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.