Thread: The King's Bride. (Cr0ssy994 x LingeringDesire)

Harick Galain, High King of Cyrene, sat in a large comfortable arm chair before a crackling fireplace in his private chambers. He sighed heavily as he sifted through several rolls of parchment, each written in the elegant handwriting of nobles. Noblemen who wished to offer him their daughters as his wife. With each letter came a small painting of said daughters. Each and everyone was beautiful, and Harik wondered just how many of these women were actually as beautiful as their paintings. Their was a slight tapping at the heavy oak door to his chambers. Come in. He said a deep voice, smooth voice as he adjusted his silk robes. His gold crown lay discarded on a small table next to his chair, with a half empty tankard of ale. His dark brown hair had started to grow long and unkempt, much like his dark beard, which was growing longer and scruffier. He hadn't looked after his appearance as much as he perhaps should have. Then again, he had no reason to till now. Welcome Sivas. He said as his First Advisor and oldest friend stepped into the room, quietly coding the door behind him. Harick gestured for him to sit in the other arm chair that sat opposite his, abled towards the fireplace. Perhaps you can help me, for I know nothing of women what to look for in one. He said as Sivas sat down. Sivas was the opposite of Harick. Where the King stood over six foot tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms, Sivas was a small, skinny man with a weasel-like face. I would snuggest you pick the one most pleasing to you. Sivas began in a slow, high pitched voice. How he and Harick became friends is remarkable, given their differences. She will have two main purposes. Raising your children and acting as a symbol for the people. Sivas continued to talk but Harick barely listened. He had noticed a small, simple painting of a woman. A farmers daughter, barely a drop of noble blood in her veins. There was something about her that called out to him, that told him she was the most beautiful of all these women. She'll be my wife. Harick said, cutting Sivas off mid sentence. Make it happen. He said handing the painting to Sivas. A month later and the wedding had been arranged. In return for his daughter, the womans father would be granted estates and titles in the farmlands to the south. But bad tidings soon reached the castle. Stenvar would rather face war than bend their knee to you, My King. Reported Coddin, the captain of the city watch and advisor when it came to the army. He had been advisor to Harick's father, one of the few men who retain their role after Harick's ascension. He continued on. Their army is strong on the attack, due to their cavalry, but their defences are weak. We could have their capital within a year. He continued. Then war it is. Harick said grimly. In truth he had been getting bored in his castle and looked forward to leaving, to the coming battles. But you're to be married in a few short months. Sivas piped up. Surely your men can cope without you. Do not argue with me on this, Sivas. I will march with them for now and be back in time for the wedding. And indeed he was, returning early on the morning of the day itself. He climbed the steps to his dreary, imposing castle, which loomed over the city of Cyrene. The stench of battle and death hung around Harick as he pushed open the large heavy doors to his throne room. His hair and beard had grown even longer, despite his attempts to cut it. Mud clung to them and blood stained his clothes, along with the rust on his armour. As he staggered into the castle he was greeted by Sivas and several maids who began to strip off his armour and carry it away. My god you stink! Sivas said, flashing him a smile, before turning serious. She's here and nearly ready, so there's not time to clean you up properly, although we do have some finery for you. He explained as he was led to his chambers. Good. He grunted, many of his manners worn away by the months at war. Part of him felt numb from the constant battle, while another felt nervous. He had never felt like this before, nervous about a woman. He had laid with many a woman before but he had never had any bond or commitment to them, and now he was about to marry one. The maids stripped off his clothes and dressed him in a black silk doublet and black trousers. He kept on his thick leather boots and belted his sword to his waist. He was reluctant to go anywhere without it. And so he strode the dark corridors, drawing ever closer to his soon to be wife, a pit of nervousness growing in his stomach. He reached the chapel doors and pouched it down, putting on a calm, cold demeanour before pushing the doors open. There was a small gathering and by the alter stood a priest and his wife, dressed in the most elegant white dress he'd ever seen, with a thick veil that obscured her face. He walked slowly down the aisle, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword. When he reached her the ceremony began and before he knew it, it was time to kiss the bride. He reached out slowly, and lifted her veil, revealing the beauty beneath.