The Dark Heir (SHORTLIST - Open Novella Contest 2019)

The Stranger

The king, who was a bit disturbed by his wife's display, decided he should probably stay home for a little while. The last thing he needed was for rumors to spread that he wasn't doing his duty as king. He prided himself on being a very dutiful king, and maintaining his pride was of the utmost importance to him.

He hoped a few weeks would be enough time for everyone to forget the whole thing. As long as the queen continued to behave normally, which she had done for the few days he'd been home, he thought he might be able to get away with just two weeks. Perhaps he could get it down to one and a half if he slept in her room. He wasn't sure he was quite up for sleeping in the same bed, but a bottle of liquid courage usually helped (this was actual bottled liquid courage, not alcohol).

You see, though his own mother and father had been very dutiful about teaching him the responsibilities of being a king, they had forgotten to teach him one very important requirement. Begetting an heir.

They had assumed (and we all know what happens when one assumes*) when the time came, that he would just instinctually know what to do. Or (they also assumed) that some enterprising maid or lady would have taught him well before the required time, and that he might by that time have one or two children running around who he might or might not know about. They also assumed he was attracted to members of the opposite sex. They were, of course, wrong on all counts, and thus made an ass out of themselves, and him, and his queen, and their whole kingdom, not to mention putting the world on a path toward almost certain doom.

Had they ever actually spent time with their son, rather than handing him off to be raised by priests and mages, they would have instantly recognized he had no interest in women. He was, and always had been, attracted to men. And so he pranced gaily (pun intended) into adulthood, having had several affairs with like-minded tutors, and never having looked at a woman with interest.

Let this be a lesson to all parents who shy away from teaching their children about the realities of sex, less their children end up like this king and queen; each having parents who assumed they would be taught their required royal duties by others, but instead ended up laying next to each other for the first time in the three years they'd been married, starring stiffly at the ceiling above them, waiting for the other to make the first move.**

Finally the queen had had enough waiting and said, "So are you going to do something?"

To which the king replied, "I'm supposed to do something? I thought you were supposed to do something. You're the one who wants a baby!"

He had, in fact, asked some of his merry men (his nickname for them, since he was partial to the fairy tale of Robin of "The Hood" - about a poor boy from a made up place called Harlem who grew up to be a powerful gang leader and eventually married the daughter of the Mayor of New York City) whether praying to the gods really got you a baby, or if it involved something more. He was disabused of his earlier hopes and dreams, but stopped listening when they started talking about "vaginas" because it was just too horrible to bear.

The queen, who listened much more intently to her own ladies-in-waiting's instructions, now reached over and grabbed his penis. Unfortunately her hands were freezing cold (stone castles are drafty, chilly, places to live, and for some reason all the magic in the world couldn't think up the equivalent of a glass window). At this the king screamed higher and louder than a small child who's lost their ice cream, and instantly threw up a magical barrier to protect himself from his wife.

"Are you kidding me?" She yelled.

"Your hands are cold!" He protested.

"Why the hell did you even marry me if you don't want to sleep with me?" She cried.