The Anniversary

Chapter Part 2

Despite all the mishaps and the drama leading up to it, the ball kicked off peacefully. Marcus was presented with an unending list of self-styled officials, guild masters, landlords, and royalty, who were lining up for as much of his time as they could afford.

The process was already incredibly boring, but it was made more so by the knowledge that he couldn’t possibly satisfy all of them. Even if he wasn’t bound by the laws of physics, or ethics, or common sense, half of them demanded things which directly conflicted with everyone else. There was no way to please everyone short of duplicating the country or stumbling upon a parallel universe.

It wasn’t only the interest groups that were vying for his time; several presentable women were trying their damnedest to get his attention without spelling it out for him. Every old trick in the book was attempted that day: from overtly sensual eating to wide open necklines exposing breasts almost the size of his head.

He’d be a liar if he claimed they had no effect of him, considering how long he’d gone without his wife, and especially because so many looked better than she’d ever hope to. He should’ve taken his sister’s advice to its logical conclusion and m*********d, but he couldn’t help but feel that would be some sort of transgression now that he was married.

He could probably afford to take any number of them to bed that night if he so wished for it. There weren’t many who’d think lower of him for acting on his urges given the circumstances and the puritans who would didn’t have the bravery required to directly confront him about that.

His reasons for holding back were twofold: his sense of loyalty towards his wife—naïve though it might have been—and the very high probability of falling victim to a honeypot set up as part of an intricate political ploy. He wasn’t stupid enough to succumb to a politician’s dirty tricks, but what about a hundred of them? A thousand? Even the sharpest minds had some limits, and he didn’t fancy taking risks that would expose his. If his craving for release reached extremes, there were safer avenues.

For the last half hour or so he had been stuck in a conversation with the master of the merchants’ guild, which seemed to drag on forever. The man was a bottomless pit of demands and trivia. Although other people asked for things that contradicted each other, he was the first to contradict himself, achieving a new low in lobbying.

Emilia had yet to show herself unless she’d somehow snuck in the hall without anyone noticing. That would have been a feat in itself, considering there were more people in the room aiming to get in her pants than in his. This presumably excluded the merchants’ guild master, who hadn’t batted an eye in the face of all the feminine charmers circling the king, instead opting for brain-numbing chatter. Marcus wondered whether his affections swung a different way…

There was an eruption of excitement in the hall, as dozens of heads turned in the same direction, as many mouths gasping or whispering, and yet more of either springing into motion to figure out what the others were interested in. Marcus couldn’t make out what was being said over the clamour of the crowd, so he turned his head towards the presumed origin. The merchant, of course, wouldn’t be stopped by such trivialities and kept singing a cacophony of trade minutiae in his right ear. One had to wonder what would be enough to stop him. Open revolt? An earthquake? A cannonball on his face?

Marcus figured that was an excellent opportunity to excuse himself and ditch the busybody. Perhaps he’d be offended, or perhaps not. He was so eccentric it was difficult to imagine which way he leant. Marcus created as much distance between the two of them as he could, hoping the merchant would lose him in the crowd, difficult as that would be; Marcus was a very large man, at six and a half feet. He didn’t think it’d be very easy to blend in.

It eventually became clear to him what the ruckus was about: his sister had shown up. She’d shown up with her hair properly brushed and braided in an elaborate bun. That exhausted the list of the good things he could say about her appearance. As for the rest, it was absolutely scandalous. No wonder the room had been practically ablaze since her entry. Her outfit screamed “Me! Me me me! Look at me!”

She stopped in front of him and bowed. “Good evening, brother,” she said, a subtle irony in her tone, clear enough for his ears but easily deniable if need be.

The logic behind Emilia’s dress was wearing as little as possible while still being a dress on some etymological level. Alternatively, appearing more naked wearing the dress than not. In practice it was a rather simple curtain-like black fabric: two ends were tied in a knot behind her neck to serve as support. It covered her chest, then gradually thinned, ending up as some kind of loincloth covering her genital area and reaching down to her knees for decorative reasons.

She wore nothing else.

Save for the knot around her neck, which was required for the thing not to fall to the floor, all of her behind was exposed, and so were her sides and her limbs, for that matter. In fact, the garment did the absolute minimum necessary to cover up her breasts and vulva, only covering her navel by accident. Even her shoes exposed as much of her skin as possible without her being barefoot. Finally, as if attempting a final hubris against all sense of modesty, the fabric was translucent, not opaque. One could actually make out her skin beneath it—the pale colour contrasting with the black material—although anatomical details were still obscured by the folding around them.

It dawned on Marcus that he was expected to respond, and not to stand there, flabbergasted.

“Good evening, Emilia.” He offered his right hand to her, trying to wrestle some formality back. “May I have the first dance?”

“Why, of course,” she said in wry satisfaction.

Maybe it was because the crowd had died down now, or maybe because it’d just started playing, but Marcus was suddenly aware of the music guiding his motions. He’d been so preoccupied with other things this whole time that it might as well have never existed, though in saying so he realised how little sense it made. It was a ball, after all, so it was only natural that music played. Or maybe he was desperately looking for something to distract his thoughts.

Due to their rather excessive height difference, it was difficult maintaining proper dancing posture; he was a mountain of a man, and she was a 10-year-old girl, barely four feet tall. Nevertheless, with some concessions here and there, it was possible to go through the motions without tripping on one another or worse. He wasn’t exactly twice her height, but he still towered a solid two feet above her.

Her right hand felt so small and frail in his left as if he wasn’t holding a human appendage at all; his thumb more than half the width of her wrist. He felt that if he held her firmly enough, she’d crumble away into dust, carried away by the wind to decorate the aethers. The only thing that gave away she wasn’t a porcelain doll was her body warmth.

His right hand covered her left shoulder and shoulder blade, once again feeling absurdly oversized against her petite frame. Her skin felt too smooth to be real as if it was the physical manifestation of some platonic ideal of smoothness, and his contact with it didn’t communicate its smoothness through his own sense of touch, but rather it was directly relayed to his mind, unaffected by the impurities of his sensations.

He could feel her muscles and bones hiding under her skin, like if her outer appearance was but the thinnest of veils over her insides. If he moved his fingers lower, he could feel the bumps of her spine and her ribs. He was doing nothing more than laying his hand on her, and it was already his most sensual experience. The thought that her entire backside was exposed like that, head to toe, only a few motions away from his touch floated in the back of his mind and ate away at his lucidity. He did his best to keep it there, never consciously exploring it, in fear of making it worse.

He figured they could talk to each other, without anyone overhearing them over the sound of the music and the chatter. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Oh, well, you know,” she giggled. “I thought, gee, that’s a nice reputation as a chaste and fair maiden I have there. Sure would be a shame if something were to happen to it.”

She looked up at him as he looked down on her. She was grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well what she was doing. Her large blue eyes were alight with impish glee. The n*****s on her flat chest had got erect as the chilliness of the evening started creeping in, and were easily visible through the translucent fabric hanging from her neck.

He cleared his throat. “I thought we had agreed you show up looking proper.”

“Nice and proper and nubile,” Emilia corrected him.

“I think you’ll be sending the wrong messages tonight.”

“You’re supposed to be pimping me to royalty and whatnot. Don’t blame me. I merely used some creativity in interpreting the specifics. Besides, you’re so cute when you’re teased.”

Marcus groaned in exasperation.

“Don’t worry. I did my research. Your advisers may complain, but they probably won’t do much about it,” she reassured him.

“Their whining is punishment enough.”

“Oh, brother, you know they’re just bitter old men. Their sensitivities will be offended by having their eyes feast on a sight that doesn’t involve the flabby, slug-like bodies of their wives.” Then, with the faintest of whispers, she added, “We know what they’ll be thinking of tonight.”

He wanted to express his outrage at that remark, but the music came to an end, and so did their excuse for conversation. He pretended to be nonchalant in accepting the applause. He wasn’t sure how much success he’d had. The rumour mill wouldn’t be stopped no matter how good his acting skills were, but there was no sense in feeding it further either.

As soon as the clapping started dying down, they were approached by some dude dressed in some official capacity, the prince of bumfuck nowhere burg. Marcus didn’t pay much attention to his introduction, but he knew what he was up to, and the sooner he let him have his turn frolicking with his sister, the sooner it’d end. He’d observe her from a distance and try not to kill anyone out of spite. Then again, it was arguably more dangerous staying near her and touching her. His willpower was being taxed, even if he wasn’t fully aware of the extent of his stress.

At the very least, the audience was so preoccupied with recent events that he could get a few minutes’ breaks, relatively speaking. He didn’t have the merchants’ guild master tormenting his eardrums. That was a definite improvement. He used the opportunity to sit down somewhere and maybe get something to drink. If he was busy digesting material then perhaps he wouldn’t dwell on other, highly questionable things.

“I sent your favourite lobbyist on a wild goose chase,” Richard said, manifesting on his right out of thin air. He must have been getting really inattentive not to notice a bipedal tank in full plate armour.

“Oh, really?”

“You don’t have to thank me. I had the sneaking suspicion you had enough on your plate as it is.”

“Are you sure it won’t come back to bite me, or something?”

Richard shrugged. “With any luck, he’ll fall off a balcony and land on his head.”

“As the king, I can’t support the deaths of my subjects. However, if he were to meet a premature end, I wouldn’t be attending his funeral.”

This forced a chuckle out of Richard.

“I thought you weren’t going to be staying here long,” Marcus said.

“Oh, well, you know.” Richard rubbed the back of his head. “I had the scheme set up perfectly, all ready to go, but some other misfortune beat me to it.” He waved in the vague direction of the crowd.

“I see. Well, it seems to have gone alright, so you don’t need to worry.”

“I guess not. I suppose I’ll excuse myself, then.”

Marcus gestured at an exit. “Be my guest. Don’t sleep in too much, Richard.”

“I will make a valiant effort.”

Richard headed off in some direction and then disappeared into the crowd. As for Marcus, the little solitude he’d carved for himself didn’t last very long. His sister could only entertain everyone for so long before their excitement built up to where they desperately needed some privacy. That’s certainly how he felt like and tried drowning it in distractions; despite finding lobbying a terrible bore, he ended up lingering in those conversations and seeking out new ones when he was done.

If he considered his dance with Emilia to be the first in sensuality, then watching her was the runner-up. Marcus had risked his mental well-being thinking of how exposed she was; seeing was on a different level. From behind, it looked like she was wearing nothing; just pure, spotless, uninterrupted skin to lose oneself in. She was tantalising to look at; from her back and spine, beautifully lined with ridges; to her small butt, only now starting to fill out with femininity, decorated by her Venusian dimples; to her long, slim legs that somehow supported her frame; and even her cute little feet. Every part of her begged to be looked at and to be touched. Marcus could hardly resist not jumping onto her to eat her up.

He knew he should run away, find a deserted room, like his bath, for example, and relieve himself as thoroughly as he needed to. As things were now, it wasn’t the individual temptations that were proving problematic. After he was done fighting off inappropriate thoughts, they left behind a vague atmosphere of excitement that would burst from the tiniest hint of arousal.

However, he had to carry out the part of the protective big brother and ensure that no foul play would be attempted on Emilia. He didn’t know how much of it she had planned, but she was definitely taking advantage of the situation to tease him: she was clinging closer and more intimately to her partners with her arms or her legs. Likewise, her partners skirted between daring and fearful, sometimes resisting Emilia’s advances with enough effort to make them sweat, other times allowing themselves to cop a feel on the sides of her chest, or trailing closer to her bottom.

Marcus had to keep her within eyesight no matter what she did, and she strategically chose her positioning to ensure he had a good view of her while everyone else was preoccupied in private conversation. Emilia’s dress wasn’t connected with her body anywhere besides her neck, and so depending on her angle with the floor, it could reveal what little it half-arsedly covered.

Though it wasn’t entirely obvious to her partners, she had used precisely this knowledge to give Marcus a fuller view of her chest, which was childlike indeed, as if not a single additional cell had grown since her birth. He somehow found it more salacious in its bony flatness than the most grossly inflated bosoms that had come his way tonight. Additionally, the motions of Emilia’s hips were often dangerously close to exposing her anus or her vulva. The constant feeding of his curiosity was more intolerable than if she had merely spread herself in front of him and let him explore her.

He tried focusing on the matters presented to him, but his heart wasn’t in it. Words came in through one ear and exited from another, with no processing done in between. He was a zombie, but he wanted to believe some of the blame lay on the people who tried ever harder to bore him. Deep down, however, he knew the root of the problem was his inner struggle, as morality fought biology on the matter of boning his sister.

The conflict was paining him greatly. He felt disgusted with himself for being this way about his own family—a 10-year-old child, even! She barely knew what she was doing, never mind her body being prepared for the implications. He was a married man, and he had been caught completely off guard in his first major confrontation. It was an embarrassment and it was abominable.

Fortunately, his robes flowed freely enough for his arousal not to be visible yet, or else he was going to have some really awkward interactions. There still were women trying to get his attention, but they didn’t draw his glance now; he had eyes only for Emilia. At the rate things were going, he wasn’t sure if he could keep it under wraps indefinitely.

The situation stayed like that for an hour or so: juggling inter-faction disputes, politely turning down stupidly unprofitable offers, obsessing over the underage girl’s breasts, buttocks, and legs, mentally flagellating himself for doing so, and then repeating the process. Eventually, his arousal reached a point where he felt like he’d climax from looking at her; robes notwithstanding, the stain would be hard to explain. He decided that nothing had happened for over an hour, so Emilia could live another five minutes without his gaze. He also went to refill his glass with something, anything, really; in the worst of circumstances, he could empty it on himself and risk being called clumsy. It was better than proving himself a pervert.

He considered downing a few glasses while he was there to cool his nerves, but that would just as likely make his situation worse by wearing down his inhibitions. The last thing he wanted was his awareness faltering. It was only a little more time, he thought. A little bit more and it would be acceptable to excuse himself. Everyone would be too drunk to care, and they wouldn’t remember a whole lot the day after except maybe his sister’s backside. He’d have to muster all the strength he had left and power through this ordeal. Then he could go have the world’s longest bath and unleash his frustration.

When he felt comfortable looking at Emilia again, she was nowhere to be found. Immediately, his thoughts jumped to a hundred different conclusions. Where did she go? Did something happen to her? How would he face her if he failed to protect her? He needed to know where she went; he was already crumbling mentally from everything that had happened, and this could be the last straw.

He took a few seconds to collect himself. If he acted too rashly, he’d make himself look stupid and attract unneeded attention. He had to carefully examine his surroundings. He didn’t refrain from eye contact for all that long, and if his sister had actually been practising sorcery, he doubted she could teleport herself or make herself invisible in such a short time. He needed to act natural, and no one would be wiser for it.

When he found her, he knew immediately why he’d had trouble doing it. All the way in a corner, and partially obscured by a column, there was Emilia. The reason for the secrecy was the three men around her, clinging onto her like she was the only oasis in an arid wasteland.