Gold Weaver | ✓

zwei

ZWEI

We wiggled our way into the crowd, Martha doing most of the work as she slipped past people. Everyone was edging further and further forward, but a gruff looking man on horseback, looking out of place with his large body in the pristine outfit he was wearing and similar looking ones further down the road began to keep the crowd back.

A group of men on horseback were at the front, likely to surround the King as protection— not that I thought it'd do all that much if someone was to whip out a weapon, not that I said that of course. They were in the distinct red uniforms, small bits of material covering their mouths until only their eyes were visible. Despite everyone's excitement, the crowd seemed to take a step back at the ominous figures.

The Masks, I thought with a shiver. Tales of their ruthlessness circulated the streets. And I, for one, wasn't exactly all that thrilled to be so close to them. 

They were the King's private guard. I knew they had to be the best of the best, that much I could tell just by the way they carried themselves. I, and everyone around me, knew that if needed, they could brandish those swords I could see hidden beneath their long coats and chop our heads clean off. I gulped.

"Jesus Christ," Martha suddenly let out, clinging onto my arm so we didn't lose each other. "That is really him."

I looked to the front of the procession, just behind the Masks. Despite rarely seeing the King, he was clearly recognisable— especially because of his attire and the crown atop his head.

"Better looking in person," I noted, quietly.

It's not that the paintings didn't do him justice— the ones hanging in shops and schools— just that I'd never really realised he was actually a very handsome man even nearing sixty.

I felt Martha's eyes on me so glanced at her. "Don't look at me like that," I said when I saw her little smirk. "I'm just saying."

"Sure, sure," she said and I could feel her grin, which only made my ears burn in embarrassment because yes, he was a good looking man but that did not mean I wanted to jump that. It was an observation, nothing more. "You're right thought. A total dilf."

"I thought forty was your limit?"

"For the King—" She said. "— I can make an exception."

I rolled my eyes but laughed.

Of course it would never happen. The King, no matter how pleasing to the eye, was happily married and had been for a good twenty years. There were various stories of how King Roland and Queen Elena met and fell in love. I wasn't much of a fan of the royals, of how they sat in the palace whilst people starved and suffered just outside of the palace walls, but even as a child, I'd been fascinated by their story. No matter if nobody truly knew how it all happened, just speculation.

"Huh?" I said, realising I'd tuned out.

"I said—" she leaned forward to see round the heads. "— I wonder if the Prince is as good looking."

"I don't know." I don't care.

Maybe when I was little, I'd dreamt of what it would be like to marry a prince and live as royalty, all the jewels in the world at my fingertips. But that was then. Now, I couldn't really think of anything worse than being confined to one space, even if it was a palace. That wasn't even mentioning that the prince, once known as the kind and generous little boy, had grown up a little chaotically and less than appealing stories had reached us about him and his ways.