Little King (1)

‘Please, my lady, you can’t enter the …’ the guard stammered, but she pushed past him, bursting into King Harold’s chambers. The 24-year-old woman was the picture of regal grace. The 5’6" blonde was dressed in a stunning blue-violet gown with gold linings, dropping to the stone floor. She carried the dress to avoid tripping over it, but kept it low enough to hide her ivory white ankles, as a proper lady should. Her long, golden locks were braided in a crown around her head, allowing the rest to hang behind her. The low necked dress hugged her corset, but this did not hide the voluptuous bosom beneath, the two mounds bulging below her clavicles. Even the guard, trying to stop her entering, couldn’t help but glance down as she passed, a scroll in one hand. 

‘What is the meaning of this, Harold?’ Queen Elenor demanded, her voice crisp and articulate. Her slippers clicked on the stone as she walked and as she suspected, she caught her husband in bed with a suspicious, whore-sized bump beside him. 

‘Elenor … I … want you out of here … at once,’ Harold stammered, ‘I am the king! I have every right to see … er … whomever I wish.’

He glanced at the tuft of red hair poking out from the sheets, ‘You can come out Marjorie.’

A sheepish face with messy hair emerged from the sheets, somewhere near the king’s groin. Elenor looked at her with an icy stare that curdled the grin on her face. She then turned to her husband. 

‘I don’t care about the harlots,’ Elenor sighed, her cool blue eyes boring into him, somehow making him feel more exposed than he already did with no clothes on. His two guards remained helplessly outside the door.

‘But I draw the line at this …’ the Queen spat, tossing the loose scroll onto the bedsheets. She waited for him to fumble with it before revealing the contents. 

‘I can’t believe you’ve been paying off some whore to raise a bastard of yours,’ she huffed. 

‘It’s just a few bronze pieces every week, for God’s sake,’ Harold retorted.

‘Excuse me?! I am your wife, and the only mother to your true children!’ Elenor roared, ‘I want her arrested, this instant!’

***

‘Coming!’ Johanna called as she rushed to the door. The dark-skinned woman was careful not to knock over any of the various knick-knacks in the hovel. Her black ringlets bounced as she answered the call. She reached the door and extended her arm for the handle. 

The wooden door crashed open as a soldier barged into it with his shield and shoulder. Johanna shrieked as the body collided with her and sent her flying backwards into a table. The wood cracked as she fell through it and two burly soldiers charged into the already small space. 

‘What are you …’ Johanna asked but was interrupted as the guards roughly jerked her up to her feet by the arms. There was blood seeping from her nose and onto her dress. She looked from one to the other, searching for answers. 

‘What have I done? Please …’ she started to sob. 

‘You will have enough time for tears later, whore,’ hissed a voice from the doorway. And Johanna gasped as she looked upon the Queen of Evenguard. The peasant woman went pale. 

‘Not surprised to see me, are you?’ the blonde woman hissed, ‘Of course what you’ve done is a crime, but I’m here for your little brat.’

She glanced around the filthy space, cluttered with pathetic possessions, but saw no sign of a child. She sauntered across the floor running her fingers over the dusty wooden surfaces and threadbare cloths. Her slippers crunched against the dirt floor of the pitiful home and she grinned as she thought of the hardship that the king’s mistress must have endured. 

‘Well, where is it?’ she demanded, turning sharply to stare down the peasant. No matter how hard Johanna tried, she couldn’t help but flick her eyes in the direction of her son … and Elenor smirked as she followed them.

‘No, no! Please! Please, let him be! Please! He’s just a child!’ the mother screamed, but Elenor marched over to a small wooden crate beside a makeshift bed. On top of this was an open box, perhaps once used for jewellery, but now it held a far more precious cargo. Elenor gasped as she fixed her hungry eyes on the minuscule form of a baby boy, wrapped in a handkerchief. He was no larger than a finger nail and wiggling like an insect before her. The queen turned back to the infant’s mother, a fiendish grin plastered across her face.

‘Of course a peasant like you would have a sub-human son,’ she cooed, ‘And he was adorable, but …’

‘NO!’ Johanna cried, pulling at the soldiers holding her arms. She lunged for the Queen but barely moved an inch. She watched with tears streaming down her cheeks as the blonde woman lowered her thumb into the jewellery box. Elenor’s digit touched the child so softly that he didn’t event cry. Then she started to press harder. The infant’s entire body was swallowed up by her finger pulp. The woman giggled as she heard Johanna’s screams, twisting her thumb firmly on the pathetic little bastard. 

‘Take her to the gallows,’ Elenor said firmly, not removing her thumb from the box. 

‘NOOOO! NOOO!’ the poor woman cried as she was dragged away, her wails echoing through the streets as she was removed from her home and her child. 

When Elenor was sure that she was gone, she removed her thumb, frowning. The giantess had felt the little brat squirming despite her best efforts to put it out of its misery. She wanted so desperately to kill it before its whore mother’s eyes, but just the thought of it would have to do. In fact, she thought, maybe she could do something far more fitting to the bug, and get back at her husband too. She scooped him up carelessly in her hand and squeezed him tightly in a fist. She smiled as she stopped the sound of crying as the boy was cut off from air. With a satisfied grin, she walked out of the hovel, flanked by four other guards until she reached her carriage, ready to take her back to the palace. 

***

‘Well, aren’t you going to thank me?’ Elenor cooed as she skipped into the great hall, where King Harold was sat slouched on his throne. 

‘For what?’ he demanded. 

‘For taking care of your whore and her bastard, of course,’ she sang.

‘What? Elenor, you release her at once!’ Harold yelled, standing up and causing his guards to tense up.

‘I'm afraid you’d have to cut her body down from the noose yourself,’ the queen replied with a sinister indifference.

‘You bitch! And the boy?’ Harold demanded. 

‘Oh don’t worry, I actually think we should keep it,’ Elenor smiled, taking her husband by surprise. 

‘You have him?’ he asked.

‘We can keep him, and everyday he can remind us of what I was willing to forgive to keep our marriage happy,’ Elenor continued.

‘Where is he?’ Harold demanded again.

His wife smirked, flicking her golden hair and glanced down at her chest. King Harold followed her gaze down the open dress. There, in between her bulging breasts as a tiny spec of a child, with light brown skin and black hair. 

***

John froze as a shadow crossed in front of him. He leaned back against the window pane and held his breath. The shadow passed, and the 2-inch tall man shot away from the glass and ran along the window pane, a sack over his shoulder. 

‘Hey!’ roared a voice from the bakery. John reached the edge of the window and leapt, just as the huge baker arrived at the glass. The tiny man barely dodged the massive woman’s paw as he landed on top of a barrel, rolling to his feet as he ran. He heard clattering in the kitchen behind him, but didn’t look back. He leapt onto a rope, rappelling down the side of the wooden barrel and reaching the ground just as the massive door to the bakery slammed open behind him. 

John took off running as the colossal baker woman stomped out into the street, her head swinging from side to side in search of the thief. Jeannette was 37-years-old and had enough problems with rats eating into her livelihood. She didn’t need these pesky tiny people stealing it too. The voluptuous mother of four swung her curly brown hair out of her face as she spotted the thief. She hiked up the skirts of her dress and set off after him, as he ran along the side of the building towards an alley. 

The tiny man sped around the corner, hugging the building. He darted past another barrel, running behind it towards a line of sloped planks against the wall of the building. He knew it was risky to steal from somewhere so close to his home, but he was desperate. He ran beneath them, sliding into the shaded area, certain that the baker hadn’t seen him. He rose in the shady enclosure to see three trembling figure, huddled together by one of the planks. 

‘It's okay, it’s okay,’ John whispered, ‘She didn’t see me.’

One of the figure ran out to him, wrapping her tiny arms around his knee. John smiled as he let the bag fall to her feet, returning his daughter’s hug, ‘Father is safe darling.’

He had barely touched her head when the ground shook. John’s eyes widened in terror as he made eye contact with his wife. She whispered something, but the fear had taken the breath from her voice. She hugged their son tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Jeannette’s foot crashed into the planks, snapping them with a crack. John screamed as the plank above his wife and son broke in two. The enormous woman’s foot pushed the bottom half of the slat down with ferocious speed. John shut his daughter’s eyes as her mother and brother were crushed by the plank, the weight of the huge woman pressed down on them. Their puny bodies fell under the wood and provided no resistance to the giantess, exploding in bursts of blood and gore. Their remains splashed across John’s body and he sobbed, the wood creaking under the colossus. 

‘No,’ the tiny man whispered as he looked up at the fuming giantess glaring down at him. 

‘You thieving little rat!’ she roared.

‘It was a piece of bread!’ John yelled back, hugging his daughter as the giantess twisted her foot, facing him and grinding the remains of his wife and son into the dirt. 

‘I'll teach you to steal from me!’ Jeanette screamed as she bent down to grab him, but he leapt to his feet leaving the bread and carrying his daughter beneath the remaining plank away from the murderous baker. He heard her swear above him. She lunged for him, missing him by a hair’s breadth with her huge fingers. 

Jeanette straightened up, enraged as she stomped after the thief. Her first step took her right to them and her sandal-clad foot slammed into the dirt beside John. He kept running, trying to think only of the survival of his daughter. He made it about another foot.

The giantess realised that he was too fast for her to catch with her stupid corset restricting her movements. But she wasn’t going to let the little bug get away from her either. With a wicked smile on her face, she raised her skirts and sent her foot flying into the running man, striking him square on the side and throwing him to the floor. His little brat went flying into the dirt a few inches away from him. 

John screamed as his arm snapped at the elbow from the impact and he fell to the ground. He ignored the pain to look up at his terrified daughter, lying on her side and reaching out for him. He struggled to his knees, ready to crawl to her, to comfort her. 

The goddess’s sandal struck the ground like a meteor, obliterating the tiny girl in the blink of an eye. John’s face contorted in a guttural scream as her body popped, her tiny bones crunching under the heavy leather sole. The helpless father vomited as the cruel giantess twisted her foot, grinding the bloody remains of the little girl into the dirt. He looked up at the huge figure standing over him, his own tears blurring his vision. 

‘WHY!’ he screamed, unable to understand how someone could murder a child so ruthlessly. He met her cold eyes, trembling as she spoke. 

‘You pests shouldn’t have stolen from me,’ she replied, her voice dripping with venom. She raised her other foot over the puny man, her sole hovering over his body like a building about to fall onto him. She couldn’t even see him beneath her, but waited, tasting the power she had over him. It would have been better if it was over a real man, not a bug. 

John didn’t move as the goddess stomped on him, his body liquifying into a crimson sludge, mixing with the dirt into a tiny, muddy stain on Jeanette’s sole. The baker twisted her foot, smearing his carcass into the ground with a grin of satisfaction on her face. She looked at the filth on the soles of her sandals with disgust but shrugged it off. It would eventually wipe off in the dirt anyway. She strode back into her kitchen, leaving tiny stains fo red in her footsteps and the massacred family in the alleyway, without a a second thought.