The Fall of Marigill (closed for Poprockz)

[draco519]

The Kingdom was in need of salvation.

It was the mantra Avery told himself, time and again, as the healer stitched up his arm. The war had been raging for nigh on a decade at this point, and men had died screaming for a cause they had to believe was just. Avery is a man of twenty and four winters. Dark hair that was neatly tied to the back of his head, but when free? It fell to his shoulders. Sweat glistened on his chest, down his muscular abdomen and into the V-cut leading down into his low riding trousers.

Once the sutures were in place? Avery pulled his tunic and chainmail back on; much to the dismay of the healers. He had to get back to the battle. Regardless of whether they wanted him to or not? He was needed. His brothers were out there, and he’d die alongside them if he had to. He’d not be the reason that his Lady would know the shame of defeat. Not when he could die on his feet; she would not live on her knees.

“Ser Avery! You mustn’t!” The healer’s hand grabbed his shoulder.

Avery’s piercing blue eyes turned back on the healer. “You’re wrong. I must.” And he was gone again. Back to the front lines. To the sounds of violence and crackling thunder as magic spells called a storm down that threatened to split the sky. He took the fallen battle standard of the dead bannerman and carried it proudly, charging back into the fray to rally the retreating men behind him. Swords clashing, a battle cry let loose into the air. He simply had to keep them back; the reinforcements would arrive. They had allies. Surely, someone would come and help them fight off the Kota invaders. They fought, bravely and near to the last man, before the white flag went up over the palace. The horns sounding their defeat.

No.. no it couldn’t be! How could they have lost?!

Avery couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t accept it. The thunder clapped once more as the cheers of the Kota began to drown out the horns. “Not like this, men!” He held up the battle standard once more, but he saw the men he thought of as brothers throwing down their swords. One by one, the clump of metal impacting the mud around him resounded in his ears. This couldn’t be. Did no one know what the Kota would do?! What they would demand of them all? How could they live with themselves in surrender?!

Avery brought the standard up, driving it into the mud next to him to stand on its own and charged forward, not accepting this. No surrendering. No mercy. No quarter given. It wasn’t until he found himself beset on all sides by thick Kota shields, uselessly thrashing his sword against them until he could draw no more breath, until his sword was too heavy to swing again, did a kick to the back of his leg drive him to his knees.

And when he looked up? He saw the one that all dreaded to see.

Orson the Berserker. The dark mane fell down his back, wild and free, at 6’6”, the man was built like a fortress and likely twice as strong. His large axe in his hands. Not known for mercy, a man who enjoyed making an example of his opponents. His eyes narrowed down at Avery, measuring, calculating… And eventually nodded. “You don’t accept the surrender given by your lords?”

Avery’s eyes widened, starting to push through his feet when a blow to the back of his head knocked him out.

 

[draco519]

Three days later…

Orson looked up from his bed, the dead were burned on funeral pyres and the message had arrived from King Graveth near sundown yesterday; the talks happened today. The terms of surrender. Orson rose from between two of his women; a brunette and a redhead. He rolled his head to the side and came to stand, slowly, and went about getting dressed for the occasion. Into his pants of hide and leather, and the boots that kept his feet warm and dry. He pulled on the furs of a kodiak bear over his shoulders, his muscular chest was bared for all to see. The scars of battle upon them, interrupting the growth patterns of his chest hair in places.

Cleaned up, Orson affixed the straps over his chest that kept his furs in place and carried his axe through the gates of Marigill; the golden city. The shining Capital of Durime. Where King Graveth reigned, from what he’d been told, justly and fairly. While the white flags raised through the city granted them safe passage? Orson still held in his hand the chain that was attached to the shackles of their greatest hero; Avery. A man Knighted in service to the crown. Who had felled many of his own men; collected more than his share of blood feuds and oaths of revenge from the Kota during the war.

But war was a cruel business; it never ended without suffering on both sides. Perhaps, now, Graveth would see the error of his belief that he held an ancient claim on Kota lands. He would relinquish them; and so much more. Row after row of soldiers stood along the main road through the city, surrendering their weapons and armor to his men that were collecting them in carts to be taken away. Along with a stipend from the people in exchange for their homes not to be raided. Gold, grain, smoked meats, furs, as much of it as they could carry on their ships to get back to Kota lands. For his people to prosper once more.

In the Grand Hall, Graveth sat upon his throne. If this was his day to die? He’d do so well dressed. His distinguished beard was neatly trimmed and a crown of gold and jewels adorned his head. The finest silks he owned. The noble families were in attendance, but no one expected what came through the doors. The rattling chains behind Orson the Strong, Orson the terrible, Orson the Berserker.

Ser Avery did his best to hold his head high as the clamoring whispers of the noble families saw him in such a sorry state. He’d been treated well enough, unmolested and without lingering injuries, but sleeping on the hard ground certainly didn’t agree with him when he’d been used to having a bed in the palace.

“Ser Avery. You live.” King Graveth said. “I’d heard we never recovered a body. It lifts heart to see you such.” He looked to Orson, warily.

Ser Avery was the strongest son of Marigill. The warrior that had held the Kota back since he was old enough to hold a sword. The man that had caught the favor of many noble families to marry their daughters. Yet he never had. And, now here he was, shackled and shamed, in utter defeat, all he could do was get to his knees before his King. “I have failed, your Highness.” His voice was still dignified, even in disgrace.

“He lives.” Orson looked up from Avery to Graveth. “I’m told you have terms?”

King Graveth took a deep breath. Even enemies could show respect. “Orson the Terrible. It’s my understanding that you wish for me to renounce my ancient claim on your lands. I’m happy to do so; in return for you and your people leaving my lands in peace. An Armistice between our peoples; and the release of Ser Avery and whomever else remain your hostages.”

Orson rolled his tongue in his cheek.. Then he looked down to Ser Avery and reached down to grab him by the back of the neck. “Get up.”

Avery was pulled up, whether his King bade him or not, there wasn’t much he could do.

Orson brought his attention back to the King. “Am I here to negotiate with an empty belly and no ale?” He looked among the court. “What’s happened to this fabled hospitality of the golden city I've heard so much about?” He grinned, forcing their hands in the matter. He looked back to Graveth with a twinkle in his eye. This should be fun.

“Ale and food.” Graveth looked to one of the servants.

“And music and women!” Orson insisted further. “I’ve heard so much about the way Durmian women dance. I’d love to see myself.”

Graveth took a deep breath.. “Ale and women.” He said, his patience being pushed. He’d surrendered to negotiate, not to be humiliated.

“Tobacco?” Orson said, his grip tightening on Avery’s chain.

“Tobacco.”

–

Some time later...
Marigill - Great Hall

The celebration was underway, Orson sat next to King Graveth at the table with a few of his warlords, watching the way the women moved in their silks. Every plate they brought him? Every time they poured his ale? Orson dragged Avery closer, making the man taste it for poisons. When the man didn’t fall dead? He loosened his grip on his axe that leaned up next to him at the table before he’d shove Avery away again.

“War has cost us much.” King Graveth’s words were in a grim tone. “You can’t tell me it has been easy on your people. You’ve been on our shores for three winters.”

“It’s true.” Orson didn’t deny it, biting into the cornish hen on his plate. “But it’s been far easier than your Barons and Dukes traveling to my lands demanding to bless marriages with what they believe are their more deserving, noble cocks. Or sought to collect taxes their fathers wouldn’t dare ask for.” Orson sucked a bit of juice off of his fingers, then looked over to Graveth. “Each price we’ve paid? Each life lost? We’ve done so gladly. Can you say the same?”

Graveth clenched his teeth together. Some of the heads of those noblemen had come back in baskets. Not all, but some. “What will it take” His voice was low. “To get you fucking savages out of my Kingdom?”

“I want more assurance than words on paper. This.. armistice? Treaty? It needs to be more binding.” Orson looked over the great hall. To the dancing women. “For all your people have suffered at my hand? Mine have suffered tenfold at yours.” He took a drink of his ale, watching the hips saunter and he looked over to Graveth. “I want a Queen. A Durimi Queen. I hear she's quite the lovely dancer herself.”

Graveth’s eyes widened in horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“My lands are recognized as mine; and my Queen would guarantee it.” Orson was, in fact, deathly serious. He spoke with conviction when he said it.

“My daughter is the only child I have-”

“We both know that’s not true.” Orson rattled Avery’s chain for emphasis. “Clever, to raise him to be a Knight. To prepare your bastard to take the throne one day with the respect of his people. They’d swear allegiance and follow him once the details of his birth were revealed.”

Graveth wasn’t a man easily unsettled. How could Orson know?! How many spies did the berserker King have in Marigill?!

“Decide, King.” Orson looked back to the dancers. “Before I bore of toying with your hero.”

 

[Poprockz]

One of the servants bringing wine and ale brought a tray of empty plates from the table back to the kitchens. It was set on one of the counters before the serving garb was shed and a plain dress replaced it. The mousy, brown-haired woman hurried away down the hallways until she reached her destination: Princess Dremara's room. A polite nod was given to the guards nearby, some of which were Graveth's and some of which were Orson's. Both had the common goal of keeping the princess in her room, though likely for entirely different reasons. The atmosphere was rather tense and cold, none of the men enjoying spending time there while negotiations were taking place.

Orson's guards checked her to make sure she wasn't carrying poison or weapons, and when she was deemed acceptable she let herself into the princess's room.

"My Princess, I'm afraid there isn't much time." She started quickly but quietly. "We need to get you out of the city by any means necessary. The blood-soaked king is going to demand to take you back to his lands- I heard it myself!"

Princess Dremara, the had been leaning against the frame of her balcony door with her arms folded, looking out from her high room, her waist-long locks stirring gently whenever a breeze saw fit to visit her. When her handmaid had spoken though, she turned to look at her with her golden eyes. It was a trait that women in the royal bloodline carried: golden eyes and hair, some saying that it was a physical manifestation of their power and worth. She was wearing a long, deep-violet dress and a golden tiara upon her head. Many men at court had lust on their mind when they thought of the princess, what with her large breasts, charming visage, and pleasing voice, but many forgot that she was also a clever woman who had been instructed since birth on becoming the next Queen of this kingdom. She was the only heir, so of course it would fall to her.

"We will do no such thing," she replied with a shake of her head. "Instead, would you mind bringing me a glass of wine?"

The maid looked shocked at this reply, rushing over to her and grabbing her by the sides of her upper arms. "You don't understand, Princess. That man wants to take you from us! Who knows what will befall you if we allow him an opportunity to do so!"

Dremara's lips pressed into a thin line before she spoke. "It is my duty as the Princess of this kingdom to follow my King's orders if he deems it necessary."

At this point the handmaiden had tears in her eyes and she squeezed the other girl. "I'm afraid for you my lady... Please. Please let me try to get you away from here. Aren't you frightened? Don't you want to escape?"

It was then that the Princess's aloof demeanor cracked and her lip trembled slightly. "Of course I'm afraid," she whispered. "Of course I want to escape. I want to leave from here and disappear where he cannot find me until he leaves these shores. But what of the consequences? So much blood has been shed already; how much more would be shed if I were to flee? I would not be able to live with myself if the blood on my hands came about as a result of me abandoning my people."

She reached up and gently wiped a tear from her handmaiden's face even as a few of her own fell. "There is always a price for peace."

It sounded quite mature coming out of her mouth for a girl only 19 years of age, she thought, and she did truly believe what she was saying. However, it didn't stop her from feeling like a little girl in a dark room, waiting for a monster to come slithering out from under her bed. That was what bravery was, she supposed. It was the ability to choose to do the right thing regardless of how terrified one might be.

 

[draco519]

Later that night….

The treaty signing was at first light. His daughter would be leaving. But his son would live… and stay. It was a terrible predicament to be in. How could he be asked to trade one child for another? King Graveth was in shambles; a wreck of the man as he watched Orson’s men loading up cart after cart for their ships. Other enemies would see this weakness. He knew it. They’d come and if Orson didn’t take Dremara? Someone else would. It was almost too much to bear. He hoped that, with his late wife on the shores of the after? She wasn’t watching what had befallen their beloved homeland.

Wine in hand, Graveth drank down the last of it and stepped forward to Princess Dremara’s room. Orson’s guards took the cup, and checked him for any weapons or anything he could give the Princess to harm their King. Or prevent him from harming their Queen to be. Or whatever it was they did. Perhaps these Kota bastards simply enjoyed being as intrusive as possible. Eventually, the handmaiden opened the door and said that Dremara was decent.

Stepping into the room, King Graveth saw his beloved daughter there. Her golden hair and matching eyes. The spitting image of her mother not twenty winters ago. A girl too young to lose a mother. A father too young to lose a daughter. Especially like this. They’d been in talks to find her a proper husband. All his hopes for the future died on the field with more than two thirds of his standing army. His people had suffered many indignities; and now here he was. Facing the ultimate indignity.

Yes, his daughter also stood in the face of many things. But she wasn’t responsible for her protection. Her safety. He was. It was his sacred duty as a father. As a King. And he’d failed her. He didn’t know what sort of husband this Orson the Terrible would be. He knew so little about the man other than the tales of what he could accomplish on the battlefield. How no shield protected you from his axe, no sword pierced his gut. Graveth moistened his lips with his tongue, realizing, in that instant, that he’d been frozen in place.

“Dremara.” He collected himself, holding his head high. “I wanted you to hear, straight from myself.. That Orson of the Kota has demanded your hand in marriage in the terms of our surrender.”

They could have fought to the last man. But the Kota, by now, would’ve torn through the castle and burned the entire city to the ground. They’d sent writers two moons ago and no allied forces had arrived to stand against the Kota. Truly, they’d been alone. And it had been their doom.

He stepped forward again, moving to embrace his daughter. To take her into his arms and hug her. Not as her King, but as the father who worried for her. “It was my duty to find you a husband that would show you kindness, my child. Who would respect you and treat you as the noble lady of the highest bloodline that you are…” He did his level best, then, to be as strong as she was. Like her mother had taught her to be.

“It is my hope, my daughter… that I haven’t failed in that regard. That he knows, truly, what he has.”

 

[Poprockz]

His daughter didn't rebuke him, allowing him to pull her into a hug that may well be their last. She wrapped her own arms around him and laid her head on his chest as he spoke the words she already knew were coming. Even if her handmaiden hadn't warned her of this outcome, it didn't take a genius to guess what might have happened based on his defeated posture. There were few things that could reduce a proud, strong king from his usually confident self, and losing a daughter was one of them.

He was a good man, her father. She had always looked up to him because he faced things head-on. He could have sent a messenger to her or hid from her out of shame, but here he was telling her the difficult news because it was the right thing to do. Just as it had been the right but difficult thing to do to accept King Orson's proposal. Dremara knew he would never have suggested such a thing himself in negotiations, and only in the most bitter of defeats would he relinquish that which he treasured.

"You raised me to be resilient. Whatever lies in wait for me across the sea, I will do my best to weather. And perhaps I will find my own happiness in my own way. I will... miss you dearly though, father," it was at that point that she started to cry. Oh how she had tried to hold back her tears, to not burden him with her sorrow, but as she felt the familiar warmth of his arms she couldn't help but lose the control she had so desperately tried to keep.

His embrace only became more snug, as though he could keep her safe simply by holding her against him. "I will miss you as well, my crownflower." The King's voice sounded tight, as though he too was struggling to keep himself in check. "Your mother would be so proud of the woman you have become, just as I am so proud and grateful to have had you as my daughter."

She sniffled and wiped her cheeks on the fabric of his chest. "Thank you. And please don't think you have failed me... This was the only way things could have ended without a more brutal end to this war."

There was a pause before she sniffled again and lifted her eyes in concern. "What will you do? I am your only heir. How will the kingdom continue if you ever were to fall?"

At that the King had an unreadable expression for a moment before he sighed and cast his eyes away. "I have another heir. It is a secret I have kept for many years. It is... Sir Avery." When their gaze met again, it almost seemed as though he was pleading that she would forgive him for this.

Dremara was in shock at this news though. All this time though, he had kept her brother hidden even from herself. All these years she had been trained in court politics and etiquette, in diplomacy and kingdom-management. And in all this time it was possible that he had never intended for her to take her place as Queen. Sir Avery was older than herself, and though he might be a bastard, he was still the first-born with a very good reputation. It wouldn't have been difficult for him to be appointed the next King, especially if her father had publicly announced his support.

What would have become of her had the war not happened? What had he intended to do once the war was over? How had he lied to her for so many years without her catching on? Did she want answers to these questions...

No.

She would deal with this grief at a later time. One person could only mourn so much, and she was already mourning the loss of her father, her kingdom, and her friends.

Instead, Dremara simply nodded, the two of them embracing for a while longer before it was time for them to part.

The next few hours were spent packing. As the signing of such an important treaty required a painstaking process of writing, revision, and further scrutiny, it was going to be an all-night affair for all the scribes that were currently available. She had been instructed to pack four chests of belongings, and so she had to be discerning about which garments and more personal belongings were taken. A suitable amount of clothing was packed, as well as some of her favorite jewelry, coats, and shoes. It was said that the weather was colder over the sea, so she hoped that her coats weren't too light.

She was also allowed one handmaiden to bring, so of course she chose her closest: Nettie. This was the handmaiden who had tried to warn her of her fate. They had been together since they were children, starting out as playmates while her mother attended to the Princess, and thus she couldn't bear to be parted from her. Though she did give her a choice. It would have been unfair to force her to leave behind her homeland for her own sake, so she asked her whether she wanted to come or stay.

Her maid had immediately agreed to leave with her, stating that she wasn't about to let her go with any old handmaiden. They were friends- and they needed to stay together. It was another tearful exchange, and by the time she laid her head down to sleep, she felt utterly drained. Too drained to fear what the morning would bring.

 

[draco519]

The following morning…

The great hall was lined with Kota soldiers. Almost exclusively. There were a few Durimi troops in the halls to guard the King as the scribes compared the documents. In triplicate. They had to be exactly matching. The supplies on the carts had been inventoried, and had left the gates of the city to head out ahead of the King. The princess had been given instructions. She could bring a handmaiden of her choosing; and four chests. Which was rather generous. Most princesses only traveled with two. But Orson didn’t see fit to deny the woman that would be his queen her baubles and favorite dresses.

“This day comes at great cost.” Graveth addressed the gathered nobility. “But it also comes with an offer of peace.. And no small amount of hope.” He turned to Orson. “It’s my hope that our peoples can open up trade between us, Orson of the Kota. And with the signing of this treaty, we hereby relinquish any claims to your territories and the taxes and levies therein. Now and forevermore. Until the end of time? The Whitecaps belong to the Kota.”

The Whitecaps. The Highland ranges and mountains that now belong to the Kota people. Colder than Marigill, for certain. But Orson was glad to be the one to make a Durimi King say such words. His people cheered and he nodded his head solemnly. He had little to offer; and he couldn’t appear weak before his people. Lest the challenges start now. He could be gracious and not boast long enough for such a binding treaty to be signed. Then he’d be off with his new bride and spoils and head home. Where the real ale and fun was. Where a man could hunt in genuine cold. Not these cool mornings. It was with a bit of pride that he dipped the quill into the ink and signed the three copies. And when Graveth did the same? There was an air through the hall. King Graveth had just signed Princess Dremara away! How could he?

And in exchange for a Knight?! Avery still couldn’t believe his ears. Had he heard right? Was he the son of Graveth? All these years? It was the only explanation! He, at the tourneys himself, had watched the Princess. He’d asked for her favors more than once before his bouts or his joust. Part of him was sickened at the thought. His half sister? Truly? But if she was his sister.. Did he not have a duty, as King once his time came, to not retrieve her from the Kota?

Yet, in his shackles, he watched his… father.. King Graveth… sign away any and all rights for him to do just that. To do so anyway would be seen as an unjust war. It would lower him in the eyes of neighboring Kings. And his people, his fighting force, might not be fit to do so again in his lifetime. Their armies were absolutely decimated.

With the treaties signed, and the crowd finishing their unenthused applause, King Graveth looked to his guards. “Retrieve Ser Aver-”

“My bride?” Orson said, Avery’s chain still in his hands, his own men coming between Orson and Avery and the guards. “Let’s not be entirely too hasty, good King Graveth. Treaties might be signed, but let’s not pretend we trust one another.”

Graveth bit his cheek. He didn’t have the men necessary to pull any sort of act of defiance; surely Orson knew that. But, again, without a choice? He looked to the servant near the doors. “Send the Princess in.” He brought a severe gaze back over to Orson. “I expect her to be treated well.”

Orson cocked an eyebrow at King Graveth, almost as though the man believed a defeated King ought not make any demands of him. Still.. He smirked. Perhaps the man had some care for the girl, after all. Orson was a man of twenty and eight winters. He understood he had some experience on this girl, a few lovers ahead of her. She was supposedly a vision. Still… Orson’s lip cocked to the side in a smirk. “She'll be Queen of the Kota.”

When the court crier announced the arrival of the Princess, everyone stood and turned to face the main doors.

 

[Poprockz]

Princess Dremara stepped into the room in a mustard-yellow dress of the highest quality with accents of red. Her posture was straight and dignified as she moved forward toward the attendants. All eyes followed her. Some were secretly relieved that she was leaving, having hated having the beauty as competition for the eligible noblemen of the court. Though the majority of the gathered nobles simply watched her with sorrow or pity. She had been well-liked, being viewed as a level-headed woman who treated those around her with respect and grace.

Her eyes lingered on Sir Avery as she passed him, and he was given a small, sad smile. He had always been an exemplary man, and at one point she had even nurtured a small infatuation. Their father's blood ran through each of their veins though, so perhaps it was just as well that nothing had come of it. He would require a more experienced adviser, but on the whole she was thought that he would likely be a good King.

The time for heartfelt goodbyes was over- they had set with the sun and now it was the time for a new day, a new introduction. No matter how cold the morning would be, she would greet it with dignity.

Once she reached them, she bowed her head for Orson and laid her hand diagonally across her chest near her heart as was custom for a foreign ruler. At the same time, her opposite hand pinched her skirts and lifted them slightly to allow for a curtsy. “I greet you, King Orson of the Kota people. Though the war has been lost by us, it is my hope that while victory was not what was won by us, an age of peace will have been won instead.”

Though her words were said politely, her eyes were like two gold coins that had been left in the snow: cold and devoid of affection.

 

[draco519]

Orson watched the sad smile of this dignified Lady over at Avery. The man was a fine warrior, and won a begrudging amount of respect from the Kota fighting men. It would be difficult, for many winters to come after Avery was made King, to keep his Generals from declaring blood feuds against him for some son or father the man had cut down. But the time to move forward had come. Time and tide waited for no man. And no Princess. He looked over to Nettie, the handmaiden, as he leaned down for his own servant to whisper in his ear. The Princess’s things had been loaded onto a cart, and her carriage awaited her to take her to the docks where their ship waited.

Though Dremara was, surprisingly, curtsying to him and he bowed his head in response. The Kota were a far less formal people, but he didn’t disregard her courtesy. Far from it. The Kota were a martial people; where certain mannerisms would see a man challenged to a fight to the death. Orson himself had become the leader of his people by such a challenge. He was the strongest of them all. Though his eyes studied this Princess in her elegant gown; and she most certainly did not disappoint. Child bearing hips, well endowed chest. Full lips. The golden eyes and hair that people sang songs about. A blessing from the gods, were he guessing.

“You honor me, Princess.” He hadn’t been expecting that, genuinely. Though the look in her eyes held no affection; and he didn’t expect her to. It wasn’t as though they’d been courting from afar when she learned of her sudden betrothal. It was time, though. Rather than drag it out any further? He dropped the chain that held Avery and reached for the key that hung on a ring from his belt. Turning, he took Avery’s wrists to unshackle them.

Avery looked past Orson to Dremara. A sister? A sister that this man, his mortal enemy.. Was taking from them? He felt one wrist come loose. And his eyes moved to the knife at Orson’s waist.

“Don’t.” Orson warned Avery. “You’d cost the life of everyone in this room.” He spoke low. “What do you think my men would do?” Avery’s next wrist came free and the shackles fell to the ground. Without any further need for the shackles? Orson handed Avery the key with a smirk and turned to meet Princess Dremara’s gaze once again.

“It’s time.” He said, having started to reach for her but then he noticed the way couples stood here. And he.. Turned, offering her his arm instead. Perhaps she’d be more comfortable than having her arm grabbed and all but dragged out the doors.

The next few hours consisted of a carriage ride, and Orson on the back of his horse near it. To the docks, and finally to the ships.

Orson looked up to where his ship was docked, once he’d taken Dremara’s hand to help her out of the carriage, and then Nettie. Her chests were being carried up the plank that lay from dock to deck that would allow them to board. “Winterwolf’s whisker.” He thought it was a clever name, himself. Winter wolves were said to be twice the size of a normal wolf, and twice as fast. If she was lucky? She’d never see one in Rimehaven. The Capital city of Kota territory. He pulled the ropes taut, nodding and offering first Dremara a hand to get aboard the Whisker, then Nettie.

On deck, men were getting ready to take off. The hustle and bustle of a weary crew getting ready for a voyage home. The war camp on the beach had taken days to pack up; and some of the tents, pots and pans, more useless things? They were left behind for looters in place of bringing back the spoils of war. Though not nearly as many men took up space; a ship couldn’t weigh too much, nor could the weight be poorly distributed if it were going to ride the waves properly.

“Our chambers.” Orson opened the door to a room far more ornate than one might be expecting on the deck of the ship. The Captain’s Cabin didn't have a chamberpot, but a door that led to a hole where one could shit into the sea. The bed hung from chains so the occupants could sleep with the waves and remain level. There was an attached small room with a hammock for Nettie. There were shelves full of books, a writing desk, all modified to keep them from tipping out or over. A vanity with the stool bolted down and the mirror secured to the wall.

There was even a small stove bolted to the floor to heat the room and make tea and meals. There was a chaise near the stove one could look out the window and lounge on, or use the light to read. In the far corner, nearest the door to Nettie’s chamber? There was a hand pump connected to a pipe. And a tub just large enough to stand in case she wished to bathe.

“That’s connected to a fresh water barrel below deck. Water can be heated on the stove. Or using magic. I’ve heard some of you Dumiri princesses have it.” He genuinely didn’t know. It was of no concern to him. “We’ll be at sea for three moons. There’s an island between Marigill and Rimehaven where we’ll stop and refill the water barrels and hunt game.” It was, for all intents and purposes? A relatively short trip over the sea.

“If you desire anything, Princess? You need only ask.”

Orson then stepped out of the room, the sounds of him shouting orders to the men on deck could be heard.

Many hours later….

Night fell, and Orson stepped into the cabin once he was finished with his shift. Yawning, he reached up to pull the furs from his shoulders after he’d done away with the straps and hung them on the hook next to the door to dry out. He reached out, catching himself on the wall as the ship rode the waves; they’d reached the deep waters some hours ago, but his sea legs did need some time to regrow. The lanterns in the room provided soft lighting as he came to sit on the chest at the edge of the bed to remove his boots and prepare for bed.

He looked up to the Princess and her maid at the vanity, unsure of what to say to either of them. But he figured.. At least he’d best try. “It’s my hope, too, you know.” When he knew Dremara had heard him? “That our people will live in peace.”

 

[Poprockz]

When he reached for her in the throne room, it had taken restraint not to recoil from his grasping hand. Though she was relieved when instead he offered his arm. Rather than being one of the spoils of war to be dragged away, she preferred for the people to see her as simply an offering for a political marriage. Though she wasn't sure why it mattered to her how they saw her anymore- it wasn't as though she would have any dealings with them in the future. Other than trading the Kota people likely wouldn't want to interact with her kingdom until some of the scars had healed.

The carriage ride was silent save for Nettie's weeping. For now, Princess Dremara was fresh out of tears to shed, and she merely looked out the window at the city she had called home for all her years.

The ship was undoubtedly magnificent, even she could tell. While she had been given lessons on naval maneuvers, she hadn't actually been a passenger on a ship before, so the experience was also a new one. She was silent as she was led and shown around, not giving any indication of what she was thinking, merely giving him a nod before he went above deck to manage the sailors.

Did the Dimiri princesses have magic? Some of them. Did she? Yes. Perhaps he would see her magic one of these days, but her father had forbidden her to use her magic from a young age, so only her father, herself, and Nettie were privy to that information.

....

Oh gods... Her hair had been covering her face as she hunched slightly over, but as she lifted her head and looked at him, one could immediately tell that she wasn't suited to be a sailor. She was sweating slightly and her face was pale, the rocking of the ship having made her feel an unending nausea. Dremara cursed the fact that she couldn't hold anything down, could barely even open her mouth to answer him without needing to shut it quickly. Her hand came up to cover her lips and she closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the sickness.

By sheer force of will though, she was able to manage a response of, "That's.... good."

Nettie gave her a sympathetic look and rubbed her back, having acclimated much better to the motion of the waves. "My lady is not feeling well. Do you carry any ginger root in your stores, by chance?"

 

[draco519]

Orson kicked himself for not having examined her sooner. Here he was, thinking she’d be like a normal Princess at a vanity. He pulled his boots back on, one after another, and was quick to disappear out the door again. Bare chested over the deck, he was fast to disappear into the galley and into the store room. Pulling a bit of the ginger root from its barrel, he was back out again. Nodding to Dagris, his second in command on the ship. The man was like a brother to him.

Dagris spotted the ginger root, and smirked knowingly. Not all were made for the seas.

“Stubborn princess.” Orson muttered as he caught himself once more, Ginger in hand. Carrying it over to the stove, he pulled the knife from his belt to carefully slice some of it and peeled back the tough skin. A few slices in hand, he handed them to Nettie before he tucked the knife away and used the hook over the stove to secure the rest of the ginger root for later. Undoubtedly, Dremara was going to need it.

Back out of his boots, he waited for Dremara to chew on the ginger and let it get into her system.

Orson made his way across the lacquered wooden floors to crouch down next to the vanity where Dremara and Nettie nursed her bucket. Frowning, he took Dremara’s hand and rolled back the sleeve of her gown. Examining her arm, he pressed his thumb into her forearm. An inch and a half or so from her wrist. “Old sailor’s trick. Helps with the vomiting.”

Please, he prayed to the gods of the sea… please don’t let the princess lose it right now. “I told you to ask for anything you needed. Undoubtedly, Nettie would have…” He picked his accusatory gaze up to look at Dremara then, remaining in place to hold the pressure on her forearm. And he smirked, amused a bit at his accusation. Though she likely was in no mood for it.

 

[Poprockz]

The ginger was gratefully accepted by the maid who then held one of the slices out for the princess. Dremara had drank ginger tea or eaten ginger biscuits, but she had never eaten raw ginger before. As such, when she took the little slice of root into her mouth and chewed, she suddenly got a look of shock on her face and her eyes went to her maid as if to ask, 'how can I eat something like this?!'

Nettie simply smiled and patted her hand in response, figuring the princess would get used to it, or at least it would be a good distraction from the sickness.

As such, she hadn't been looking at Orsin when he reached out. She flinched at his touch, her head snapping back in his direction so she could watch what he was doing warily. He had better not be trying to initiate anything intimate right now. That would not end well for either of them.

To her surprise and confusion, he simply pressed on her arm. Even with the explanation he gave, she wasn't sure how this was supposed to help her.

She had thought it before, but it occurred to her again just how big he was. He wasn't a tall wisp of a man either, but a brick wall of battle-hardened muscle. His hand on her arm could have her arm broken in one easy movement. It was rather intimidating, feeling so small in his presence. Dremara herself was only 5 feet six inches- literally a foot shorter than him. To say she was uncomfortable was an understatement, especially due to the fact that he was practically naked. As a princess, she had never seen a man in anything less than trousers and perhaps a slightly open shirt.

For what many considered a "savage" though, he wasn't... unattractive.

In any case, his comment earned him a sour look, though she could probably argue that it was from the spiciness of the ginger she had decided to stubbornly chew on.

When she was finally able to swallow it down, she found herself feeling well enough to speak. "It will pass with time. It is a minor affliction." Almost as if to mock her words, the ship lurched to the side and her hand snapped back up to her mouth, her jaw clenching as she waited for the nausea to pass.

 

[draco519]

A minor affliction. Orson had seen verdant forests that were less green than the Princess at this moment in time. He took a breath through his nose once he was satisfied with his treatment of her arm. And while he was this close to her? With her wrist in his hand? With his thumb pressed into her forearm gently; but firm enough to make contact with the point? He noticed how soft her skin was. Unmarred, unlike him, by time and battle. His head tilted a bit, salt stained hair shifting as he did.

“Lie on the bed once the ginger takes effect.” He instructed. “It’s suspended from chains and will take the worst of the swaying for you.” Coming to stand, he yawned once more and made his way over to the small iron stove to place a log inside of it to get a fire going. It got colder at night on the sea; and sunset was quickly approaching them. Once he had it lit, he used the flames to light himself a matchstick so he could then move over to his desk and lit the lantern that was secured to it. And a few more through the chambers.

“Likely you’ll be sick the first few days; until you grow in your sea legs.”

 

[Poprockz]

He was given a skeptical look when he suggested lying on the bed; swinging back and forth on chains didn't sound like a better alternative, though outright defying him seemed like it might be a bad idea. She didn't have a reliable grasp of what his temper was like, and she would prefer to avoid his wrath if possible. It wasn't uncommon for men to hit their wives in her own country, so she could only image what it might be like where tempers likely went unchecked.

As instructed, she munched on a bit more of the ginger, eventually finishing off the slices Nettie had supplied to her. After a bit, she was feeling remarkably better. Not cured of course, but certainly not so sick that she was in danger of vomiting if she moved an inch. She was even able to make her way to the bed with little issue, though getting into it was another matter. The thing liked to tip down where she was getting in, and up on the opposite side, making it difficult for her to do so on her own. Nettie made short work of the problem though, by holding down the other side of the bed until she was able to successfully move to the middle.

She sighed. The bed did feel much better than sitting down, she thought to herself begrudgingly. Perhaps she ought to give him more credit, seeing as he was the one who sailed far more often than she did.

After a period of silence, he would hear a curt, "thank you. For the ginger. And...whatever it was that you did with my arm."

 

[draco519]

“Old sailor’s trick.” That had been all the explanation Orson knew of it.

–

Three weeks later

The days came and went.

Orson was more than content to leave Dremara well enough alone. He had no need to antagonize what was, for all intents and purposes, an innocent girl. However, once she figured out her sea legs and they got into more familiar waters? A most welcome surprise was spotted. Orson watched over the edge at the schools of fish beneath the ship. The nets had been lowered. And men hungry for something that wasn’t preserved in a barrel and tasted like distilled salt were excellent fishermen. A deck was a busy place, filled with many ropes and wooden booms and jigs that were tied under pressure and, should a rope snap and one didn’t know where the danger would be coming from if it did? Death could quickly follow.

There weren’t many places on the deck of the ship that were safe for someone like the Princess. Fortunately, his cabin door was at the top of the ship, near the aft, near where the wheel stood. It was for this reason, Orson was showing her and Nettie today, now that nausea wasn’t Dremara’s best friend. “Just don’t descend those steps. Dangerous otherwise.” He pointed to the ropes, explaining the dangers to them. There was a method to sailing.

“Sire!” One of the men called out, losing his grip on the rope.

The fish!

Orson bounded down the steps, ducking beneath a swinging boom to get to the railing and he reached down, grabbing hold of the skipping rope and lodged his foot against the side of the ship and pulled. “Heave! Heave!” He ordered his men once, and then twice, before the net came up full of healthy, meaty fish. They swung the boom over, dropping it onto the deck as the men cheered.

With a laugh, Orson put a hand on the shoulders of one of his men before he leaned down, grabbing one of the still flopping fish and made kissing noises at it, turning to offer the greenhorn the opportunity. “Maybe.. Lower? Get your cock sucked?”

As the men laughed at the newly crowned fish-fucker, Orson tossed the fish back into the basket they were gathering them up to take down to the galley. “Fresh meat tonight!”

His shift ended, and Orson had cleared his throat on this night, glancing over to his tub and then looked to Dremara and Nettie. “I want a bath before dinner.” He admitted, finally. “It might be less than ideal; but.. I normally don’t go this long.” He could tell, at some point, that his tub had been used while he was on deck working. His chambers stank with him in them; and he knew it was him.

So, with the only warning they’d get out of the way? Orson kicked out of his boots and made his way over to his tub to begin pumping water into it.

 

[Poprockz]

Dremara had watched with interest as they pulled the net of fish onto the deck, enjoying the sea breeze in her hair. Though she still had to nibble on some ginger from time to time, she had largely acclimated to sea life after a very rough transitionary period. She had almost smiled at the fish-kissing display until he made the comment about cock-sucking. Her eyes went to Nettie questioningly and Nettie let out a little chuckle before cupping her hands and leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

Her eyes widened and her face flushed, though an embarrassed scowl followed shortly after and she swiftly went back to her cabin. Such a vulgar thing to do- joke about... about.. a woman putting his manhood in their mouth. Well, a fish really, but still. Not that she thought he had made the joke literally, but on further thought she wondered if his manhood would even fit into that fish.

That was one thing she wasn't looking forward to on her wedding night. It was her duty as his wife to bear him children, but to do so she would need to engage in those nighttime activities with him. If he was large, she could only imagine that such a thing would split her open or at least feel intensely painful. Maybe she would get lucky and he would be very small in that department though.

At his announcement in the cabin, she had simply looked up from her book and nodded at him. "It would be cruel to deny you access to your bath, so you can be assured that I will afford you the utmost privacy." With that, she turned away to face the opposite direction.

 

[draco519]

Orson cocked an eyebrow as the Princess admitted it would be cruel, indeed, to deny him a bath. Likely their noses weren’t fond of his smell, either. Thinking little else of it, it took a good hour to pump water into a bucket, heat it up on the stove, and get enough hot water in the tub to stand in. Pushing down his pants, his sweaty body was officially revealed to either who wished to look. A happy trail of dark hair ran down, perpendicular to the V-cut that men had when their musculature was just so. And, unbeknownst him that, the Princess, should she peek? Likely dash any hopes she had he was smaller in that department.

Orson was fast to scrub using the pumice stone, getting the flake of salt and sweat off of himself. The bar of soap made of animal fat and pine tar across the skin to lather as best it could before he followed with the pumice once again. Rinsing his hair and beard out a second time, he poured another bucket over his face and opened his eyes. Nettie had peeked, that much had been obvious with the way the woman practically vibrated in place.

Orson could only smirk. His ego was large enough without seeking too many compliments from the Princess or her handmaiden.

Finally, he was finished and dried his body with excess linen. New pants, fresh socks, and Orson picked up his comb and began to argue with the hair that simply hated the salt of the sea. He sat down at the table, in anticipation of dinner with a bit of determination in his eyes to get this stupid hair to cooperate with him. Three weeks without a wash or a brush and sea salt hadn’t been kind to it. Grumbling a bit at it, he tried again. And then a third time with a defeated huff. “I’ve a mind to shave all of this off.”

 

[Poprockz]

The princess wasn't one to break her word once made, so she didn't turn around to see him. However, a bit of movement caught her eye and she looked up only to find that she had forgotten that there was a mirror nearby that reflected his image in all of its naked, hairy glory. Her face went red and she immediately looked away, fumbling and dropping her book before picking it up and pretending to read while she tried to recover from the shock and embarrassment of that sight and her own blunder. A moment later, she realized that she was now holding her book upside-down, so she tried to inconspicuously correct that mistake without anyone noticing.

Gods, but he was big! It was the first manhood she had seen in her life, but she knew it wasn't small by any means. What was she going to do? How was she going to prepare herself for their nights together?! Perhaps she ought to secure some of that root that helped dull pain that medics used sometimes- she wasn't sure what it was called.

"Have you ever tried hair lotion?" Dremara asked, her eyes glued to her book, though the spacing between when she would turn her pages had been unpredictable that evening. "I have some in my luggage. If you massage it into your hair, leave it for a minute or two, and then rinse it out, it helps make the hair more cooperative."

 

[draco519]

Orson had been continuing to argue with the hair before he heard the Princess ask him something that sounded like it was intended to make him look like a fool. Have you tried hair lotion? “What’s that?” He said, jerking on the comb before he glanced over to Dremara, who he assumed was entirely consumed by the book she was reading.

..makes the hair more cooperative.

“Now you’re just making shit up.” He accused her with narrowed eyes.. Then he noticed the book she was reading. One from his shelf. “Vaken was one of our finest historians. His works on the past age have kept many Kota traditions alive.” Was she.. Taking an interest in the people she was supposed to rule over? Or had she snagged a random book to stave off the boredom?

Either way. He hadn’t seen her hold it upside down, and didn’t know to tease her about that. Holding the comb out to offer it to her. “Very well, you make some sense of it, then, with this hair lotion you claim will help.”

 

[Poprockz]

He sounded incredulous that she knew what she was talking about, and that irked her a little. Why would she make up something like that? It wasn’t as though the two of them were comfortable enough which each other to laugh and joke. He would end up eating his words by the time she was done.

“Nettie, could you fetch me some from my luggage? She asked, snapping the book shut and setting it down on her seat.

As far as the book itself went, it was honestly a bit of both: boredom and curiosity. She didn’t presume that she would have any power over there; she might become a Kota Queen by marriage, but she was still simply a fancy bauble that he had brought back from the war. That’s how the people would likely see her.

The handmaiden smiled and nodded, going to one of the trunks she knew it was in and bringing the bottle out for her. Once the bottle was in-hand, Dremara set the comb down and squirted some of the thick liquid into her palm. She was reluctant to touch him in any capacity, but at least she could do so without having to meet his eyes.

The woman moved behind him and started to gently apply it to his hair. She didn’t try to undo any of the tangles or anything like that- the conditioner would do that for her during the rinse. All she did was massage the slick mixture in from the top of his head near his roots (but not directly on them) down to the very tips. Despite the sea breeze and his apparent lack of conditioner prior to this, his hair wasn’t unpleasant.

The quiet was only broken by the slick sounds of her movements, so she decided to fill it to make the process less awkward. “It is an interesting read. I admit I know little of what awaits me when the ships dock, so I thought it might be beneficial to arm myself with knowledge.”

As far as she was concerned, when her feet touched down on dry land, she would be standing alone in a constant battle. Many of the Kota presumably hated her and all she stood for, being that she was daughter to a King who had spilled much of their blood. As they would never get the opportunity to challenge her father, she was the next best thing. Nettie would be with her, but her handmaiden would wield much less of the little power she herself would hold. In order to protect them both, she needed to be able to use her greatest weapon: her mind. Though she wasn’t above using a bladed fan if need be. The King heard correctly: she was an impeccable dancer in that regard.

She put another glob of conditioner in her hand and reached around his neck, working it into his beard. The princess was very careful not to let her breasts touch the back of his head not only to keep herself clean, but also to avoid embarrassing herself.

 

[draco519]

Orson could smell this.. Lotion.. That she rubbed into his hair. It had a sort of floral smell that he wasn’t familiar with. Though it wasn’t unpleasant. Mild, without overwhelming the senses. His eyes moved up to Nettie’s obvious amusement at the situation, with her mistress rubbing this cream into his hair. He had to admit, it must appear quite ridiculous. All the same, he did his best to keep still. Though, as she reached around him to rub it into his beard? The scent wafted more into his nose. As did her perfume.

He found he rather enjoyed that, too.

The knock on the door was right on time. “Enter.” He said without warning, and he looked up to one of the women from the galley’s kitchens carrying a tray with their dinner plates upon it. The woman was pretty, with the common dark hair that would be found among the northmen, but not without her own shades of beauty. A commoner. But her surprise at seeing this princess rubbing what looked like a cream into her King’s hair? She smiled and bowed, moving to the table to place the tray on it with covered plates of fresh fish, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, and a disc of bread to break. As well as a pitcher of wine and glasses. Everything had edges to ensure it wouldn’t fall off. Tables, trays, plates. The Kota were well adapted to life at sea.

Bowing her way out, the woman left.

The ship swayed suddenly, and Orson’s hand darted behind him, a hand on Dremara’s thigh to keep her righted before he realized he’d done it. He looked back over his shoulder at her, over the expanse of her large breasts that her dress kept hidden; but there was no hiding how endowed she was. “How long did you say before it is to be rinsed?” His stomach rumbled at the scent of the food.

 

[Poprockz]

It was an awkward position to be in found in, her hands in his beard as she leaned over him. She hoped the servant wouldn't get the wrong idea about any of this. From the outside it may have looked like she was infatuated with him, preening him like a doting wife, when in actuality she was merely proving him wrong with a solution that he had scoffed at. To say anything about it would surely only incriminate her further though, so she chose to be silent.

The lurching of the ship caught her off-guard. Even if she were to have reached out to grab something, her hands were as slick as could be. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she would certainly have either fallen over or fallen on top of him had he not quickly grabbed her. That being said... The princess swallowed down the words that had almost come up, namely 'unhand me!' and 'how dare you!' Instead, she merely pulled herself from his grasp and walked to faucet to wash her hands off. That would have been her flustered state talking, not taking into account how he had not done so with impure intentions (presumably).

"Usually I would leave it in for about ten minutes before washing it, but it won't harm your hair if you leave it in longer." Dremara dried her hands off and turned back to him, her eyes glancing at the food. She was also hungry, and the fish smelled quite appetizing. "Perhaps we could eat while it soaks?"

 

[draco519]

Orson cocked an eyebrow at how quickly the Princess tore away from his touch. And he was hardly surprised by that; there was no telling what sort of man she thought he was. But here they were, in his chambers on his ship, over a fortnight, and she remained unmolested, unsullied, and hadn’t been tormented or taunted. But it was no matter; in time, she would see the man he was. His people likely would make sure of that. He had no doubt.

When she suggested they eat? He found himself not wanting to argue. In the slightest. He came to sit at the table as Nettie poured wine into the cups. He pondered what she said, however, now that he’d had the chance to; what awaits me… He watched as she spread her napkin over his lap. Another Dumiri custom he wasn’t familiar with, but he mimicked it all the same.

“You’ll-” A clear of his throat, the salt of the sea still in his throat from the day. He took a sip of wine before he continued. “You’ll likely be a highly sought after prize.” Orson admitted, rather cavalierly, about such a thing. “My people respect me; and they will not challenge my authority lightly.” He cut into the fileted fish, seasoned with lemon and cracked pepper. Biting into it, he enjoyed the flavor on his tongue as he chewed.. Then he washed it down with more wine.

“But, even if such a challenge isn’t taken lightly? It would result in the death of the man who loses.” He speared himself a cherry tomato. “These challenges have nothing to do with loyalty, oftentimes.” It was the truth. He couldn’t deny it, nor would he change his people; were he able. “You’ll watch me fight some good men, that have been my brothers, to the death.” He shrugged his shoulders a bit, looking up to her, then.

“But you, Princess Dremara, are one of a kind. A beauty unlike anything my people have seen.” He felt the lotion still in his beard as he wiped his mouth of a bit of tomato juice. “You may not believe me when I say so, now…. But we will need to wed relatively quickly; the Kota will not see you, formally, as under my protection until then. Though there are teachings in place that will protect you as mine during the spoils period; I’ve had to forego all other gold and baubles taken to claim you as my share among my people.”

He’d foregone all the wealth from the treasury, all the meat and furs for his larders and tanning hides. To bring back a wife. A fitting Queen.

 

[Poprockz]

That was... a lot to process. The princess took a deep drink of her wine, lost in thought for a moment.

It was true- even among her own people the traits she bore were rare, signifying royalty. She didn't doubt that no one on his shores had ever seen a woman who looked like her, and thus there would be those who envied the King. The fact that he had been forced to claim only herself as his spoils was another indication of the value that had been placed on her (though there was also the fact that she herself had some very expensive gold and jewels to her name).

When something new and interesting was brought back, there would of course be those who slavered at the thought of besting the King and taking his prize, who coveted what would never be theirs.

Unless they attempted to make it theirs, of course.

She took a bite of the fish and chewed. It was delicious, even if the seasoning was simple. Sometimes a simple recipe was more satisfying than one that had more steps than a Dumiri ceremonial dance.

"I have no issue wedding you whenever you deign to do so- you are the one I am promised to. However..." Dremara shook her head with a slight scrunch of her eyebrows. "I find it off-putting that one would sacrifice their own life or take the life of a friend in order to obtain the prettiest bauble."

 

[draco519]

Orson chewed his food. And compared to the rations from the ship? It was heavenly. He was staring a bit off to the side as Dremara processed what she’d been told. He tried to think of other Kota traditions she’d likely see. Music, dancing, a celebration the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the first age. It made him excited to get home; to get truly started. Though when she finally spoke up about marrying when he decided they should? He brought his piercing, deep set blue eyes back to meet her golden gaze.

And how off-putting it was to have, as she put it, the prettiest bauble. And he was genuinely confused by that statement. Being called savages, outright, might have been insulting, but she hadn’t said that. And there weren’t many Kota men that would take this moment to consider what it was she meant by it. The more he got to know her, the further away from understanding her he found himself.

“You are no bauble.”

There was a bit of that Kota pride in his determined voice; in his stoic stare. Since the first age, his people had been forced to be what they were; with one King or another staking some ancient claim on our lands that all of them feel entirely too good to live on. His nostrils flared, angry, though not at her. She didn’t understand. She wasn’t Kota. Time again, Kings of her line or some other line and country would come to collect our men to die in their wars, take the meat, furs, and gold to fund dowries or tourneys or to fill their own coffers.

But she didn’t seem to understand the significance. “Your royal blood is recognized across these lands. From the Golden City to the Far Shores and even south to the Gorim desert-folk and the Tacid Steppes. As far east as the Andel Empire over the four seas.”

Did she not see? Truly? “There aren’t enough men in the world for me to kill.. That could earn the Kota half the respect you bring to us.” A deep breath through his nose as he paused for a beat to choose his words carefully. “Yes, there are those that will envy me… But, once they lay dead and my throne properly secured? You, Princess Dremara, at my side? You will be worshipped. A shining, golden goddess Queen that legitimizes our claims on our lands.”

 

[Poprockz]

Her cheeks became a bit pink, though it was more from the shame she felt from not having considered the political implications of why he had taken her. She had presumed that she was taken as a high-value prize, and an assurance that her Kingdom would not break their oath to the Kota. Perhaps even that there was a little bit of revenge in place as well, taking the defeated King's own daughter.

He was absolutely right though- her marriage did give them legitimacy that gold and spilled blood could not buy. Their children would at the very least bear the golden eyes of the royal family, proof that her line continued. It also tied the two countries together, and once the army recovered in her home country, they would be much more willing to aid the Kota, if only to protect the royal children she would bear. Dumiri allegiance was not looked upon lightly by the other Kingdoms, as even in the crippled state they were now, they were a country that bounced back with tenfold strength.

"I... You are correct," She took another bite of fish and swallowed. When her eyes lifted to him, there was some respect in her gaze. "Your love for your country is commendable."