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   Chapter 18 No.18

The WeatherMaker - Prince of Light By Lady Lilium Characters: 4754

Updated: 2018-07-10 12:03


Clara took a deep breath.

'He was a childhood friend' she began. 'Things changed as we grew older; we grew closer…and…'

'Go on' Miranda prompted. 'I want to hear this.'

'It was only a brief love' Clara spoke to the floor. 'His parents moved away, and he went with them, but…'

'I don't want to hear about that' Miranda waved away. 'When was the first time he touched you?'

Clara looked up at her.

'It was…in secret' she began reluctantly, 'at night. I…I didn't intend for it to happen, I didn't know it was going to happen…but…one thing led to another….'

'Go on' Miranda prompted.

'He used to paint for me. He was a wonderful painter. There was a barn my father owned, he used to sit there in the rafters and paint the view of the town from the window. One evening, I was tending to the horses and I saw him there.' She paused for a moment to smile. 'He showed me the picture he was painting. It was beautiful. And then he said he wanted to paint me…and then….and then…'

'Yes?'

'He reached out and touched my cheek' Clara said, touching her own cheek as if she could still feel him. 'I remember' she continued, 'how my heart started to race. I loved him. I had loved him for a long time.'

'Did you do it?' Miranda asked her. 'In the barn with the horses?'

Clara took a few seconds the answer. 'Yes' she replied quietly.

'Did it feel good?' Miranda asked her.

'Yes' Clara asked again. 'He was…so gentle…so…loving…'

'Hmp' Miranda smirked, taking another swig from the bottle. 'That's good. I'm sorry though it didn't work out.'

'We still keep in touch' Clara told her. 'I am hoping to see him again one day, when the circumstances….' She trailed off. 'He sends letters to me often.'

'And you send letters back to him?'

'Yes.'

Miranda swirled the whisky in the bottle, staring down at the liquid sloshing around.

'That's good. I'm afraid my story isn't anywhere near as pleasant.' She took another swig from the bottle, falling silent for a minute or so before speaking. 'I was sold like cattle by my father to a man I'd never met before, the king you all know so well and love.' She narrowed her eyes. 'Carl.' She took another swing. 'He is dead' she said. 'My husband the king is dead, and I feel no sorrow for it.'

Clara listened silently as the queen continued to speak.

'He was kind to me' the queen said, 'he

tried to be patient, but I never loved him. I always refused his advances, no matter how much they were buttered with gifts or glazed with romantic lies. I knew he didn't love me in return, how could he, me being the way I was?' She put the bottle down, resting it carefully on the floor beside her chair. 'For years I managed to keep a distance between us, even in the bed I shared with him. I wanted nothing to do with him.' Miranda's tone was dead as she spoke, without emotion. It was almost as if she were reciting someone else's life and not her own. 'For years he wanted a son, a child to carry on his name, and with each year I failed to get pregnant…well…' she bowed he head. 'People talk…you know? Rumours began to circulate about me being sterile. I wish it were that simple. I wish I were sterile, but the truth is, year after year I refused him.' She sighed heavily then. 'In the end the king lost patience, he….' Miranda drew a deep breath, heart racing at the memory. 'He raped me.' She took another breath. 'It happened every single night, until I became pregnant.' She reached for the bottle again. 'He never touched me again after that.' She laughed then. 'Twins.' She shook he head. 'What are the odds?'

'That's why you feel no love for the boys?' Clara asked.

'They are good boys' Miranda said again, 'but like my husband, I feel no love for them. I've tried to feel something for them, as I had with my husband in the past. I thought a mother would naturally feel a bond with her children; or that it might grow with time…' Miranda shook her head. 'But no…' she said, 'nothing ever came.' She blinked slowly. 'There is no one in this world I really care about' she spoke in a distant voice. 'I am alone…….and that was my life. Trapped in a love-less marriage wishing everyday I'd been born a man.'

She turned her head, staring into the fire.

'I wish' Miranda began, 'I wish with all my heart and soul…that I was not living this life, that I had different parents that would not sell me, that would have wanted to keep in contact with me, had wanted to know me…but…' she trailed off them. 'They were as good parents to me as I am to my own children. My boys haven't even met them…I'm sure they don't even know their names…' she took another deep swig. The bottle was nearly empty now, but Miranda was not affected. She often drank like this.

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