“Are you awake yet? Goethe, wake up.”

Despite it being a gentle whisper, Goethe groaned and tossed in his bed, irritated by, to him at least, a rumbling thunder.

“Goethe, everyone else is already up”, Helen, the owner of that annoyed voice, said. Goethe noticed, with justified dread, that it was beginning to rise in volume.  The desire of sleep outweighing rational fear, he grunted and rolled over once more. Undeterred, Helen lightly rapped on his door with her index finger, causing the door to shudder against its hinges and the jamb.

Goethe never understood why Helen would knock on the door when he considered the fact that his room didn’t have a roof so she could always look in on him. Whenever he pointed that out, Helen would give a haughty laugh and say that it wasn’t becoming of a lady, let alone a princess, to enter a house without first knocking.

She certainly isn’t behaving like a lady now, he thought ruefully, wondering what damage the door had sustained. He chanced to open one eye and saw a massive face, which filled all of his vision, with eyes drilling holes into him and a tight frown that was beginning to break into a smile. Certainly that face was far from the worst thing to see first thing in the morning.

Snow-white skin was aglow from a morning ray of sunshine that shot through an opening in the bedroom – her bedroom, not his – as if it only existed to heighten her beauty. Emerald eyes showed an irrepressible mirth, despite the fact that she was trying to use them to exert authority – to anyone else, they would have worked. Her red lips where quivering slightly as they feebly fought back a smile, though he knew that they could be worked into a real frown at the bat of an eye. Reddish golden hair – already combed, he noted – was touching the tops of his walls, with the occasional curl spilling into the room. Certainly not the worst, but bad enough, he thought while throwing the covers over his head.

Seeing his stubbornness was not going to yield easily, Helen lowered her face even closer into the room, until her mouth was only an arm’s length – Goethe’s arm – away from the lump of laziness. Goethe tensed a little as he sensed that her massive face was perilously close.  I should’ve just gotten up, he thought, giving a piteous groan.

“Did you know that you missed breakfast already, Goethe?” Helen breathed in an almost indistinct whisper. “Can you guess what you missed?”, and with that she let a long exhalation.

The whisper was already like a shout with her being so close, but her exhaling threatened to blow the covers off. But the noise or the small gale wasn’t the problem to Goethe, it was the smell. Despite having the covers over his head, a warm, humid mist settled around his bed, lingering on top of him and forming a film of a rather heady condescension between him and his sheets. She hasn’t brushed her teeth yet. Damn! Judging by that smell, she has never even touched a tooth brush! His train of thought was cut short as he began to feel dizzy.

“So what did you miss?” Helen asked innocently as she pulled her head back slightly.

“Carrion and dung”, Goethe muttered as he threw a now-moistened pillow at her nose.   

Even after being covered with spittle and breath that wasn’t all too fresh, Goethe couldn’t help but smirk at Helen’s reaction to his playful jab. Her cheeks quickly colored, so much in fact that her hair seemed listless in comparison. The smirk did not last, however, as he saw her quickly draw in a deep breath, his hair flying up towards her mouth. A rush of warm air sent him rolling backwards into headboard of his bed. If you play with fire, you’re going to get burned, Goethe remarked to himself as he rubbed the back of his head, aching somewhat from the collision.

“I don’t doubt that you are up now”, Helen said with an indignant scowl, “hopefully my strong breath didn’t put you too out of sorts”. She slowly began to rise to her full height, trying to look as imposing as possible. Goethe had to crane his neck all the way up in order to maintain a semblance of eye contact. I hate when she does that, as if she wasn’t already big enough. But as he continued looking his annoyance lessened somewhat. Well, it doesn’t hurt to look at things from different perspectives, he thought as his throat went dry.

Though she may have eaten breakfast and readied her hair for the day, Helen had yet to change out of her nightgown. Summer nights in Tamara were not known for being cold; and the lighter the nightgown was, the more comfortable a lady slept. The light, white gown, hemmed with yellow, clung to Helen’s body, displaying her figure.

Her gown was cut well low of the neck, revealing the tops of two impossibly white breasts that swayed gently from her rising motion. The royal pendent, an oval amber stone encased in gold and hanging from a polished, gold chain, rested in her cleavage, though it seemed to be slowly swallowed up by her breasts with each breath.

Goethe noticed that the gown was slightly damp around her armpits and under her bosom, which had some beads of sweat on top lazily moving towards her cleavage. Helen had never been able to sleep that well during summer nights, and after particularly hot nights her gown would cling tightly to her slick body, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

Although the walls of his room where blocking his view of her navel and legs, from experience Goethe knew that her legs where almost scandalously exposed by cuts in the gown that went up to her upper thigh. She didn’t care about her exposed legs, she could only be a lady about so many things as she had told Goethe many times before.

His eyes were drawn to her enormous breasts, and he tried to see how tightly the gown had clung today…Stop that! He chided himself, keep your mind out of pig sty! He shook his head, as if such an action would get rid of those kind of thoughts. He couldn’t understand it, but for some reason his thoughts became more and more like that with each passing day. However, this time he didn’t really need to chide himself, because when he caught Helen’s eyes again, he gave a slow gulp. She really is mad this time, maybe she did eat dung. The thought would have made him laugh out loud had not laughter died before it started as he wilted under the severity of her glare.

“I should have you punished for treating your princess with such contempt” Helen stated with such coldness that Goethe shuttered. A long paused followed, and finally Goethe said “I’m sorry…your highness”. Helen’s cool stare was immediately replaced with a loving look, and her silence was broken by a fit of laughter. Now it was Goethe’s turn to go red in the face, she always manages to make me look like the fool in the end.

Goethe stepped out of his room, he couldn’t help but notice that the door was on its last leg. She could apologize for vandalizing my house, the overgrown lout, he thought, wincing as he felt the door wobble when he closed it behind him. An immaculate white hand descended out of the sky, resting right in front of him and tilting towards him. With a sigh he climbed on.

Goethe could understandably be cowed by any hands that had thumbs as big as he was tall. He had had bad experiences with several of the serving girls. Though the fawning over him wasn’t too bad, occasionally a girl would forgot that she was holding him and use the hand he was in to cover a cough or wipe a running nose. One time a young servant that was carrying him was frightened by a stray cat and crushed him in an iron grip without thinking. The broken leg was enough for Helen to formally declare that no one but herself would carry Goethe from then on. He also had to spend some time convincing her not to punish the poor girl.

Helen’s hands, however, were the safest places to be. She had quickly learned to handle him as soon as she received him as a present on her fifth birthday. Which was good, because he remembered that he cried every time there was even a hint of a bump while she was carrying him, though a vigorous backrub and a torrent of soothing words quickly calmed him down.

He settled himself in the center of her soft palm. She gave off a sweet smell of lavender. Slender fingers began to curl instinctively around him.

On the table where his room sat, her hand was perfectly level with her navel. The gown hugged hips that would make most women jealous. Goethe caught a quick glimpse of her outer thighs, that gown was cut higher than I thought!  He noted that the cut ended just before it reached her pelvis. He swallowed hard as his eyes followed those marble-like legs all the way down to the floor, revealing two well-kept feet. Goethe also saw that her inner thighs were only barely covered by the gown, and her groin seemed to pull at the gown.

He was snapped out his trance as the hand began to rise, bringing him closer to her chest. The smell of her stale sweat mixed with soap overpowered him. The closer he got to her breasts, the more he could swear that he heard the beating of her heart, which seemed quicker than usual. He choked when her hand came to be level with her breasts. Small mountains to him that heaved with every breath. The vast white landscape of the top of her bosom was occasionally broken by a freckle. Being this close, Goethe couldn’t help but see every detail of her bosom that the gown was trying to hide.

Thankfully, Goethe didn’t have too much time to gawk, for he soon found himself eye level with Helen. Gentle gusts of warm breath ruffled his hair, I am glad she is breathing through her nose this time, he thought gratefully. Focusing squarely on him, green eyes sparkled as they reflected the morning sun…or maybe that was just her own good nature shining forth, he doubted that last thought very much.

“Why do you always have be to such a handful in the morning” Helen said, suppressing a chuckle at what she must of thought was clever wordplay.

Goethe merely sighed and tried to rearrange his hair, which was becoming harder to do with each breath she took.

“Well, you can still catch a glimpse of the sunrise” she said as she walked close to one of the openings in her room. She lowered Goethe to be level with her chest as she rested her other hand against one of the stones that made up the ledge before opening. Her thumb was gently caressing his hair, which caused it to become disheveled again. “What’s the point of trying”, he muttered in a low voice so Helen couldn’t hear him. Whatever other complaints that Goethe wanted to express died on his lips as he turned to look out the opening.

Tamara was certainly a beautiful kingdom, at least what little portions Goethe saw were. From Helen’s room high up in the castle, he could see roofs of houses from the city below, morning sunlight reflecting off roof tiles. He noticed that the cobbled streets had the makings of a throng of people milling about their morning chores. Maybe it is later than I thought, Goethe grimaced slightly, knowing without looking that Helen had a smug smile of justification on her lips.

Past the stone walls that enclosed the town, he saw vast stretches of farmland that rolled along uninterrupted save for the occasional barn and windmill. The main highway that began at the castle and ran all the way to the eastern frontier bore the distinct shapes of traders with their lumbering horses and laden carts making their way to the city market in hopes of selling their wares.

Beyond the farmland and the highway weaving seamlessly through it was a vast forest, the Queen’s Sylvan. It seemed to stretch beyond the horizon, giving it the impression that it was a green ocean with the farmland serving as its shore. It undulated wavelike with every hill and valley; the fact that no single tree was discernible from the castle only added to the impression.

As a gentle morning breeze found its way through the opening of the high tower where Helen’s room lay, Goethe let out a plaintive sigh. The sight certainly was beautiful, and Goethe always felt overwhelmed by its majesty. But it also left him empty. I don’t think I will ever be able to see this land from any place other than this tower, He bit his lip as he wrestled with this recurring problem.

Being the size of a thimble had inhibited Goethe’s mobility in a world so clearly not meant for him. Helen always made sure that she had an eye on him, save for when she left the castle, then he was in the care of her old nurse, Rena. And being a princess, the heir apparent to be exact, Helen herself didn’t move with much freed, being confined mainly to her studies. Though a walk in the perennial garden was granted to her daily – the highlight of both their days – Goethe wanted more time to explore. Goethe would have felt worse about being prohibited about leaving the castle, let alone Helen’s room, if Helen had not been so considerate about his loneliness.

But as of late, along with the increasingly embarrassing thoughts he had for Helen, Goethe was feeling more and more the desire to go out into the world. Must be a side effect of growing up, he was after all the same age as Helen who was now eighteen years old. At least I think I’m the same age …I don’t really know.

Pushing unsettling thoughts out his head, Goethe looked up at Helen. He was surprised to see that her gaze was already leveled on him, greens eyes focused, yet unfocused at the same time. He felt a slight rush of air as she raised him slightly above her bosom, which was moving to the regular rhythm of her breath, rising and falling with an almost hypnotic motion.

After a short silence and a look that told him that she was going to say something, she swallowed hard, the noise reverberating in Goethe’s ears.

“Goethe, I…” Helen started suddenly, but demurred just as suddenly. A short pause followed before she summoned the courage to speak again. “Goethe, I want to say someth…” she was cut off, as a knock on the door made her clamp her mouth shut.

“Enter.” Helen said, regaining composure so quickly that Goethe blinked in surprise. An elderly woman, bent over with age and with hoary hair done in a matronly bun, poked her head in. “Will little Goethe be wantin’ some food?” Rena said, not at all perturbed at entering into the princess’ room without a customary bow.

Before Goethe could even get a word in, Helen replied, composure giving way to irritation, “I have already cut up some fruit for him.”

“Eh, that so?” Rena queried, unable to stifle a chuckle. “You’re a better nurse than I’m”, the chuckle gave way to laughter.

Helen spun around to glare at Rena, nearly giving Goethe whiplash. “You will not address your princess in such a tone! I am no nurse, but your future Queen!” She ended, puffing up her chest in a haughty fashion.

Rena’s laughter did not subside. “A nurse you may not be, aye. But a Queen? Certainly not in that gown.” She said in an amused smile.

Helen’s face flashed a crimson blush, which seemed to creep down to the top of her breasts. “I…I…didn’t have time…”she said meekly, looking down at the nightgown as if it was little better than wearing nothing at all. But she quickly rallied herself and stated with some promptness that she would change now. Her eyes darted to Goethe, looking to upbraid him for any comment he might have on the matter, but he whistled softly, looking down and tracing his finger along the lines of her palm. I am not as big a fool as she thinks.

Rena smiled warmly, clearly Helen was as endearing to her as ever. She bowed her head and began to make her way out of the room. But before she could go, Helen ask her a favor: “Rena, I need you to change my sheets again”. Her face grew to a brighter crimson than Goethe thought possible. “I…sweated through the bedding once more”, she said almost in a whisper.

Rena simply nodded, “of course, your highness. I will get right on it”. Goethe wasn’t sure, but he thought that Rena had a knowing smile on her face.

She’s been having troubled nights for a while now, Goethe observed to himself. More than once in the past few nights, Goethe had awakened to the sound of subdued moaning coming from Helen. When he stepped out of his room to see what she was doing, all he could make out in the darkness was her giant form writhing under the blankets. Sometimes she would let out a slight scream before cutting it off and becoming motionless. He had asked her if she was having nightmares, but her curt reply that she was fine and the icy stare she would give him told him not to broach the subject anymore.

As Rena shut the door behind her, Helen let out an angry breath of air. “One subject of mine thinks something died in my mouth, another thinks of me as a nurse!” Her anger quickly gave way to worry, the fire in her eyes diminishing.  “Want if I don’t have my people’s respect?” she said, in a quavering voice that betrayed all the self-doubt that had pounced on her so quickly. There she goes again, but I guess it’s only natural, Goethe thought with a touch of empathy. As big as she was, Helen still had her own worries, like him.

He patted the thumb that was now rubbing him almost into oblivion. “Your subjects will think you are as just as you are kind” he said with a matter-of-fact tone, looking directly into eyes that were somewhat moist. She smiled at that, but that quickly turned into a frown when he added that many of her subjects didn’t have to smell her breath. “Fool!” she growled as her hand closed around him tightly. In darkness, he felt an upward motion. Before he could register what was happening, the hand opened slightly to reveal an open mouth. A dark cave, surrounded with pearly white teeth, emitted a blast of hot breath. Globs of spit and food flew at him, along with an all too familiar smell. With a laugh, Helen closed her hand not allowing the hot breath to escape. “A just punishment I should think” She laughed mirthfully as Goethe gagged, wiping her breakfast off his face. Bacon. 

She is becoming more and more of a hazard, Goethe thought angrily as he kicked one of the fingers that was enclosed around him. That same finger, as if to make him regret the action, jabbed him painfully in his side. This punishment certainly has gone on long enough, he wiped his now dampened hair out of his eyes. The inside of her hand was becoming a furnace, and beads of sweat began to collect in small pools. He coughed every once in a while from the lingering stench of her morning breath, that he was sure had permeated into his clothes.

“What is she doing?” he thought aloud, wondering what could keep her occupied without using both hands. As if sensing his thoughts, a slight, affectionate squeeze assured him that he wasn’t forgotten.

Nothing to do but to wait, he sighed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dampness and smell. He was not exactly a stranger to Helen’s punishments, though they seemed to be more like petty pranks than anything else. Besides, he thought, you have to be guilty of wrongdoing to deserve a punishment, I am just a victim of circumstance. The thought sounded weak even to him as he recalled his gallant escapades (or so he viewed them) against her tyrannical rule.

He was rather proud of the time he managed to put a tack on her seat cushion. He had nearly broken his neck climbing up one of the legs of the chair, and getting down from the table in the first place was no small feat. Helen, on the other hand, wasn’t pleased at all with his acrobatic prowess. After almost jumping to the ceiling and crying in pain, with one hand rubbing her sore bottom she used the other to grab him and drop him into one of her silk slippers. He didn’t have much time to react as a bare foot forced him to the front of the slipper. Her toes adeptly dragged him away from the edge and forced him underneath them. He had lost track of time as the foot’s odor seemed to stifle any thought he could possibly form. Anytime he was close to nodding off she instinctively brought her foot down hard to the ground to jolt him, or she would curl her toes around him, like so many snakes squeezing the life out of their prey. Finally, she dropped him on her bed as she took her slipper off for the night. As way of apology, she dunked him in a glass of cool water that she had on her bed stand, and left him there to let him get out by himself.

Another time he had managed to draw slightly obscene images in her papers before she had handed them into her tutor. He judged by the way she had burst into her room with a face contorted with rage, that she didn’t notice his artwork in time. He also noticed that she was walking in an odd way, and refused to take at seat. When he suggested that she should take a seat and try to relax, she grabbed him before he could even think of running. She held him tightly in her hand, her scowl gave way to a mischievous grin. “I think I will take you up on your offer,” she said with foreboding weight attached to her words. With exaggerated care, she placed him on the cushion of her seat. His mouth gaped open as he saw her royal rear envelope his world and then become his world. The weight was just enough not to break him, but he wasn’t too sure that he wasn’t already grounded into dust. As she lifted herself off of him, she turned and laughed at him lying bewildered in the heart shaped impression left by her.  “A princess must be generous and repay in tenfold,” she regally stated as she grabbed him again and flicked his bottom so hard that he winced for a week when he even saw a chair.

He broke away from the fond memories – remembering Helen’s howl as she sat on the tack always brought a smile to his face – when he heard Helen beginning to hum a gentle melody Rena had taught her when she was a girl. Though the melody was innocent enough, the princess humming it was by no means the same, and Goethe was reminded that she also had her fair share of fun at his expense.

More than once, as Helen was eating her meal with Goethe close by, he accidently – she always claimed it was always by accident – ended up on her plate. The first time it happened, he was at first surprised and then more than annoyed that his favorite clothes were soaked in her favorite pudding. But as he started to yell threats and insults at her, he quieted down when he saw her spoon hover above his head before upending a pile of cream on him. Another time he found himself on her plate, he was wise enough to endure it in silence, but wasn’t quick enough to dodge that damn spoon. Panic got the better of him, and he began to shout franticly as he was being taken closer and closer to her gaping mouth. For a brief moment, he thought Helen was really going to eat him before a fit of laughter made her drop him back onto her plate.

Yet, despite all the petty tricks the two played on each, there was never any hard feelings between them, or if they did exist, never lasted for very long. Partly, this was because their pranks and jests were a form of entertainment for both the perpetrator and victim alike. But mainly, it was because each one knew that the tricks never came from a place of malice but always from a deep bond each had for the other, which, admittedly, was expressed in not always the pleasantest of ways. Already, Goethe was devising some sort of payback for his current situation. If I could climb up her bed while she’s sleeping, then maybe I can…

As he was thinking about their battle of wills and his diminutive retribution, the hand opened abruptly, pouring in light as it did so. The morning air was a welcome change to the dinginess that had been Helen’s grip. Goethe muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes to help them adjust to the light. He looked up to see Helen wearing a pleasant smile.

“The mornings just don’t agree with some people.” She quipped, looking at his sodden clothes and slick hair.

Goethe couldn’t help but smile back. She truly does look beautiful with that smi...enough! He forced a frown upon his face and folded his arms while rising to his feet, almost slipping on the now wet palm. “What exactly were you doing?” He demanded, trying his best to intimidate her, as much chance as that as Helen intimidating Rena.

Instead of giving a reply, Helen pursed her lips and let out a warm breath of air. Goethe was ready to wince but stopped himself when he noticed the sweet smells of mint and peppermint weaving themselves all around him.

“Oh,” he muttered, breaking into a smile.

“Oh,” she said in agreement, still holding her own smile. 

His punishment being over, Helen brought Goethe to his room on the table. From the vantage of Helen’s hand, the room looked more like an uncovered chest than it did a room – probably to everyone but Goethe it was just that. Though the ornately carved wooden exterior of the room wasn’t exactly Goethe’s first choice in decorations, the fact that Helen had spent weeks trying to find the best artisan to make him his new room – the old one had been smashed against the ground when a curious, but careless, servant dropped it – made him appreciate the somewhat gaudy fashion all the more.

After setting Goethe on the table, Helen turned and grabbed him a bowl of water and a small plate with finely sliced pieces of pears and chopped acorns. “Make sure you eat something and clean up soon. We have to be in the library before long, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about an empty stomach,” She said as she already was turning already to change out her nightgown.

Chewing on a mouthful of pear, Goethe looked down at his sodden clothes and was about to go in and change, when he brought his attention to Helen’s form walking away from him. The back of her gown was cut low, leaving a gap that exposed her shoulder blades and gradually became smaller by the time it ended at the small of her back. Her hair, cascading down the middle of her back, provided a stark contrast to the white skin.

A small dampness that ran down her gown at the small of her back, showed that she was still was somewhat flustered from the night’s heat. Just as the front of her gown was pulled tight around her groin, so was the back of it clinging to her rear end. Goethe’s jaw almost hit the table as he saw that the back of her thighs were almost completely exposed due to the cuts of her gown riding up into her bottom. How can she go on without noticing that she has so much exposed…maybe she has noticed?

Goethe plunged his head into the cool water, both wanting to give Helen a modicum of privacy and to clear his own head. He quickly washed himself and retired to his room to change.

Why can’t a maid clean my room every once and awhile? Goethe grimaced as he saw that Helen’s morning windstorm had blown his room into disarray. He quickly forgot about Helen’s enticing figure and went around gathering up his sheets and trying to grab a pillow that was just out of his reach, somehow managing to have gotten itself wedged in one of the corners of the room behind his dresser.

“Goethe, are you done yet?” Helen’s voice came from across her bedroom. The footsteps and tone told Goethe that she was already changed and wasn’t going to wait for him. “I’m running myself ragged trying to keep with her,” Goethe grunted, throwing a white shirt over his head and struggling to fit into his dark brown pants. It didn’t take long before all of his room was covered by an enormous shadow. He turned to see Helen fully dressed. 

Now that looks more like a princess, Goethe thought, giving Helen an admiring look. She wore a tightfitting linen dress with green and blue patterns interchanging throughout. Despite the dress being much more decent than her night gown, the dress had a generous neckline that exposed part of her shoulders and much of her bosom. Helen tugged somewhat irritably where the dress clung tightly to her waist – clearly comfort wasn’t something she willing sacrificed.  

“Shall we go to the library?” Helen said as she began to lower her palm for him to climb on to.

“You can”, Goethe replied, taking a step on to her palm, “just drop me off in the kitchen, or better yet the marketplace.”

“Of course. Will that be before or after I drop you in one of the maids’ chamber pots?” Helen said with an amused smile. Goethe let out an audible sigh that was greeted with an affectionate back rub.

“You always complain about going, but you always seem to enjoy helping me study.” Helen pointed out while walking out into the hallway, her footsteps becoming muffled on the rug.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right”, Goethe threw up his hands in defeat and reclined against her curled fingers, her ring finger bent over his shoulder to rub his chest, both of them managing to keep eye contact.

 Helen began winding through corridor after corridor before coming to a large hall. Its grey stonework would have made the hall rather bleak had it not been for the lush red rugs that ran the length of the hall and the detailed tapestries that lined both walls. The two weren’t alone long before maids bustled past, giving quick curtsies to Helen and pausing to give Goethe catlike smiles when they had gotten behind Helen. I am glad Helen is with me most of the time, some of the maids might be a little too much for me, he thought as he felt a small shiver go down his back.  

As if sensing that something was amiss, Helen’s mouth tightened somewhat, her green eyes flashing with a hint of jealousy. She closed the fingers Goethe had been leaning on and gave him tight squeeze.

“You shouldn’t be giving your mind over to such lewd things” she said with imperious voice as she was unfolding her fingers.

Goethe was about to offer a rebuttal, but thought better of it as he felt the fingers behind him coiling up, readying to pounce on him again. She always thinks that I am nothing more than a farm animal that had gotten into the house. He closed his eyes, content to pass the rest of the time to the castle library in silence.

The castle library was the second biggest area in the castle (the throne room being first). But despite its size, and save for the occasional maid dusting tomes, it was normally just Helen and Goethe who spent much time there. If it had been up to Goethe, they would spend their time in place with a little more life. The ridiculously large wooden doors leading into the library stood open, and looked like they hadn’t moved it some time, Goethe doubted if they could even move now. Helen kept a brisk pace and walked right through.  

When they crossed the threshold into the library, time – like everything else in there – stagnated. Musty light seemed to sluggishly spill out from the windows, fighting the dust-ladened air every step of the way. Wooden bookcases, which stood row upon row, looked as though they were in that room since the beginning of time, the ponderous tomes and torn manuscripts they held being no younger. An occasional table could be found among the walls of books, and at one of these Helen took her seat.

Setting Goethe down on the table, Helen grabbed a book already laying on the table and opened to the middle, beginning to quietly read to herself.

Goethe stretched out a little. Who knows how long it will be before she takes her nose out that book, he thought, looking into her now intent face, her eyes moving back and forth. Goethe was always impressed with Helen’s determination to take her studies seriously, but he always thought she spent too much time studying and none with friends. Come to think of it, I am her only friend. Well, maybe Rena is a friend, but who considers their nurse to be a friend? He grimaced as she quietly turned a page.

She hadn’t always been such a book worm. Growing up, Helen used to have many friends to play with. Goethe never minded her friends, and even had enjoyed their company. Well, most of their company.  Sometimes, Helen’s friends would be a bit careless with him, or make him the object of their more than playful mischief. But, as Helen got older, she turned her mind more and more to her studies. She had told Goethe that she must be prepared to be the queen and didn’t have time for many friends. I’m glad that she can still keep me around.

A loud bang shook Goethe out of his thought. Startled, he turned around to see Helen let out a sigh as she pushed the book she had just closed away from her.

“Why should I have to study poetry?” she grumbled, giving the book another contemptible shove. “A lot of good it would do me when I rule,” she sarcastically muttered, folding her arms under her breasts.

Goethe smiled to himself while brushing his pants as he stood up. Helen had never been much given over to poetry like other highborn girls. Her eyes would gloss over when someone recited poetry at the dinner table, but she would hang on every word of one of her mother’s battle maidens when they came to report from afar. She will be a rude surprise to many when she becomes queen, he thought, remembering how many poetesses were patronized by the queen.

“It’s to keep you from becoming a bigger lout than you already are,” Goethe said wryly. He was happy to welcome any conversation, no matter the outcome, before she lost herself again in her books.

Helen shot him a dangerous look that made him gulp slightly. I better do something fast or I’ll end up stuffed in one of those book, he thought as he saw Helen’s back begin to stiffen. “What are you going to study now?” Goethe asked quickly, hoping against hope that she would forget that last jab. To his surprise, Helen gave him a knowing smile and extend her opened right hand out to him.

“You might as well study too. You’re head’s only getting emptier as you sit there daydreaming”, Helen said while Goethe was climbing on to her palm. He winced at that last comment, but also began to breathe easy. That could have gone worse…much worse. Helen brought him to her bare left shoulder and waited patiently for him to settle himself.

Finding his favorite seat, Goethe sat where the neck and shoulder joined together to slope gently down to meet her collarbone. He found himself almost instantly fighting off sleep. The silk smoothness of her skin seemed to welcome him, the suppleness of it conforming to his body. The lingering scent of soap hung in the air, air that had become heavy with her body heat. Some of the curls of her hair snaked around him, as if they moved of their own will. He tried pushing some off, but they only fell back on him.

“Sorry” Helen said causally, using her slender hand to brush the hair back from her shoulder. “Comfortable?”

 “Sure. What are you, I mean, we going to study” Goethe said, meeting her sidelong glance. With a sniff, Helen silently reached out to grab a large, yellow parchment on the edge of the table. Goethe swayed slightly, feeling his world shift from under him. She unrolled the parchment to its full length, revealing a map of Tamara and the nations around it.

Goethe sat up, absent mindedly brushing away a ringlet of hair that had found its way back to him. His eyes darted from corner to corner of the map and trying to take in as much as possible. He quickly found the familiar shape that represented the kingdom of Tamara, its spacious borders dwarfed by the large, endless ocean to the west of it.

But his eyes only rested on Tamara for a second. He had seen it so many times before, and it didn’t hold his attention like the rest of countries, each one assuming a strange shape, that stretched out east from Tamara. Names he couldn’t recognize, let alone pronounce, were elegantly written in now weathered ink within the boundary lines of each new country.

A couple he did know from listening to Helen droll on and on about the affairs of Tamara with other nations. Sabion sat just next to Tamara, though somewhat smaller and more mountainous. Helen had told him that the women of Sabion were traders and sold many oddities of the East, including men.

Goethe scrutinized the farther edges of the map. He studied each individually nation, as if hoping to find what he so desperately wanted to know.

“The Sabion women do not know where men come from, they usually just buy them at markets in the East.” Helen gently said, as if reading his thoughts. She traced her index finger languidly across the countries making her way further and further to the east.

“The women of the East won’t say, and many Sabions believe that they don’t even know.” She said, her finger reaching the ending of the known world and tracing circles where the parchment lay blank.

“Some scholars speculate that men are grown in abundance from large plants and are harvested by tribes of the Crying Scar. Others think that they have their own country and are occasional captured by women in the southern plains.” Helen mused, picking up with both hands to bring it closer to her face. “Of course, there are many other theories.” Goethe listened silently, a gloom was settling on his spirit.

“There are legends, too.” A voice from behind said, making Helen jump. Goethe would’ve fallen off had not Helen’s right hand darted up to press him firmly against her shoulder, stifling whatever curse he was trying to shout.

“I am sorry to startle your highness,” a husky voice calmly said. “I often forget how engrossed your highness and Goethe become in studying.”

Helen slowly turned around, trying to regain a dignified composure. Remaining seated, she brought Goethe down to her lap, depositing him gently on her right thigh and resting her clasped hands behind him. After getting oriented, Goethe drew his eyes up to see whom the voice belonged to.

Goethe almost fell back as he found himself staring at the familiar figure of the royal chronicler’s well rounded thighs, one exposed through the cut of her skirt, loomed over him. His eyes quickly followed the exposed thigh up to heavy hips that spilled over a tight sliver sash. A slightly protruding stomach was hidden by a maroon blouse. As if invested in covering the stomach only, the blouse gave up covering much of the breasts, which seemed to rebel under what little covered them. Finally, Goethe looked into the chronicler’s face. Clear brown eyes looked penetratingly down at him. A predatory smile curved around her lips, and her nose crinkled a little in pleasure. Small wrinkles around the eyes and dark red lips belied the vitality that shone in those eyes. Her long auburn hair was pulled into a braid that hung down to her hips.

Goethe felt Helen’s muscles tighten as she cleared her throat.

The chronicler eyes reluctantly moved away from Goethe, though he thought every over part of her was focused on him. “Forgive me for reading over your shoulder, highness.” She said as she took a small step back and bowed low, giving Goethe a panorama of her swaying breasts. “So few visit the library that I am hard pressed to remember my manners.”

Helen breathed a small sigh, relaxing her firm posture. “It is fine. I was just upset by being startled. Don’t apologize, Myra.”

The chronicler, Myra, smiled a toothsome grin, “Thank you, Highness. You are too kind.” She bowed even lower this time. Goethe swallowed hard. She might as well not even being wearing that blouse.

He didn’t realize he was even speaking until he heard his voice pipe up, “What legends?”

He instantly wished he hadn’t asked for the predatory smile was back in full force. “Oh, you shouldn’t fill your heads with such things as legends and myths.”  Myra chuckled, hands resting on her hips.

“No! Please tell me!” Helen burst out excitedly. Goethe lost his footing on her thigh as she began to grip the dress in bunches with her hands in anticipation. Getting up, Goethe turned around to see Helen wide-eyed, staring hopefully at Myra. She needs to get more hobbies, she really does read too much. Despite the thought, Goethe too wanted to hear, he was even willing to ignore Myra’s swaying hips as moved to sit in the chair next to Helen’s.

“Few ancient books record a legend about the origin of men” Myra said, resting her head in her hand as she adjusted herself before going on. “The legend says that once men and women were of the same height.” A gasp interrupted Myra as Helen put a hand to her mouth in slight shock. Goethe stared incredulously, conscious of the point that he was standing on a thigh that would be proportionally the size of a large boat to women. “In fact,” Myra said, letting a short pause build the suspense, “Men were said to be slightly bigger.” Goethe winced when another loud gasp came from above him.

Myra let out a throaty chuckle, and she and Helen stared out Goethe. He felt uncomfortable as he felt both of them trying to imagine what he would be like at their size, but their eyes finally told him they couldn’t do it.

Helen looked like she was about to burst with all the questions she wanted to ask, but Myra’s calm demeanor diminished her ardor somewhat. “They lived together in harmony for eons, but over time women became subservient and men crueler. Ultimately, men were punished by a goddess who heard the prayers of women. They diminished in size and become the slaves of women.” Myra finished, putting an emphasis on ‘slave’.

Goethe felt a hand enclose around him. Helen raised him up to be level with the chests of both women. “You are already trouble enough at your size, I can understand why men were punished.” Helen haughtily declared, lifting her chin up in royal fashion.  “Why women didn’t do it right from the beginning I’ll never know.”

“It’s just a legend.” Goethe muttered, looking sullen. As if she didn’t have reason enough to look down on me.

Myra laughed melodiously, placing a hand over her breasts. “Does your Highness know that we have a book written about that legend here in the library?” She said, her voice becoming calm again.

“Really?!” Helen practically squealed. “Where is it?” She said as she placed Goethe on the table, too close to Myra as he saw it.

“In the southwest quarter, next to the poetry of Saphros, I believe.” Myra stretched out a finger towards the south end of the library. “Shall I get it for your Highness?”

“No, no. I’ll get it! Wait here, Goethe.” The words becoming fainter as Helen picked up her skirts and raced down an aisle, turning a sharp left.

Goethe stared in Helen’s direction, hearing her footsteps becoming fainter till nothing but Myra’s breathing was left.

“I do think she will have troubling finding the book.” Myra said in voice that was becoming and as smooth as silk but nonetheless sent a chill down Goethe’s spine. 

Being the size of a thimble, it was natural for Goethe to be afraid of a few things that normally wouldn’t give Helen or any other woman pause. The relatively mundane objects of Helen’s daily life could take on a frightening perspective for him as they loomed over him and could seem poised to crush him in an instant. When he was younger, he had always kept a wary eye on Helen’s hand mirror. Though Helen had never been so careless as to set it down on him, she did use it once to crush a spider that had caught her by surprise. For a while after, Goethe couldn’t help but let his childish imagination create the picture of it coming down on him instead of the spider, his terrified reflection being the last thing he saw before being pulverized. It was a fear he had outgrown, but that had never stopped him from catching his breath whenever Helen picked up the hand mirror.

Of course, there were things that always remained threatening for Goethe not matter how much he grew up. Any bird might as well have been a bird of prey to Goethe; he always shivered when remembering the robin that flown into Helen’s bedroom, only being saved by Rena’s timely arrival with her broom. But birds paled in comparison to cats. Goethe had overheard maids talking – Helen would never speak of such things to him – of cats stalking men and pouncing on them like mice when a woman was particularly careless. Though he had never seen one up close – another debt he owned to Helen – he had had more than one nightmare about feline eyes watching him in the dark. 

Now, it was like one of those nightmares had come alive for Goethe as he felt Myra’s hungry eyes look down on him. All those fears and potential perils he had known before now seemed insipid and harmless when compared to the towering woman that was before him now. Though she hadn’t pounced on him like a cat, or swooped down on him like a bird, or crushed him like that hand mirror could have, every instinct in Goethe told him he was in more danger now than ever before in his life.

Suddenly, Goethe felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he heard Myra shift in her seat. Slowly turning around, Goethe was left speechless as he saw two mounds of flesh, barely concealed by her dress, seemly fell from the sky to the wooden surface in front of him. They appeared to grow in size as they spread across the wood and inched closer to him. By the time they settled, he couldn’t have even extended his arm all the way without touching them. The heat emanating from them caused his brow to grow wet with sweat, or was it from fear? A humid, lilac smell hit him just like the heat did, making him lightheaded. He regained his self-possession when he heard a throaty chuckle from above.

“For propriety’s sake, I didn’t tell the princess one little detail” Myra breathed, lowering her face close to her breasts, close to him. “According to the legends, men and women used to lay with each other…. And you are becoming quite a handsome man.” White teeth bit sharply into her lip as she cut off a moan, brown eyes never leaving him. Goethe noticed that she was rocking gently in her chair, one hand inching towards him, the other invisible under the table. “With a little imagination, I am sure that still can be done. Maybe we shall find out together?” By the way her voice sounded, it seemed to Goethe that she wanted to find out at right there and then.

Her visible hand cupped around him and gently brought him next to her plush lips that trembled with a sultry moan that resounded in his ears, though it couldn’t have been above a whisper. Goethe wanted to cry out in surprise but he was too stunned watching her mouth curl and twist in such a sensuous fashion. Each breath washed over Goethe, sending flecks of spittle that made him close his eyes and dampened his hair slightly. Her breathing was becoming more rushed, and her fingers began to caress Goethe, which, to his dismay, sent electrifying sensations wherever they touch him. He was vaguely aware that her hand as well as her body was moving in a rhythmic motion; even her heavy breath seemed to keep in time with the rest of her body.

Goethe was struggling to register what was happening when Myra whispered: “We will continue later”. With that, she lowered him slowing back down to the table, in front of trembling breasts. Still laying in the palm of her hand, Goethe eyes were frantically darting around, but they stopped when they meet Myra’s firm stare.

“I trust you will not tell the princess” Myra eyes darkened, and the seductive smile gave way to a faint snarl. Goethe could only manage a feeble yes, but that was enough for Myra, whose eyes softened again, though the snarl persisted.

“Good.” Myra said in a cold tone. Goethe saw her lift the hand that had been under the table and bring it close to him. Two of her fingers glistened as clear fluid trailed down the length of them. “Good.” She said again, though in an expecting tone this time. “Next time, we’ll finish” she touched the left side of his face with one of her glistening fingers. He felt the ridges of her fingertips as she lightly rubbed the warm, thick fluid on to almost half his face. A queasy sensation grew in his stomach as he looked into Myra’s eyes, which flickered with a malevolent joy.

A string lagged from her fingers she moved away, clinging to his face. She chuckled softly, seeing the fluid plastered on him. She brought the two fingers to her mouth and sucked on them slowly, never losing that predatory stare that was bearing down on him. Taking the fingers out of her mouth, she brought them back down to Goethe.

Goethe winced a little as Myra dabbed her finger against his face, getting rid of the first fluid. He gagged as the smell and warmth of both her strange fluid and salvia mixed together. Finally, she sat him down on the table and moved away from him, like a wave receding into the ocean.

What am I going to do? Should I tell Helen? He stopped his thoughts as he caught Myra’s dangerous look. I better not, but what does she want to do with me? Myra adjusted her gown, somewhat disheveled by her rocking back and forth, and grabbed a book from the table, beginning to flip idly through the pages.

Myra sat there with such composure that Goethe was beginning to doubt that she ever, let alone just minutes ago, did anything that was improper or lewd. Her eyes that had toyed with and threatened him like a cat with its prey were focused squarely on the book. Her body, which had been moving to such a passionate tempo, was as still as a statue; even her once-heaving breasts seemed only rise in the most subdued of movements. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge his existence.

But, in spite of that convincing façade, a bewildered Goethe couldn’t help but see that she was using those two fingers to turn the pages.