The Virgin Queen

She sat still and firm, shoulders straight as had been explained all her life, the proper way to hold state. Her arms small buds within the folds of her jeweled dress. The red gem that lay against her palm was larger than the knuckle on her little finger. It glowed red against her skin turning it to blaze with bound up energy. Not a twitch moved in her eye as she surveyed her kingdom come to call. She a living, precious stone displayed for all. The throne blazed forth its bright gold and sheen sparkled her crown her to daylight the cold stone room. All day long, the Virgin Queen sat amid her splendor doom.

The hundred female guards at her side stood poised too, swards brought tense at any person who dared step a foot upon the first golden rise to the throne. No subjects come closer than a bow or lucky stare. Their business was taken care of by scribes ready with pens in hand stood in rooms set aside and far away from the bejeweled queen.

As the small tramp of soft feet came, stood and left, the queen sat ornamentally silent and still lifting not a finger or dark brow while her mind dreamed. Her mind roamed far and free over the countryside when she once would stride plucking flowers off their stems and petals off their sides. Yellow dandelions blistered her skin gold beneath the sky, more gold glowed then in her eye then ever from the throne. The Virgin Queen was forever alone-almost.

Her secret she kept bound more tightly than a ball of yarn of her love, her once lover who still roamed the green glen. His hair blown by the wind and his muscles bunched in energy’s release as he worked the hard chores set before him. She could see him now bend, now stand up tall with a bundle of hay to toss.

A soft gentle voice smiled at the whim of her watching him. He bustled much more to show off his brawn then turned his lips up with her name whispered on his hearty breath. “My love,” he expunged in a billion droplets of air, “I send my wet lips far across the fields in a kiss.”

The Virgin Queen’s right eye, if a guard would have looked just then, had a tiny gleam of dew whispered about its rim. But the queen hurriedly sucked it back in. “Here love is my fingers so near to brush your cheek or muss your hair.”

He felt her light fingers brush against his cheek with soft touch, a scent of perfume left dangling in the air. His hard tanned face did quiver at her touch, his hunger of love grew his sex hard and strong. And her fingers, her delicate fingers reached down.

His gasp made her heart give a flutter but her stone resolve didn’t break. The Virgin Queen sat unblinking upright, still on her throne. Until finally at night in her lone bed chamber she released a long moan.

Day after day and year after year the Virgin Queen play at her love affair until one day came the grandest funeral of state ever staged in her realm. A knight of the realm, the highest price paid with his life. The proclamation went out to all who lived near and far. You must attend to give honor to his honor, his fate. He died fighting for our Virgin Queen fair.

The realm gave a shudder and deemed go there to the throne room to stare. To lay thanks down on this brave knight and visit the Virgin Queen, his counterfeit wife. They had never been joined or married as such nor ever seen each other’s face, eye blink, or touch. Their duties flew far apart as honor demands such of kings queens and knights. The coveted honor to a few chosen, their duty must complete. All for the kingdom all the rest of their life. Except as each could dream.

As the day moved closer to the funeral the queen’s inside shuddered and shook with anticipated hope at her first time real look. Will I know him? Will I see him? Will I touch his eyes with mine? He mixed in thousands can I find? What will he look like, what will he wear? what shirt? what top coat? what facial expression? How stiff a mask? Will he see past the glow of the sun throne how my skin warms by his smile? Will he dare glance my way past the guards circling me?

The Virgin Queen shook upon her throne as the day came too close, her blinks were more heavy, her shoulders lower in duty, her body more weary. Her dinner stayed uneaten after each session. Her maids all aflutter could not deem the reason. She was more rich than of all the subjects in every land, gilded in gold and jewels, her every whim bidden, her every wish cared for too soon. She had everything, everything, and all she had to pay was duty in majesty as she sat day by day.

Then finally it came, the day she had awaited. She rose out of bed more assured but still worried as her maids dressed and untangled her hair. He thoughts kept asking, “Will I see him out there.” After breakfast she was led to her throne once again, her small step mistaken was not noticed, her quivering heart well hid. The day she had lived for was hopeful with dread as she sat this day in her golden throne chair.

At noon on that day she stared at the far wall as she heard his whisper from the street to her call. He was still outside the palace wall but she felt every step as he slowly drew near, and the crowd as it shoved his place in line. but he held firm and climbed the outer stair. She waited aflutter not a hair out of place, goose bumps had risen on her arms but she kept her stiff place.

She watched each head as it passed, curly or straight or plastered with wax. Washed faces bowed down to her chair then lifted their eyes before they turned to leave again somewhere. A thousand miles of heads all lined in a row, a thousand smiles and nods of the head. Which needle far off was her love, which face whispered his love? She felt him come closer and then he was there. One of the people lined up in front of her chair, standing right there.

Her heart pounded hard as he came from the side, her heart jumped a beat as he bowed then lifted his face and his look met her eyes. Her thighs sweat sweet perfume and she felt herself wet as her nerves jangled, bursting, exploding, a volcano ready to vent. Her mouth opened and she caught her breath when his lips changed the rules by smiling a grin so bright wide it glowed brighter than the dais on which she stood. She stood? Oh, no, couldn’t be, not in front of all the subject line.

She had unknowingly stepped to the front. When the sward blades rose into the air. Her arms flew wide as the stabs hit true, the stone of her mean no longer true so that she had flew off the throne and swayed beneath their blades too. Their blood ran from the stab wounds and mixed together death, but a smile stayed on each face. Her tiny soft finger curled round his rough workers hand entwined in place. The Virgin Queen no longer a living stone lay warmed in red upon her marriage bed.

The end