Dark Tyrant

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 32 (v.1) - Epilogue

Submitted: October 05, 2013

Reads: 152

Comments: 2

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Submitted: October 05, 2013



Epilogue: Arrangements

When I walked into the lavish, city cathedral, I groaned. Even without the venue’s stained glass, arches, towers, pompous furniture and elaborateness, my fiancé still managed to make the cathedral even grander, with bright, long tapestries hanging at the back of the great hall and around the sides, two thrones on the raised stage, with a marathon-length purple and gold fringed mat stretching from the entrance to the stage. Bordering the wide aisle was a mixture of white ribbons and jasmine flowers. Several servants were positioning benches outside the borders of the aisle while others performed the precarious job of hoisting someone up to hang a final tapestry. Behind the stage, the faint hint of music indicated that the orchestra had been set up. And all in the middle of it all was my future husband. For once, he had resigned to wear armour, and instead dressed in a light, silky red shirt, white pants and leather boots. He turned around at my groan and smiled, rushing over to me. I looked into his concerned eyes. “What’s wrong, love?”

I bit my lip—I’d never been good at admitting things to him. But I’m promised myself to be honest to my king. “It’s too much. All this pomp is ridiculous.”

He laughed. “It’s exactly as it should be. I had a huge debate to myself on it. This is the lesser option.”

Lesser option? What do you mean lesser option? My mind gasped incredulously as I gawked at him, but straightened my face, turning shy.

“I was hoping for something private, secluded and simple,” I whimpered, looking down at the purple thread. His light touch lifted my chin and the even lighter touch of his lips pressing against mine sent my heart into cartwheels. I leaned into the kiss, but he pulled away, smiling slyly.

“That can be arranged,” he told me in an attractive, sly, silky voice, his eyes flashing with a suggestion of lecherous thoughts. I flushed and gripped my sides, finally noticing the corset. One of the servants had forced me into wearing a patterned light-blue and gold mildly wide dress, with a V-neck dropping almost indecently low and my purple-heart pendant necklace sinking down into my breastbone, a huge diamond on my ring finger. My future husband noticed my attire. “Stunning, as usual,” he told me appreciatively.

I gasped several times against the tightness of the corset, each expand of my ribs painful, and managed a weak smile. “I’m nothing compared to you,” I mumbled back, awing as the sun hit behind him and illuminated his face.

He laughed under his breath, and curled a loose strand around his finger that had escaped from my elaborate up-do. “Please take it into consideration that, for all I care, you’re the most beautiful and desirable female in the empire.”

Flattered by the comment, I slid my hands behind him and kissed him on the cheek. But he shifted his head and ended up kissing me for real, placing his hands on my face, and slowly and steadily leaning into me. My breath quickened, as did my heart, and I aggressively crushed my lips against his, my hands gripping the small of his back. He pulled away for only a moment, grinning and chuckling lightly, sliding his hands down and caressing my sides. I put on a hurt expression, but slyly tugged him closer. The same eyebrow cocked up again. “And she won’t even let me breathe,” he complained lightly to the ceiling.

I ached with hurt, but at the same time desire fought for the dominant emotion. “I can always leave. Your Quarters are a disaster,” I mumbled, releasing my grip and half-stepping away.

Brutus’ face turned repentant, and he loosely gripped my hand. “No. Please stay. It’s absolutely boring without an extremely sexy distraction,” he told me, curling the tips of his lips mischievously. My eyes widened, and I blushed bright red, my heart skipping several beats. Brutus laughed at his own imagination, and kissed my neck. My flinch away from his touch made him freeze and cautiously rise up, a deep frown in his forehead. The desire scattered to be replaced with fear and dread. “Angia?” Brutus asked in a voice thick with worry, as my eyes closed and I pressed my lips into a tight line. What if no one likes me as queen? What if they try to assassinate me? What if I’m the Reject Queen? What if one day I wake up and my husband suddenly hates me? What if…? my mind panicky asked, causing my lip to tremble and throat to ache as I was threatened with tears. Stop it, I scowled my mind, and took a deep breath, causing pain to my sides against the mildly tight corset. I looked at my fiancé. “Just marriage jitters,” I sighed, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Brutus smiled in relief, and hugged me. “That’s good. I was worried you were going to faint.”

I formed a weak smile. “This corset is so terribly tight that it’s a possibility.”

His emerald eyes sparkled hungrily as they evaluated me. “I could loosen it for you…”

I touched my lip thoughtfully, catching his hidden intentions. “Does it come with a kiss?”

He laughed and pulled me close, but instead of leaning into me, he swept me off my feet and into his cradled arms. I shrieked in surprise and delight, causing a few to witness the best kiss ever as King Brutus leaned down and greedily crushed my lips. He pulled away, leaving me gasping. “Better?” He asked, his tone hinting he was enjoying himself as much as I was.

I couldn’t help giggling. “Absolutely.” And I rushed up to kiss him once more. 


Thank you so much for all those who've fell in love (like me) with my world. The following is for you. 

This book is dedicated to all the awesome, wonderful people who said yes. Said yes to reading it, talking to me about it, said yes to designing the cover, who gave their opinions on the story, kept rooting for me, even said yes to giving me a MacBook! Without you, this book would still be a whir of ideas, all stuck in my mind and caged in my imagination. Through you, I have a reason to share the story of Jarma. To me, that is the best opportunity I could ever ask for.

So to everyone who said that one, simple, single-syllable word, thank you.

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