“Okay, those cannot be real! Sorry, no effing way. That high, firm and ginormous? Where are the lines… Silicon or saline? Seriously, where’d you get the work done…?”
The remaining few, we happy few, who managed to tear their eyes away from the various amazing views, the barely hinted, because there isn’t any hinting going on here, cleavage, who managed to avoid the overwhelming and repeated desire to face plant, would follow the line of graceful neck to…
Beauty. Simple, heart-stopping beauty. The heart-shaped, scarless, lineless, perfect face of a girl just become woman. Electric blue eyes, cherry lips, perfect complexion. A face that would make Botticelli promise God to eat all his vegetables and be a better person if he could paint that face anywhere close to reality. A face that made strong men’s knees weaken and the crowds that had been glued to butt crack or breasts fall to their knees and worship the goddess.
To which the captain’s usual reaction was to throw back her long, honey-blonde hair, shake her head and say:
“Is the whole world filled with submissives? Sorry, people, I just don’t have the time and you can’t afford me anyway…”
“Haul! Haul ye sons of sea cocks…”
“Sea cooks, ma’am! Cooks.”
“You sure?”
“Ancient mariner, cap’n. Pretty sure. Always heard it as sea cooks.”
“That’s no fun. Who cares if you’re a son of a sea cook. Could it be cocks?”
“Could be, cap’n. Anything’s possible. But always been cooks in my experience.”
“Why? I mean why cooks? Why not, oh, sea carpenters or sea butlers or something?”
“Not well thought of on boats. Not a high status job.”
“You’re the cook on this boat.”
“Yes, cap’n.”
“Are they all as bad as you?”
“I’m considered quite a good sea cook, cap’n,” the ancient mariner said, reproachfully.
“No, seriously. Pull the other one. They’re worse?”
“Generally.”
“You burn water!”
“Only the once!”
“You mistook a pile of maggots for rice!”
“They weren’t moving much and they looked riceish. And maggots are very high in protein, cap’n. Many a port you’ll find maggots a fine breakfast after a night of roistering. Maggot pies, fried maggots…”
“Artemis’s sacred enormous penis, no wonder it’s an insult. Okay you sons of… You… Oh, just haul the damned lines! Day after tomorrow, I’m getting a kingdom and marrying princes!”
#
“Princess? Two s’s? You’re sure?”
“Quite sure, Madame,” King Pooram said, trying to look anywhere but at the latest hero…ine.
“I’m sure the notice I saw said princes,” Conella said, hands on her hips. “Possibly a typo?”
“They were all done in one run,” Head Councilor Name said. He’d made his decision on where to look and had no clue on the whole thing about the face. He wasn’t even sure about hair color. “Two s’s. We’ve checked.”
“Damn,” Conella said. “Details, details… I thought my luck had changed. It’s always the damned princess! Usually half the kingdom, though. Giving up a whole kingdom?”
“I’ve been promised a room with a view,” King Pooram said. “You and Isabella would be rather…”
“Agatean?” Conella said.
“I was thinking more avante garde,” King Pooram said. “She has been studying massage.”
“I read that. I was looking forward to being massaged by princes. I wasn’t even expecting a good massage. It was the whole being waited on by princes. Damn.”
“She’s rather good at bouncing and writhing on your lap,” the king muttered. “Been doing it since she was a child.”
Conella looked down at her skirt, at the king, her skirt, the king…
“Little different physiology,” she pointed out. “Oh, well, I’m here. What’s the gig? Something about a sea serpent?”
…
“And there you have it,” King Pooram said, fifteen minutes later.
“Fifty three?” Conella asked.
“So far,” Head Councilor Name said. “Fortunately, you… persons don’t require payment in advance.”
“Old Thog, huh?” Conella said. “Wondered what had happened to him.”
“Didn’t seem to care for the taste on that gentleman,” Councilor Vizier said.
“Definitely prefers Buhani from what I’ve gleaned,” King Pooram said.
“Oh, my hero has come to resc…” Princess Isabella cried joyfully as she swept into the throne room. “B…b…b… Whah?”