A Fat King

Aliarna joined the table in a golden sashed dress, glowing with illuminating red silk. Her hair had been tied back into a golden bun and her big red lips had been decorated with yellow gulflower ink.

"How are you going to eat like that?" Tirevas sneered, "You're dressed up like it's our wedding all over again."

"Have you already forgotten?" she cocked an eye at her food, frowning grumpily, "My king. Lord Gerrian and his league of merry men are gracing us tonight."

"Ah, I did so forget, I did. Then again, I am a king and 'tis not my business to keep track of every little insignificant detail. He was giving me the key to his mine south of Hadeside, if I recall. Now that does seem important," Aliarna's food had not been touched, but still Tirevas let out a belch as the last slimy slice of pork slithered down his gullet.

If only the times were different, Tirevas could have married into her family, and Aliarna wouldn't need cope with this terrible rudeness. She digressed.

"Must you carry on with this destruction, husband. What world are you leaving for our child?"

"A glorious world, covered in gold that is not obscured by the mud at our feet. Halt your belligerent hammering of environmentalist tripe. It is that gold, remember Aliarna, that puts food on this very table."

"But husband," she looked up and pouted dryly, "Do we not have enough food already? You may be young and thin with a healthy metabolism but soon your years will dry out. It gets hard to worship a fat king."

Tirevas's fist clenched so suddenly that the fork in his hand bent.

The End

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