A Bride of Stone (2 page)

We lay there, still joined, for some time until she starts to shiver from the cold. I lift her up, light in my strong craftsman’s arms and carry her over to the bed. I lay her there and cover her with the furs watching as she falls asleep. She snores gently, almost a purr, as sleep washes over her. While she rests I go to wash myself in the basin, removing the evidence of our lust from my now limp cock. As I clean myself I hear a knock at the door.

“Open up in the name of the king,” shouts the gruff voice from outside.

She murmurs something, still sleeping, undisturbed by the knock.

I dress quickly, fumbling for my discarded clothes in the dim light. I go to the door and slide back the thick beam of wood and as I do so the door is flung open, pushing me backwards. I trip and stumble, landing on my back on the floor of my workshop. Two guards barge in, weapons drawn and gleaming from the early morning light outside. They stand over me as the king walks in, imperious, scowling, more guards following behind him.

“You have completed the ritual?” he asks, looking down at me over his long nose and greying beard.

I look up at him with contempt, anger and fear in my heart. He will take the woman I love and there is nothing I can do about it.

“I have,” I reply, pointing to the bed.

The king walks over and pulls back the furs revealing her naked shape on the bed. Tears roll down my cheeks as I stare at her exquisite beauty lying there. I love her like I could love no other and I dare not think of what will happen next.

“Yes, she is the one,” says the king, a dark desire enscribed on every feature of his face. He leans over her to run his grubby hands over her magnificent thighs. She opens her eyes and screams at the sight of him.

“Sire, no!” I shout, attempting to stand.

The pommel of a sword thuds into the side of my head with a sickening crack as a guard lashes out at me. I fall to the ground, stunned, the pain unbearable, yet so similar to the pleasure I felt moments before.

Guards grab her, tie ropes around her wrists, her neck and, sobbing, screaming and kicking, she is taken from me. I lie there on the floor, blood dribbling from my head, unable to move as the king and guards leave.

“For your trouble,” says a guard, throwing a bag of coins onto the dusty floor of my workshop. It splits as it lands, sending a shimmer of gold across the floor. It glitters in the light before the door slams shut, leaving me in darkness.

I am left alone, sobbing from the pain in my head and the loss in my heart. I don’t know how long I lie there wallowing in my sorrow but, eventually, I pull myself up. I select one of the remaining blocks of marble from the back of my workshop and gather my tools.

Carefully, I begin to chisel.