The characters of the Southern Vampire Mysteries belong to Miss Charlaine Harris. No infringement on my part is intended. The characters on True Blood belong to Mr. Alan Ball. No infringement on my part is intended.
I have no BETA, editor, or other such charming person. All mistakes are my own.
Chapter 3 I Could Have Been Queen
I live in a very well-built house. All brick and stone with actual glass in the windows. The door and the sills are all trimmed out in red. Not my favorite color but then I am a guest here and have been for the past eighteen years. The furniture is old, dated, but comfortable. A bubbling stream is out the back door and there is even a view of the valley.
Of course, this hunting lodge was built with those things in mind. A royal wants to command all that he sees. From here, the mountains go on forever and if you wanted to rule the ice giants that live in those forsaken, frozen, forlorn peaks…well, you have arrived and welcome home my liege lord.
It is a nice enough prison, but a prison it is. I still do not know if it is intended to hold Red, myself, or both.
Red and I are the soul occupants. As an infant and small child, Red had a wet-nurse. As she got older she had a tutor and by the time she was ten, she had been forgotten about. Only, if you are related to anyone with money or position, you are never really forgotten about. There is a small monthly stipend that is delivered to us each month at the bank. With this money we have a woodsman that delivers firewood and he also hunts for us. We have chickens and goats and the herder comes by every day and collects our Ruddy and Rachael and Ruth to take them up to the mountain. I do not know who sends us the money. I first thought it was the queen. Then I thought it was perhaps one of my relatives. But how would they know where we lived? As I am now older and wiser, I realize that it has to be someone in the castle who was aware of what was going on at the time of our exodus.
When I have been drinking and get all maudlin, I think perhaps it is Charley who sends the money. Here again, I do not know if he does it for my upkeep, or Red’s, or both. Those are the kind of thoughts that can make you crazy so I do not drink often because to live in the past is dangerous. Just accept the fact that when you fall from favor, it is a very long drop to the bottom of what can be a blood filled pail.
And for small things, you find that you can be grateful. Like the fact that instead of being dead, I am here raising Red. The crown could have picked anyone to see to the child because I am not Red’s grandmother. I am related to her through my sister’s husband’s niece, Ferdie.
Believe me, Ferdie is a name I spit out with great revulsion and much hate. This whore of a cow took me from being Prince Charles’ lady in attendance in his bedchamber to Granny Woman. When the little twat said she was pregnant with Charley’s progeny, who is not even the heir apparent, the king banished, beheaded and belittled many who knew of and had partaken in this smear upon the crown. As Charley’s lover, I was caught up in the mayhem as well and I was sent to this old hunting lodge high up in the mountains to raise the child and I had to learn how to survive in this unfamiliar territory so I could teach both of us how to live everyday lives.
We both do the chores of hausfraus and we survive.
My very fine ass and proud, jutting tits were never to be seen at court, again. My fashion updates consist of a new apron every year at Yuletide, gifted to me by Red. My wooden shoes are serviceable and actually comfortable. I hear nothing of my former life and I find this to be for the best.
And so I raised Red, in the ways of the court and in the ways of men. That being, do not trust them. Stand on our own. Earn your own way. And when the crown comes calling on you, make sure you are the hell and away from the intrigue and the lies thereof.
But living here, there are daily reminders of my past life. This is a royal hunting lodge and carved into the fireplace mantels and into the wood are telltale signs of when the king would come here. Coats of arms, standards, Latin phrases praising courage and loyalty. That we ended up here…there are times when I wonder if Red is Charley’s. When we sit in the firelight, that is when I observe her closely, looking for any small something that reminds me of him. I see nothing of the king’s family in her. I see nothing of my sister’s husband’s, as well. Whoever this child’s father was, he was strong of bone and character as there is no guile or deceit in her. Which is more than I can say for my relatives or Charley’s as they are both looking to advance their station at all times. Murder, mayhem, plotting and planning walk hand in hand with our families.
In retrospect, that twat Ferdie who could not keep her legs closed or her mouth shut, actually saved my life. Perhaps Charley and I had schemed to kill off his brothers and put him on the throne. This was a very tasty thought for us after two of his siblings had been killed while hunting. Seems a fearless predator tore out their throats. Having no dread of men, this ferocious beast came right into their campsite, entered their tents, and murdered them while they slept.
The king had many of those guards that had accompanied them put to death. Those that survived the purge said the tents were a bloody mess and that the biggest wolf’s paw they have ever seen was present along with a boot print.
Well, that started the queen screaming witchcraft and the hunt was on until Ferdie pops up with a swollen tummy and wanting to be called Princess Ferdie and live in Charley’s quarters. The witch-hunt lost all its oomph and the court was abuzz with a far more righteous tale of lust and which house would rule after the old king slept the eternal sleep. Ferdie’s pedigree from the House of Chaise was not the best. The queen had said numerous times that she would see that little whore disemboweled before children from that traitorous French family ever sat on the Reigenheld’s throne.
Ferdie should have just kept her mouth shut and retired to the country because the Queen had plenty to say about her strolling around and patting her tummy as she planned her wedding and coronation.
Neither which took place.
After she gave birth, the cord was cut and the babe and wet-nurse and I were gone. I never heard what happened to Ferdie but I know for a fact she is not called Princess and I hear rumors that Charley is still single. Of course, two more of his brothers must die before he is the heir apparent, but my love for him still holds and I am believing for him that could happen. And at one time, I would have been willing to kill the king for him. In my youth I was a pretty fair hand at poison but those days are past me now. I am content to be Granny Woman and keep my head on my shoulders and my body out of the lit pitch.
All that hot tar does horrible things to a girl’s complexion. And mine is the fairest in the land. Flawless skin, a tight ass and high tits overlooking a flat stomach and creamy white thighs. My mound of Venus has been untouched by either male of female for longer than I care to remember. I was the feast where Charley would eat and mouth his fill. His moans louder than my own as he thrust against my leg while his tongue played my insides and he ate and was satisfied. Sometimes, I lie in my bed at night and stroke myself and remember when Charley and I would ride naked bareback out into the woods and when the passion was at a frenzied peak, we would…”
“Thank you child,” Eric interrupted her. “Horny, unsatisfied sexually, and there is a small stipend you receive monthly from an anonymous person.
Samuel,” Eric bowed his head to him. “I believe you now have the particulars, put it all together and give us a happily ever after.”