Post Morning glow

You sink into the pure afterglow of great sex, drifting into a deep sleep where you dream of a sea of the wonderful women you just experienced. When you finally surface, you spread out in your royal bed, sticky sheets twisted around your legs. Sunlight streams through the windows, assaulting your eyes as it illuminates every inch of your royal chambers. The golden rays light not only the room’s finery but also two beautiful, naked bodies.

For a moment, you are content to watch as they move about the room; you think you can still see traces of your royal seed on their skin. When the Queen notices your gaze, she smiles. “Good morning, Sire. Did you have a nice rest?”

You can’t help but smile as you remember your dream. “That I did…”

But then you notice them gathering their discarded gowns and lingerie from the floor, skillfully pulling on their layers. You question them, “Why are you getting dressed? I thought you came together so you could share each other’s time… Is it not Princess Elizabeth’s turn now?”

Princess Elizabeth freezes, a button half-fastened, and blushes in shame. Queen Beatrice, however, shows no such modesty. She continues fastening her gown without pause. “Oh, my dear King… we have already used up her turn while you slept.”

She advances, the hem of her gown dragging behind her, and leans in so you can smell the scent of the night still radiating off her. She whispers into your ear, “And we may have stolen even more turns than that while you slumbered, if I am **** to be truthful… As I told you my son, you must be careful; these candidates will do anything to be your Queen and not merely a mistress.” She pulls back with a wink. “The sun is high. If we were to borrow more of the King’s time, others would inquire. No, we must all be cleaned and go about our day.”

There is nothing to do but accept their logic. You watch, slightly awestruck, as they finish covering the signs of the night’s passion and exit with a bow.

Now alone, you drag yourself upright and wash with a basin of water by your bed before pulling on your basic royal garments. The moment you step into the corridor, you find yourself surrounded by every last one of the twenty-one ‘hopeful’ women who did not spend the night with you. Arrayed like a field of wildflowers in their finest morning silks, they bear hungry, expectant looks. They descend on you in a roar of eager voices. One offers a tray of fruit, her cleavage barely contained by her bodice. Another brings a letter written in a trembling, scented hand, begging for your time. A third, emboldened by the crowd, brushes her fingers against your jaw as she murmurs a greeting.

At first, you try to be polite, but frustration takes over when you find yourself unable to take a single step. “With all due respect, my fair ladies, I am a busy King!” you shout. “I will see to you when it is your time, but at this moment, I have business to attend to.”

The women look shocked and apologize, falling back to make a path. You fight through the crush of silk and perfume and duck into your study, hoping for peace. But even here, there is no quiet. Through the open window, a traveling band from the southern kingdom plays music with a drumbeat so fast it makes your skull ache. Documents and petitions are stacked high on your desk. To top it off, the musky scent of the night still clings to your fingers, as if the Queen had marked you.

You slouch in your chair and groan. “Sir Dietrich, to me, please!”

Your adviser appears with practiced speed, his brow already furrowed. “Sire. What is it?”

“When am I going to have my capital back to its peaceful state so I can work?” you plead, your voice sounding more like a whine than a command.

Sir Dietrich laughs, a deep, jolly sound that makes you want to throttle him. “What’s so funny about my inability to focus?” you demand.

He bows, his face still aglow. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I do not wish to anger you… It is simply that I fear the peace you seek will not return to this city for some time. Have you reviewed the bookings for the inns or the requests for royal housing?”

You glance at the paperwork. “Need I remind you… I was dancing for hours yesterday. I just woke up, and I cannot focus.”

“I would start with the report on future bookings,” Dietrich suggests. “It is the paper on top.”

“Future bookings? We are a landlocked nation; we never have many bookings unless there is a gala. Unless there is another party I don’t know about, there is no need for this.”

Dietrich grins with equal parts amusement and dread. “No, Sire… there are no parties planned yet. But I suggest you read the report. The details are unprecedented.”

You skim the first paragraph. “Sir Dietrich, why is the Guild of Inns and Taverns asking for a loan to build temporary rooms? What need have they for more beds?”

Dietrich strides forward and points to the page with precision. “If you read here, you will see that the nobility of our nation, and two visiting nations, have booked every room for the next two months and are still demanding more.”

You snort, scanning the bureaucratic language. “The ball was yesterday. Why are they lingering?”

“Sire,” Dietrich answers flatly. “Their daughters.”

“What about them?” you snap as the drums rattle your head.

“Mark my words: some will go home, but most will maintain a presence in this city to ensure their daughters get a fair shot until our 'experiment' is finished.”

You slam your fist onto the desk, sending the petitions sliding. “Incredible. And how am I supposed to find the funds to build beds for these insatiable harpies while also paying for that ball?”

“I wouldn’t worry about the funds, Sire. The kingdoms to the north and south do not wish their daughters to reside in an impoverished nation. They have pledged to pay for the ball and even reverse certain predatory trade practices.”

You sneer. “That would be amazing, if not for the fact that if I am ever too tired or not in the mood to bed one of them on their ‘arbitrary turn,’ someone will be here to complain.”

Dietrich’s expression turns icy. “Not only complain, Sire. They may use such neglect as justification to defect or even invade.”

You stare at him, your patience wearing thin. “Sir Dietrich, what have you gotten me into?”

He shrugs with resignation. “It was the only way I could see, given the restrictions you placed upon me.”

You rub your temples. “Fine. Just please, don't let them swarm me. Limit it to a few at a time, like the Queen and the Princess did last night.”

Dietrich’s surprise is genuine. “They came to you last night? I am sorry, Sire, but everyone was under strict instructions to leave you alone until tonight. It appears the Queen does not respect my orders.”

You laugh, remembering your mother’s words. “She still holds the title of Queen, after all. Besides, others clearly noticed her absence, judging by the horde that swarmed me in the hall.”

“I shall try to ensure it doesn't happen again,” Dietrich says with a small smile, “though your mother may have a deaf ear for my commands.”

You wave off his concerns. “Don’t fret. She has no wish to see me swarmed. If anything, she’d have the others cast to the farthest corners of the world if she could.”

“Assuming she does not wish to be a mistress, you are likely right,” Dietrich agrees. “Now, about the Guild's request—what if you were to deny it?”

Dietrich’s face softens into pity. “I do not think that wise. Without the funds, the Guild will house them in tents outside the walls. The nobles will not tolerate such conditions; it would be seen as a provocation, a sign that the Crown cannot host its betters.”

“Then inform the Guild the loan is granted,” you sigh, “at the standard rate.”

“As you wish.” As Dietrich turns to leave, you call out, “Wait. You mentioned a request for royal housing?”

“Yes, Sire. Much like the nobility, the visiting royals wish to have a constant presence in the capital.”

You groan, pressing your palms to your eyes. “My dear advisor, if I didn't know these were my own foolish wishes, I’d think you wanted my head.”

Dietrich looks nervous until you laugh. “My King, I wish only the best for you. We are only here because you refused to pick a name off my original list.”

Overwhelmed, you glance out the window. The courtyard is more crowded than it has been in years. You spot the daughters of the northern kingdom talking to their father and an elderly man you don't recognize. King Richard, the northern sovereign, flinches as he notices you watching them.

“Sir Dietrich, should I be concerned that the women who wish to bed me are conferring with a man I don’t know?”

Dietrich rushes to the window. “Oh, him? You have nothing to fear but boredom. That is King Richard’s personal physician. He is assisting the princesses until someone more… specialized… arrives.”

“Specialized?”

“Yes,” Dietrich says, trying to remain calm. “Someone trained in assisting a royal to sire a child. He sent a pigeon requesting a specialist arrive by week’s end.”

“What?!”

“King Thomas has done the same,” Dietrich continues. “And rumors say our own Queen took the Princess to the royal physician the moment the ball ended last night. That is likely why she disobeyed my orders.”

You stare blankly at the skyline, the drums still thumping in the distance. “All this for the title of Queen of a landlocked nation.”

“Royal marriages are the most solid of alliances,” Dietrich says sharply. “We challenged their honor and their blood; they are going to do everything in their power to get something in return.”

“Everything in their power? Should I be concerned for my life?”

“Not for your life, Sire,” Dietrich says with a mischievous glint. “We have banned outside chemists and posted guards at every kitchen. But,” he adds, “I would still be careful. They will not harm you, but I wouldn't put it past them to use… other methods to get what they want.”

“The Queen gave me the same advice.”

Dietrich frowns. “She is the one I would worry about most.”

“Do you think she gave me something in my sleep?”

Dietrich pauses, thinking. “No. I believe they are still under the impression that it is their ‘official’ turn tonight. They wouldn't waste their best tricks while you were ****.”

You roll your eyes. “I assume you are changing that plan?”

“Indeed,” he laughs. “If that is all, my King? I have pressing matters.”

You wave him away. “You may go.”