THE FORTUNIST

Prologue

In the room of the crown prince within the Albenian Palace, the crown prince is professing love to a courtmaid.

The courtmaid is nothing special. She is among the lowest ranks and can only be exceptional for the fact that she has the commonest of looks. One is subjected to earnestly wonder what it is that the crown prince has seen in her.

She has her arms around his waist as he takes pleasure in slowly disrobing her. She smiles feeling the cool caressing her skin. She also starts disrobing him.

"Your hands are rough my angel," he coos, "how cruel is the palace that they should make a beautiful creature such as yourself work so."

"Don't kill yourself with worries. Today is to remember our pleasure, not my pain."

The crown prince grabs her wrists and guides them to his cheeks. He closes his eyes and feels her palms. "Only your hands can be intoxicating," he murmurs and the courtmaid leans in for a kiss.

Their tongues tangle. The crown prince groans. He has stripped the courtmaid fully now but she has not removed his breeches. She is content kneading his erected significance under.

She guides his hands to her breasts which he massages and then to her aching core. She squeals.

Impatiently, the crown prince discards his breeches and he pushes the courtmaid on the bed. He enters her and they both let out sighs of pleasure.

Exceptional! She was skillful in bed. Like a common prostitute.

After the sex, the courtmaid has her head nestled in his arms. It is now time for the after talk.

"Angel, that was wonderful," the crown prince says.

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course Angel," he kisses her forehead.

"Then make me your queen."

The crown prince is silent for a while, yet there isn't much deliberation on his face. His expression in fact betrays that he has been expecting such a request, and that she would not be the first to ask it of him. He chuckles slightly.

"I would love to, but my mother would not allow it."

"You are a man. You are the future king. You do not have to do what your mother tells you."

"I agree with her though. Think on it Angel. You are nothing but a lowly courtmaid. You will not be able to handle the rigours of the court. And let's not even talk about all the rumours that will swarm you and make you want to kill yourself."

"Then make me your concubine."

"That is simply impossible Angel and you know it. You are not a virgin and you will be beheaded for daring to dream of the position."

"But you took my virginity."

"That I cannot guarantee."

"What?" The courtmaid sputters in disbelief. The crown prince turns away from her saying nothing more. She decides to be persistent and pushes on. "That is a selected concubine. Make me a favoured one. A favoured one does not need all that process."

"Before I can have a favoured concubine, I must be married."

"That is no problem. I can wait."

"Elia," the crown prince's voice has attained a low dangerous tone now. "You will have to be content with just being loved. Don't dream things heavier than you lest you be crushed. If you eventually become a concubine I assure you you will roll in mud and wish that you can roll in fire. For your own good and for the good of that child, don't get pregnant. Do you understand me?"

"Y…yes," the courtmaid stammers feebly, obviously heartbroken. The crown prince strokes her hair.

The courtmaid stares at him while he sleeps. How can he sleep? How can he trust the one he used so much?

With trembling fingers, the courtmaid reaches for her discarded hairpin and holds it to the crown prince's jugular. He trusts that before he wakes up the next morning she would already be gone as is the routine. Why not just kill him now before she leaves? Then there would be no need for him to wake up and find her gone— for good.

She breathes harshly, having never known that she could harbour such evilly treasonous thoughts. The crown prince did not want her as a wife, nor as a concubine and since she had no dignity left, what dignified man would want her? Besides, if his mother found out, she would have her secretly disposed of no doubt.

A tear rolls down the courtmaid's cheeks. She stands up and dresses swiftly, paying no heed to the delicate parts of her garment that require ultimate care to fix.

She would sail to another country and start a new life without any promptings. Without anyone taking credit. She was leaving, and she was leaving forever this time. The crown prince could wait all he wanted but she would never come back.

When she reaches the door, she catches the glimpse of something sparkly blue. She traces the source to the crown prince's finger. A fine ring.

Slowly, with hushed breath, she collects the ring and hides it under her garments. She needed something to make sure the crown prince never forgot her and what better object than this curious looking ring? A befitting souvenir indeed.

She sashays to the door and gives the crown prince a last longing glance. Then, she makes her forever exit.