Framework of the Frontier, Sain Artwell [read me a book .TXT] 📗

ass sticklers for the law. How about you do some of the actual management of this town, since you think you own it?”

Fresh out of bed, Letter King was perfectly naked beneath a gown of transparent star-silk. Gently glowing patterns of purple-crimson arcane pulsed through the translucent fabric in a rhythm matching that of the larger lines branching through the red-slate tiled chamber. Several floating hands were in progress of combing her unruly silver curls straight, while others offered her platters of luxurious appetizers of which she had touched none.

Her eyes stared hopelessly at a crumpled piece of paper. “How can you speak in such a heartless manner Lidarein? You, my trusted advisor.”

“Mimimi-everyone is my personal servant-mimimi,” Lidarein squinted at the Letter King.

Her frown was an entitled combination of chagrin and shock. “That was weeks ago. I imagined it was in good humor.”

“Yeah, you had a lot of time to apologize.” Lidarein enjoyed the reactions she was getting from the de-facto dictator of the colonies. “So, I’m waiting.”

“He used it as a rock Lidarein.” She crumbled the letter in her fist. Frustration creased her brows. “Can you imagine Royal Parcelforce stamps, but for packages? Can you imagine, sets of living metal armor and enchanted weapons being delivered to an assassin disguised as a Spire Lord’s harem slave, hundreds of pounds of contraband moving through warzones undetected, and arcane detonations arriving to their victim seconds from detonation. Can you fathom riches the likes of which such stamps would have brought New Ea, because I can’t. And he, that realm cursed wretch used it as a fucking rock.”

Letter King slumped on her throne, nearly sliding off of it. The ghostly hands tucked her back into a comfortable position.

Lidarein wasn’t going to sympathize so easily. Serves you right for acting like a little diva bitch nine days out of ten. “Just to check, this is William we’re talking about?”

“Him.” Letter King hissed. “And the absolute gall of that man! He now dares, after failing— Nay, worse than failing. He ruined the chances of me ever obtaining the sceptre and now he dares to beg me of a favor. A favor.”

“Hey, at least he’s honest about it.” Glad to hear he’s still alive.

“That. That is the sole reason I summoned you and not the ten thousand deadliest assassins across the realms, though I am considering it, depending on his next reply.”

“We’ve all been there, be calm. Breathe in, breathe out, it’ll pass.”

The Letter King’s breasts rose and fell heavier for some moments. A ghostly hand petted her hair. “She’s right. You still rule a colony. You’re still wealthy. You’re still the King to these peasants, the mighty Letter King.”

Lidarein resisted the roll of eyes, glancing at the hallway behind her. “Sooo, now that I’ve made sure you won’t choke on your own panic, is there anything else your royal Kingship would have of thy lowly servant?”

“Lick my butt, smartass.”

“Not my role. You had people for that if I recall.” Lidarein grinned.

For once, Letter King snorted, though her voice took a severe tone afterwards. “Careful with your tongue. I hold the power to demote you to that position at the flick of my fingers.”

“Wow, I mean, not that I’m against it, but if you want that sort of arrangement you’ll be the one licking.” Lidarein abso-fucking-lutely enjoyed every second of the flustered blush on the cocksure woman’s face. She gave Letter King a leery grin, eyeing her nude ass.

“Begone.” Letter King pointed at the door, her voice breaking. “Shoo. I’ve no further need of you. Go. Now!”

“See ya.” Lidarein turned, strutting out of the castle with a happy skip to her steps. It was early morning. Wind was cool. Birds chirped louder than the monkeys. The city of New Ea was half-asleep.

Yawning, Lidarein paused to stretch at the main street, planning the day’s schedule. Number one: Breakfast. Alright, schedule done. I’ll improv the rest.

She entered the Sleepy Fountain, greeting its frantically working cook. “Morning Ain, you already busy?”

“Welcome, Ranger! Yes, always.” Ain, the young freckle cheeked elf flashed her a smile over the counter, a half skinned grassmaw lay on it. Blood stained her hands, apron, and nose. Ain blew a stray hair from her face and wiped sweat off with her elbow. “Let me clean my hands.”

“Oh, no need hun. I can help myself, if you don’t mind. I’ll have some soup.”

Ain smiled. “Thanks. Please do. Hope you enjoy it.”

“I will.” Lidarein filled a bowl from the big iron pot and a pint from the keg’s tap.

Ladling soup, she noticed other guests besides the old Griselhart, who slept under a blanket in one corner. It was Orien’s Band, all six even. They looked scruffy, like a family of shelled badgers straight out of a mud-burrow, but their laughter hinted they hadn’t come back from Nastall empty handed.

Raneign spotted her first, giving Lidarein a respectful bow of her head. The rest noticed her too. Orien waved. “What a coincidence, come on and sit down with us if you’d like, Ranger. We thought you were out for a patrol, ‘cos the office was empty.”

“You were looking for me?” Lidarein sat by one of the hairy faun explorers whose names eluded her. “Thank you. So, how’s the south?”

“Hot. Pretty. Deadly. Same old, same old.” Orien leaned back, rolling her shoulders smugly. “Big risks, big rewards.”

“We finally found our genie lamp.” Trotto patted a bulging backpack by his feet.

Lidarein was a little jealous, but happy for them all the same. “Awesome! And congratulations for bringing everyone back home in one piece. Are you going to have a few easy months now or head back home?”

Orien and Trotto exchanged conflicted looks with the others. Some seemed undecided, others frowned, suppressing bittersweet feelings. Lidarein had witnessed this play out all too often. Whether by failure or success,