for is death or escape. And, as you may already know, around here those two things are one and the same.”
A tear fell down the fair skin of Milia's face.
“Oh, come on! He's your king, after all. Don't think you're the first to leave a broken heart in your wake. Why worry about a few hateful stares directed towards the royal apartments from the hovels below?”
Milia answered by glaring at her, full of rage and obstinacy.
At least she managed to stop crying. She must think she's better than all of us. Let's see if that proves to be true!
“Milia, over time, you'll come to understand that although things around the palace might seem a little strange, it's so much nicer to live here than anywhere else outside of these walls. And – oh, silly me! I forgot my shawl on my bed. Would you please go get it for me?”
Milia nodded and got up, then paused. She glanced over at the bed, at the end of which laid the black garment the woman had asked her for.
She gave her an annoyed look, to which Aleia responded with a wide smile. Milia finally got up and strode over to retrieve the shawl, then dropped it brusquely into Aleia's lap. The first wife thanked her politely.
“You'll find out that being the king's wife entails a few responsibilities, as well as a world of pleasure. It's up to you to figure out how to behave, what to pay attention to, and how to best enjoy what your enviable position can offer.”
Rather than reply, Milia stared out the window, distracted, although Aleia didn't quite understand that was an expression of indifference.
“I don't think I slept well at all last night. Would you be so kind as to relieve my shoulders with a nice little massage from your young little hands?”
Milia looked at her, perplexed. “What hurts?”
“Just a little pain here.” She pointed to the top of her right shoulder.
“Maybe a healer would be better for that, don't you think?” Milia retorted.
“Oh no, I don't like them very much. And besides, I'm absolutely curious to discover the charms hidden within the touch of your hands.”
Milia, with a slight snort, stood up and walked behind Aleia, a grim expression spreading over her face.
Much to Aleia's surprise, Milia began massaging her with extraordinary grace. Her fingertips dove down to the right spot with a firm, yet elegant, movement. Although she didn't really have any pains that needed to be tended to, she felt extremely pleasant sensations.
Milia's hands traveled up Aleia's neck, alternating gentle touches from her fingertips with pressure of varying intensity, even using her palms and her elbows.
Aleia was in ecstasy. She closed her eyes, letting herself get carried away with those superb caresses and, without realizing it, moaned with pleasure until the pressure, after slowly decreasing, finally came to a complete stop.
The woman opened her eyes, coming back down to earth. She realized Milia was still behind her. Why did she stop? She loved being massaged. “Everything alright, Milia?”
“Yes, of course. And you, do you feel better?”
“Oh...you have such a divine touch. I imagine you've gotten a lot of practice in the past. Are you tired?”
“I get the impression that your pain has gone away.”
“Indeed, it's almost all gone. However, I'm sure that if you continued, you'd help prevent it from coming back in the future.”
Milia walked confidently in front of the first wife, her eyes furious, her arms crossed. “Pardon me. I'm well aware of your position in the palace. Recall, however, that now I, too, am one of the king's wives. And I would appreciate it if you didn't confuse me with one of your maids.”
Aleia, witnessing the young woman's outburst, felt a secret sense of victory. It had taken so little to get that sort of reaction out of her. Alright, we shall do what must be done. Allow me to take the opportunity to teach this little tart how things work around her. Bending, molding, educating the wives, granting every one of them the position she deserved, governing over them: this was the real work of the true queen of the palace.
“My dear, young wife of our beloved king Beanor, ruler of Isk, perhaps you still haven't realized that it is I who governs the royal palace. This is my domain. You do what I tell you to do. I make every decision regarding everything within these walls: from receptions to kitchens, from parties to ceremonies, from governing the king's young wives to everything that concerns his pleasure. I decide, I arrange, I decree, and I administer. It's a duty that I would happily go without, but I know that I have to do it in order to relieve the king from concerns that are not worthy of his attention.”
She wasn't asking any questions. She could have been more subtle, but she rarely found herself in the presence of such a rebellious creature. Perhaps transforming from servant girl to the king's favorite toy had already gone to the impudent maid's head.
Milia didn't let up: “I'm happy that you do so much for our own good, but I'd like to remind you that I'm the one who sleeps under the royal sheets now. And the king seems to have a character that is, all in all, very easy to influence when requests are made at particularly strategic moments of intimate encounters.”
The girl seems to have understood quite a bit in just a short time.
“And so?” the first wife asked, provocatively.
“And so I don't want to be another one of your slaves, since you already have plenty, official and otherwise!”
Aleia smiled. It had been a while since she found herself in such a situation. Finally, an amusing diversion, a task that would be especially satisfying to fulfill.
As she opened her mouth to speak, the door suddenly flew open. King Beanor, his chest bare, wearing only pants and boots, burst into the room: “Aleia, please, remind me what type of – oh!” he exclaimed, realizing Milia was there. “Your servant told me you were here. I didn't realize you had company. Well, I'm delighted that you're getting to know one another,” he commented, intrigued to see his first wife sitting comfortably and his new wife standing, her arms crossed, in front of her, with an expression that didn't seem all that pleasant.
Milia answered with a low curtsy as Aleia kept her seat: “Your Majesty, I believe I've asked you for several decades now to kindly knock before rudely barging into my bedroom.”
Beanor, confused and wary, understood something wasn't right: “Yes, that's true.”
“Now, your young wife was actually demonstrating just how skilled a masseuse she is. She really does have a magic touch! We were working on her technique so that, one of these evenings, she might be good enough for the royal appendages.”
A few provocative images flashed through Beanor's mind, exciting him immediately as his member began to rise. He had come in at just the right time. His eyes shone with an immoderate interest: “Excellent. That sounds like a fine idea to me.”
“Absolutely, your Majesty. Milia has an uncanny talent, something we have never before seen in this palace.”
Aleia, aware that she had the king's entire attention, smiled, satisfied.
Beanor was already ravenous. He wondered if it would be possible to
call the advisor and postpone the imminent formal engagements. “I want to try it right away!”
“Oh no,” Aleia retorted. “The girl isn't ready yet. We need to refine her technique. After working through her shoulder technique, we were going to start on the foot massage.”
“Actually, your Highness, I believe I'm already prepared to devote myself to you,” Milia butted in.
Beanor looked at his first wife: calm, relaxed, smiling, sure of herself. The expression of the other woman, however, was incomprehensible to him, but he knew that younger women were always a little moody. In any case, Aleia never made mistakes and, if she thought there was still a need to refine her technique, then Beanor had no desire to contradict her.
The king's mind wandered off through images of pure delight. He didn't know what he'd do without that woman, Aleia. In theory, she was only a wife, and had been for a long time. Many others had charms, or beauty, or young bodies that she no longer had, but she possessed something none of the others had, and Beanor was well aware that without the perverse preparations of Aleia, it would take weeks, if not months, to ensure the education of the young wives himself. But he was impatient by nature and Aleia, despite everything, was able to give him exactly what he wanted within the right amount of time. Moreover, because of her, he didn't have to worry about little details. Yes, Aleia was a true queen, and if she asked for privileges that were not theoretically hers in return, he was fine with that. As it was, in some cases, he was more than happy with that.
“His Majesty's appendages,” the first wife continued, “are very precious and sensitive. You're lucky to be able to practice on me: when it's time for you to gladden him with these splendid massages, my corrections will help you to avoid exerting pressure which, from time to time, still feels somewhat rough. Sire, watch with your own eyes what an enthusiastic student Milia is.”
Aleia's eyes moved from the king's face to the face of the young wife. With the eldest wife’s eyelids slightly closed, her makeup gave her an even more wicked expression, as the pupils, shining through the slits, appeared to feed off the emotions of the girl standing before her.
“Come forward, Milia. Give our king a little demonstration of your graces. Please, continue. Don't be shy – you can massage me in front of His Majesty, even if there are some other matters best kept between women, not at all appropriate for his ears.”
A raging glare in Milia's eyes ignited, then immediately disappeared. She knelt down at the feet of the first wife, who was still wearing her black open flats with leather laces that climbed up over her ankles.
Milia subserviently undid the knot and slid down the laces, removing the shoe from the queen's foot.
Aleia thoroughly enjoyed reminding the girl of her servant status, in front of the king, at that. Her eyes freely expressed the emotions she felt in that moment.
Beanor was deeply conflicted. Merely the image of those two splendid women, one fascinating and intriguing, the other young and gorgeous, one at the feet of the other, was making him forget about his official engagements. In the end, he was the king, and it was right that he enjoyed the pleasures reserved for his position every once in a while.
His erection was so hard that it hurt as it pressed against his pants. He noticed how his first wife looked at it, pleased, out of the corner of her eyes, and he took a few steps towards the two women, openly stroking himself. Milia, who had been massaging the queen's feet with great care and attention, looked up, surprised.
After dawdling a little, Beanor started to undo his pants, but a knock at the door broke the spell the king had been under.
It was Tuirl: “Your Majesty, our guests have requested your presence. They've already been waiting quite a long time.”
Beanor greedily looked at his two wives and admonished them, unable to take his eyes off that splendid vision: “Continue your lesson. As soon as I come back, ladies, I want to find you exactly how I left you.”
Victory! Aleia imagined the king coming back to find the servant already dead tired, incapable of the vigorous physical activity that could only satisfy the king's desires. She, on the other hand, after that long, relaxing massage, would be happy to show Beanor once again that no wife compared to her.
36
The priestess Miril stood in the doorway of the Temple. The enormous, dark wooden doors loomed over her slender silhouette. The cold air rushed into the foyer like an army hellbent on conquering new territory. Miril, covered by her light azure robe, her hair woven in a chestnut braid that trailed down her back, didn't seem to notice.
Lil walked past the atrium, heading towards the rooms tucked deep inside the Temple, where she would begin the ritual preparations.
“Come here,” Miril invited her, without turning around.
Lil joined her on the doorstep.
“It's such a beautiful day. How unfortunate that we're unable to take a pleasant stroll together through the woods!” the priestess said. Lil detected a mixture of hope and sadness in her voice, but didn't reply.
“But now we must leave. I'm afraid it's the only solution.”
The priestess's words shocked Lil.
“Miril, where do you want to go?”
“To wherever the new branch of time was created.”
Lil still didn't understand the strange theory about branches of time, nor had she noticed any of the transparent visions Miril had reported. Yet she couldn't deny the fact that it was hard to explain why the dead bodies had disappeared. She still had an unshakable faith in the woman who guided her, although all this talk of time travel seemed equally absurd and impossible to her. “Miril, do you think that's possible?” she asked politely.
“Our ancestors left us a few scrolls that could provide some useful indications. It'll take a lot of preparation, and we're not guaranteed to finish the process in time, but I spent all last night trying to think up an alternative solution and, quite honestly, I don't think there are any.”
A plethora of questions flooded through Lil's mind. There was so much she wanted to know, she couldn't decide what to ask first. She forgot all about the cold air blowing in her face. Instead, her racing heartbeat overwhelmed her, warming her from inside.
“And once we're there, what will we do?”
“I don't really know, Lil. We have no idea who created the new branch of time, not to mention why they did it. We can assume it was the same person who called forth the shower of stone shards. But until we have some proof, there's little else we can know for sure.”
“But Miril, what will happen to the Temple while we're gone?”
She smiled: “Nothing. As long as we manage to come back, we'll only be gone for a moment or two. From what I've read, if we use the right magical techniques, we can plan the trip so that we leave and come back within the same minute.”
Lil felt her heart was going to jump outside of her chest. She was incredibly frightened. “And what if we don't come back? What if something happens?”
The priestess lifted her hand to the young woman's face and caressed it gently. “Lil, what will happen to us if we don't at least try this final, however extreme, option? Waiting would be riskier than taking action.”
“Yes, but...” Lil wanted to confess that, deep down, she wasn't sure of Miril's explanations, but she didn't have the courage to say so.
“Yes, I'm certain what I told you is true,” Miril responded to Lil's unexpressed thoughts.
I need to practice shielding my thoughts, Lil reflected.
Come here, Miril urged her, hugging her. “We'll make it, you'll see,” she whispered.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement at the edge of the forest. She turned around to get a better look, but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. The same thought came to both of their minds at the same time.
Miril was brave enough to bring up the subject: “Yes, I think he should come with us.”
Bashinoir didn't seem to have fully recovered after the massacre. Perhaps spending
so much time alone, with difficult tasks to perform, was simply too much for him. Lil felt he was growing more distant, more defeated every day, but she was convinced he just needed time to accept such a massive loss, not to mention the loss of his wife's company. Sometimes she was tempted to delve more deeply into his worries, to sort through his thoughts, but her ethics prevented her from doing so. Telepathy was traditionally allowed among the priest class, as all of the members had to act with a single mind. Beyond that, the ancestors had established limits, out of respect for privacy. Lil was still concerned and even hurt by her husband's distance. He had built an insurmountable wall, behind which he hid from her and the priestess.
Miril continued: “We can't ask him to stay here alone, nor can we just leave without saying a word. If we don't come back, it would be far too cruel to have disappeared without telling him anything. We really don't know what we're going to find, and the support of a man could be crucial.”
Lil could hardly fathom the idea of leaving the island where she had always lived, much less traveling to another time entirely. The unknown, the danger, the theory of the branches of time: everything whirled around her mind as total confusion set in. But one question in particular weighed upon her heart: “Miril, do you know where to go?”
The priestess smiled at her, even more tenderly than usual. “No. We'll have to figure that out together. From what I've read, this requires a very long and complicated process of intense preparation. I have no idea how we'll be able to continue with the rituals, your training, and this new task, all at the same time. I'm afraid we'll often have to work through most of the night, and this may very well weaken our ability to concentrate.
“Now, there are magical techniques we can use to climb up our branch of time until we reach the point where we sense the divergence from the new branch. In that spot, the frequencies should be different. We'll have to use the techniques described in the ancient texts to figure out the appropriate solution. It'll be like traveling up a river, looking for a tributary with a different color of water – a different color that comes from flowing over a different type of earth.