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"Papa! I see soldiers!"

Your little sister, perched atop the stacked bushels of feed corn in the back of the wagon, points over your head, toward the road that runs past your farm. Your father, leading the mules toward the barn, stops the wagon and walks to your side, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun as you all watch the column of dust rising into the clear, autumn sky.

"Are we at war?" you ask, glad for the rest. Your insides ache, and your secret inconvenience is especially sensitive today, your balls rubbing against your swollen pussy lips with every step you take.

Your father shrugs. "Not that I've heard, but who knows. This road don't go anywhere in particular."

"Maybe the king has passed a new law to make our lives better," you say.

"The king would send a royal herald, not an army," he says, ignoring your sarcasm. You watch the soldiers for a moment, the sunlight glinting off their polished armor, but finally your father gives you a nudge. "C'mon, we got to get this corn in before the rains come."

You groan, but follow the wagon. In the cool of the barn, you hand each bushel up to your father, who dumps the husked ears into an empty crib. Once all the baskets are empty, you stack them in the back of the wagon and head for the fields again. There's just one problem. As you emerge from the barn, the wagon stops dead, the mules snorting and stamping their hooves. You peer over the wagon and your mouth goes dry.

The regiment of armored soldiers is standing in front of the barn, at least fifty men with long pikes bristling in the air. Standing at the front of the array is a woman wearing the colors and crest of the royal family, her dark red hair coiled on top of her head and her green eyes hard. You try to swallow, but your mouth is dry, your heart starting to pound. The day you had hoped would never come appears to have arrived.

"I bring unfortunate news," she says. "The king is dead, leaving no heir to the throne. A Vessel is needed to choose the next king of Remaria." Your gut clenches, a twisting pain that takes your breath away.

"There's no Vessel here," your father says. "We're just poor, simple farmers."

The woman narrows her eyes at him. "I hope, for your sake, that you are not trying to deceive me. We will search this farm. Everyone will be stripped and examined. If I find you have lied to me, you will be executed for treason. You and your entire family." She motions to half a dozen soldiers behind her. "Start with the girl."

"Wait," you say, stepping around the wagon. The woman's emerald eyes shift to you. "Please, don't punish my father for trying to protect his family. I'll tell you who the Vessel is, if you promise not to hurt him."

"Son, be quiet," your father says.

"No, Father," you say. "They'll learn the truth one way or another. This is the easiest way, and no one has to die."

"Very well," the severe woman says. "Give us the Vessel and your family will not be harmed."

You step forward. "I'm the one you're looking for," you say. "I'm the Vessel."