The drunk girl and her red face bounced forward on her long legs.
I gave her the flagon. It was pleasantly warm perhaps a cozy one hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit. Hot… fresh…
A cook began to ask me if it was normal to consume warm.
I began to explain.
“Traditionally it is intermittently frozen and stirred to…” the cook wasn’t paying attention anymore.
The drunk redhead was chugging the entire thing to the encouragement of the maids. It was a little distracting.
“Another” she panted holding the empty flagon to her king.
I blinked, I had consumed it warm before, but rather didn’t suspect someone to enjoy it.
“How was it?” I asked
“It’s perfect!” She said, batting her eyes at me. “Nectar of the gods, just needs alcohol.”
It was indeed mainly sugar and fat. Perhaps the nectar of the devil in excess.
I took the flagon, other girls began to ask to try. Cooks too.
I didn’t make enough for everyone, I had to serve in shot glasses.
It was generally a hit. Liquid cake you know…
The shapely little quiet woman I had stopped from serving me wine finally asked.
“You said it’s supposed to be cold?”
Our discussion was a quiet sanctuary among this chaotic kitchen I had just dropped a bomb in.
“Frozen and ice crystals ground so fine it’s a frozen cream.”
“That’s a lot of work. Isn’t it easier to drink it warm?”
“You can keep it longer frozen. Imagine how gross it would be if I let it sit all day.” then thought a bit. “Or had to take it to market.”
“Ooohhhh… the milk and cream would separate it wouldn’t stay hot!”
“Exactly! Did you get that detail?” I asked a cook.
“Huh?” The cook asked, a maid in pigtails was asking them for barrels of drink.
If I asked the cook to write this down would I do more harm than good?
I liked the wine server for her quiet curiosity.
I made a bigger batch of “milkshake” on popular request. Nice and hot. Gosh I felt disgusting now. What was I thinking? I had entertained the women but at what cost?
I supposed that most entertainment was made at the cost of dignity. The sad clown just had to be happy.
Though I guess I should call it something other than milkshake, “hot vanilla?” “Sweet milk?”
Where was vanilla being grown on a map?
A cook pointed me to a chess board and pointed to A seven.
I guess the vanilla bean came from A seven.
A pair of maids, likely twins with black hair offered to mix vodka into the milk for those who wanted a little extra.
I suppose it’s like a White Russian. But if not for the quiet curiosity of the wine server and banal beauty of a bunch of happy idiots I might have just crawled up to bed to sleep and forget these man made horrors I had crafted.
“You need more wine” the pretty wine server told me. “You look sad, why?”
I generally don’t like drinking, but when a women I find very attractive asks me to do anything. I regrettably pay attention. Very shameful I know.
“I shouldn’t be sad, I don’t know what it is, something isn’t right” I replied.
“Is it the war?” The server asked.
I wanted to ask if she thought war was a symptom or a disease. But she probably wouldn’t get it.
“Yea probably.” I answered.
“Are we winning?” She asked.
“It’s a stalemate right now.” I responded.
“So we aren’t losing! Be happy O King!”
I should get a horse and run away with this girl. We would live on the mountain and sell ice-cream to lords. A cozy little mountain family maybe…
“King you are not eating!” A girl with fluffy blond Hollywood hair, and a pretty round face called out.
“You need more food and drink king!” The girl with brown pigtails, her healthy fit body holding a barrel of booze, called out.
I had woken in a confused daze and this dream wasn’t ending.
I always wake in a confused daze. And I had moved a chess piece first thing this morning. Gracious… I was going to get myself into trouble.
But now my mind was clear.
The queen wants me busy with these girls so she can…
Plot to kill me?
No the queen likes me and needs my titles.
Secure her orb against my ability to steal it?
Possibly but that’s probably best for the kingdom.
Organize my council without me?
What would that accomplish?
Incriminate me…
Possibly. But why?
Build a case against me…
Likely. But why?
A day of rest after the last few seemed respectable but what were other angles? There must be…
Oh darn what do you know? I’m sitting at the head of a table and a bunch of healthy young women have poured me alchool and are trying to feed me spiced meats. Already it was lunchtime. Good times go too fast.
It’s hard to focus. How much had I drank?
I made a game of getting them to drink the wine they poured for me.
Which they enjoyed. For them it was just a party.
Maybe it should be for me as well.
But something serious was happening.
The goal appeared to determine the answer to a simple question.
“Who’s your favorite?” Pigtails was the most straightforward.
The question kept resurfacing over and over.
Many drinking games and courses of fine food later it was late afternoon.
I was further from figuring out what trap I walking into than I had ever began.
I was four, six, uh oh...? Drinks in. If you counted what I consumed after lunch. I would have never made it this far in my old body. Two of the girls hadn’t and were sleeping on a long bench that ran along the side of this odd keep.
“Who’s your favorite?!” Someone asked.
“This girl who pours my wine.” I gave her my wine goblet and she filled it.
The wine server didn’t resist as I poured it down her throat.
The other girls, in various stages of revelry, laughed.
I had given this answer a bunch but for a variety of reasons they rejected the answer.
“No I mean who’s your favorite as a woman?”
Pigtails made a shook herself in a motion that implied the feminine form. Specifically the form above the belt.
“I like your pigtails.”
More laughter.
“If the king likes you then you have to drink!” One of the twins called out.
“I’m already drunk.” Pigtails replied.
“You aren’t naked yet!” Redhead yelled.
“Drink” urged wine girl’s gentle voice.
Wine girl was my favorite, easily. But It wouldn’t be fun to just say so. Though any young woman looks good in pigtails.
Pigtails dutifully drank.
Redhead called out to me. “What do you like about me?”
“She doesn’t need anymore” one of the blondes said.
“I love my lion. He’s so strong and smart and… Take your robes off lion!” Redhead yelled.
“Yea take your robes off and make us more milkshake!” A blonde continued. I really shouldn’t have taught them about processed food.
“We are your maids! We want to hic* take care of you!” I didn’t see who said that.
I stood up, bumping the table, wine server leaned into me and handed me another wine glass.
“Who wants this one?” I asked.
“Me!” Said wine sever,
“You just had one.”
“I forgot.”
I could feel we were reaching the awkward phase of drinking. We had been there for a while to be honest.
“Who’s your favorite?” Pigtails asked again.
“You want this wine? Drink it and be my favorite!”
“I’ll drink it!” Said the wine server leaning into me and driving her hand up my arm under my robe and squeezing my shoulder.
“She just gives you drinks she doesn’t count!”
“Even if she’s got the biggest tits?” Someone said.
There was a groan.
Well whoever they were, they had figured it out. I was a shallow guy.
“A king wouldn’t be so shallow!” Said pigtails.
That was where pigtails was wrong.
Honestly I liked pigtails too. But for different reasons. It felt mean to pick.
Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight but somehow all these girls were much less insufferable than they were this morning.