A Fairy Tale for Big Girls – 1.chapter

Once upon a time, beyond seven mountains and seven valleys, there was a kingdom.
It was ruled by a young monarch, His Majesty King Mark. He led his subjects with a steady hand, firm yet fair, and was known among his people as a just ruler. He enjoyed hunting, but he enjoyed the pleasures of court even more, especially the company of willing ladies of the court, who were never in short supply.

Tired and bored, he shifted on his throne.
“Who’s next?” he asked, watching the blacksmith walk away, his back stiff with displeasure at the sentence he had received.
“Only one left. Horse theft. Yours,” said Martin, his closest friend and trusted counselor.
Mark let out an irritated breath. He disliked executions. Hanging never sat well with him. But horse theft was a serious crime, particularly when the king’s own horses were involved. He turned his gaze toward the guards as they dragged a bound prisoner into the hall, the captive fighting them every step of the way.
“Let me go!” The furious shout rang through the hall. It was unmistakably a woman’s voice.

Mark lifted a brow in surprise, and watched as a skirt appeared first, then the full figure of the prisoner was hauled into view.
“She was caught in your stables,” Martin said as the guards brought the woman closer. One of them shoved her forward roughly, forcing her to stumble before she regained her balance.
Mark studied her tangled, long hair with interest. When she finally raised her head and straightened, he realized with surprise that she was beautiful. Dirt smudged her face, but it could not hide the delicate symmetry of her features. Her large, light brown eyes, paired with a mane of wavy blonde hair, gave her an almost angelic appearance.
He noticed that she was watching him too. Then she placed the toe of one shoe behind the heel of the other, inclined her head, and lowered her shoulders in a restrained bow.
“Your Majesty.”
Such a restrained bow surprised him, as did the gentleness of the movements with which she performed it.
“They say you were caught stealing my horses,” he said.
“That’s not true!” she growled, lifting her chin. “I’m no thief!”
Bold words for such a small thing. She looked fragile at first glance, slight and slender. If not for the low neckline that revealed full, firm breasts, she might have seemed almost childlike.
“Then what are you?” Mark asked.
The determination faltered on her face. She hesitated.
“A common thief!” someone shouted from the back of the hall, likely the guard who had seized her.
“No!” she cried in that direction, then immediately turned her gaze back to the king. “I didn’t steal anything, my lord. He made it up.”
“The punishment for horse theft is the gallows,” Mark said evenly.
“But I didn’t steal anything!” she insisted, her voice sharper now.
“It is your word against that of the royal guard,” he replied.
She shook her head, helplessly.

“Tell me who you are,” he continued. “Where do you come from?”
She looked at him for a long moment, weighing her answer, then slowly shook her head and remained silent.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “You won’t tell me? Then somewhere, a gallows already waits for you,” he concluded, his tone turning hostile.
“No!” she protested. “I’ve done nothing wrong, Your Majesty!”
“Then tell me who you are,” he repeated.
Her gaze dropped. Then her head followed.
Mark watched her in silence before speaking again.
“It would certainly be a shame. I can imagine far more pleasant ways to make use of your company.”
His gaze slid to her breasts.
She understood at once and snapped her head up.
“I have no desire to join your whores!” she growled.
A confident smile curved his lips.
“You think you have a choice?”
She shook her head, unhappy.
“That… isn’t a good idea, my lord,” she whispered uncertainly.

Mark studied her for another moment, then tilted his head toward Martin.
“Take her to the east wing,” he ordered. “See that she is cared for. A bath. Food. Grant her what she asks for. But have her guarded for me. And bring her this evening for the entertainment.”
Martin hesitated, clearly confused, so Mark added,
“I mean the dance. Not my chambers.”
“Don’t do this, my lord,” the woman pleaded.
No answer came.
Martin took the girl by the shoulder and moved her toward the exit. They had taken only a few steps when Mark’s voice stopped them.
“Wait.”
Both turned back.
“What is your name?” he asked.
A brief hesitation, and then came the answer.
“Lili.”