The Nun and King

Chapter 4

The mid afternoon sun beats down on my bare back and I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow. The farther south we go, the higher the temperatures climb. "And we haven't even made it to Dafoe," I think as images of the sticky swampland form at the forefront of my mind.

Over the past week on our travels, I feel as if we've done nothing but eat, sleep, and ride. Only once did we get come across a town, and while visiting only half of the men took the opportunity to bathe while the others chose the tavern instead—Rory included.

The devil himself rides up beside me, holding out his water skin. "Want a swig?" he asks from atop of his horse. Leaning over, I take it from his hands and drink deeply before passing it back and looking him over. His dark sticks to his forehead while perspiration causes his thin linen shirt to cling to his toned torso. His boots are carelessly on his feet, not even fully laced while the cuffs of his trousers are cuffed up to his calves.

Looking over my shoulder, I see that the majority of the men seem to be dressed similarly, some shirtless like myself. Normally, I wouldn't allow my men to look like so disheveled as they represent Paevia, but given the sweltering heat I'll allow it. Besides, I myself am half dressed.

Still navigating through a sparse forest, I have to command my horse to step over a large fallen branch. When she obeys without hesitation, I praise her with a nice pat on her neck.

"Do you think father has given up on me when it comes to settling down?" he asks me, and I know the question stems from our previous night's conversation about still wrapping our heads around Crispin being not only married but a father as well. Being the youngest—and a womanizer—the idea was farfetched.

Sighing, I give my shoulder a shrug. "Perhaps," I say, "He seems to have hope for the both of us though ever since Cora though."

Rory leans to the right, ducking around a large plant with prickly red thorns. "Why do you think he never tried to marry you off to King Fredrick's daughter?" he asks.

"I could think of many reasons," I snort. Thinking back to the time our fathers were contemplating our arranged married—they both had travel across the lands to visit until a decision was made—I got to know princess Portia quite well. When she wasn't bothering me 24/7 asking me to hand pick flowers, buy her new dresses, or take her on long walks around the country side she was busy barking orders at her servants and scolding them for the most minor inconvenience.

"My soup is too hot, blow on it!"

"Tommy, I want some fresh roses for my bedroom."

"Excuse me, but you will not be shinning my heels with dirty fingernails, go clean them this instant!"

"Thomas, you are to be at my room at eight o'clock sharp tonight. We are going to be looking at the stars in the court yard. Don't be late handsome."

"How dare you pick out this color of dress for me to wear today? You know it doesn't compliment my complexion! Imbecile!"

"Tom, I want you to be wearing something blue on our wedding day so it will match my eyes."

I shuddered at the thought and went to my father's quarters that night begging him to not make me marry her. He threw a few balls here and there inviting other noble women and duchesses hoping one would catch my eye, but in truth most were quite dull. Hardly any understood my humor, and when they did laugh it was forced in hopes that it would make me more interested.

Sure most if not all were beautiful, but looks does not automatically make you a good prospect for a queen.

Being that the last soirée was a few short months after Crispin and Cora's wedding two years ago, my father has seemed to finally accept the possibility of me entering sovereignty as a bachelor. The same can't be said for a few members on our court though as every now and then they bring up the issue that I have yet to father any children and will need an air unless I want the crown to be passed down.