Chapter 83 Extra 1·Queen
◎Dark Fire in the Wasteland◎
The gates of Gonda are open all year round, just like Assyria, a warm and wild country, welcoming all foreign visitors.
As a city built on the grassland, Gunda's buildings are lighter. Except for the outer walls made of huge rocks and soil, the houses inside are made up of wooden lattices and tents. The colorful convertibles are like colorful clouds, crowded together. The pointed wooden lattices are tied with long ropes nailed into the ground, and countless small colorful triangular flags are hung on the ropes. The outside of the houses are also sprayed with various overly bright colors.
The entire Gonda is like a fantasy town in a fairy tale. The bold and unrestrained use of colors, the various shapes of house structures, and even the display methods are completely different from the regular rules of the Syracuse Peninsula, presenting the unique free style of the grassland people.
Gonda is a mountain city on the plain. It is located on a hill. On the top of the hill is the Assyrian palace and temple. Below it, circles of residences are arranged.
When the early morning sun penetrated the thin mist and shone on the lush land, a chestnut horse pierced the cold air like a sharp arrow, leaving a red phantom across the vast land. The women who were returning from the pasture with bamboo baskets on their heads stopped and watched it galloping towards them in twos and threes, while the men guarding the city gate clapped their hands and stamped their feet loudly and laughed loudly.
"Hurry! Hurry up! The temple's morning bell is about to ring!"
"Rush up the holy mountain in one breath! Our princess!"
The girls spontaneously linked their arms and sang Assyrian war songs. The girls' clear and melodious voices were carried far away by the wind. The knights on horseback lowered their bodies and began to speed up again. As the knights accelerated, all the people of Gonda who were watching this scene cheered loudly.
"The flower of immortality bestowed by the Eternal Heaven, the sapphire of the Assyrian steppe, the gods have made you as beautiful as a pearl. If any eagle can marry her, we will offer him the wine brewed from our blood!"
The person on horseback raised her face. Her skin was the honey color unique to Assyrians. Her long curly golden brown hair was tied up by a hair crown inlaid with colorful gems, like a splash of blooming golden light. The thin veil used to protect against wind and sand passed over her cheeks and covered her long hair, revealing only a pair of bright and beautiful blue eyes. The girl was like the most colorful flower on the grassland. The long skirt made of golden red, sapphire blue and olive green made her extremely eye-catching on the vast green grassland. The way she rode her horse was like a storm, so brutal and fierce that she could take away the hearts of all the young men.
She was lying on the horse's back, and when she saw the people stopping and cheering for her at the city gate, she couldn't help but narrow her eyes, turn her face to the side, and show them a pure and bright smile. When she turned her head, the wind blowing in her face blew up her veil. The thin veil was instantly blown up by the wind, separated from the girl's fragrant long hair and rosy cheeks, and floated high into the sky, like a petal shining with golden light, and then the hidden smile was revealed in front of everyone.
Several young men who had been waiting at the door just to see her riding back every day opened their mouths blankly, their honey-colored skin flushed blood-red, like a row of silly geese, and the people around them immediately laughed in good-natured ways.
When they came to their senses, the Valkyrie-like girl had disappeared in front of them. Her agile and beautiful figure and brilliant smile were like fleeting feathers, becoming the most wonderful and glorious dream in their future lives. ㊣
They stood there looking at each other for a while, and suddenly, they both turned their gazes towards the direction the girl came from.
The wind was blowing the light golden veil away, reflecting a graceful cloud-like posture in the light and shadow of the morning sun.
They put their hands to their mouths at the same time and blew long whistles, and then horses came to them with a clatter.
The young men jumped on their horses, shook the reins, and galloped nimbly into the distance, leaving the people who had witnessed the whole process laughing.
"Your Highness."
The girl arrived at the palace on the top of the mountain before the bell rang. The maids waiting there were looking forward to her anxiously. When they saw her coming back, they surrounded her like enthusiastic little birds, saluted with their hands crossed on their chests, and then began to talk to her one after another.
Compared to the princess's maids, these girls, who also came from noble families, were more like the princess's companions. They lived together, studied together, and even married together, thus forming a larger group to guard the royal rule.
The young princess jumped off her horse, her blue eyes shining brightly: "Why didn't you go to the temple to pray early?"
The maids looked at each other and laughed quietly. Assyrian girls were all female warriors who could wield swords and ride horses. They were passionate and outgoing, and never hesitated to mention love: "The king invited a teacher to be your highness's religious teacher. We just went to see..."
They looked at each other again, their faces flushed beautifully, and they laughed again, their eyes filled with meanings that only the girls themselves could understand.
Yamanla stretched out her voice: "Oh - so he is very handsome? Is he more handsome than my Aung?"
King Zhena was recognized by the Assyrian people as a handsome man. He was elegant and heroic. All men were willing to follow him and all girls were willing to marry him. However, he only married his childhood sweetheart Heshu as his queen. I don't know how many Assyrian girls were heartbroken at that time.
"Oh, that's different!" the girls said in unison, "It's a different type!"
"The king is a suitable husband, but that person can be my lover!"
The girls spoke these words without restraint.
Yamenla looked at them with a look of confusion, rolled up the flexible whip in his hand, trotted into the palace with his head held high, and shouted loudly before he reached the palace gate: "Aong!"
King Zhena, who was talking to a guest from afar, raised his head when he heard the voice, and his eyes naturally showed love and joy. He said to his guest: "My most precious pearl is here. She has the most beautiful blue eyes in the world. Her intelligence makes our elders admire her. In short, you will be happy to have such a smart student."
King Zhenja's guest smiled humbly and gently: "I am honored."
Two pairs of eyes turned to the door, a lively shadow brought sunshine
It burst into the door with a bang, and the scorching heat and brilliant light bloomed in the room like fireworks.
The pair of blue eyes, clearer and more transparent than the clear sky, came into their sight, and the young princess noticed that in addition to her father, there was also a strange young man in the room.
When she saw him, she immediately understood where the shy blushes on her female companions' faces came from.
This is indeed a rare handsome man. He has long golden hair, which Assyrians do not have. He has fair skin, high cheekbones, long eyelashes, and a pair of unique and rare purple eyes, similar to the antique gems sold in antique shops. This makes him look very mysterious. The elegance and restraint that is completely different from Assyria creates a great impact, which makes his handsomeness special and unique.
"Good day, Your Highness." The young man stood up and bowed to her. His every move was full of natural charm. "I am Delacroix de Portia, the Archbishop of Florence stationed in Valencia. I am the religious teacher hired by your father."
Yamenla blinked, tilted her head, and narrowed her beautiful sea-blue eyes. The princess who had been on the battlefield had a resolute and strong temperament. When she tilted her head like this, the cuteness of a young girl was revealed without any sense of disobedience: "Why don't you kneel on one knee to me? I heard that people in the Syracuse Peninsula should kneel on one knee when they meet the princess."
The young man smiled slightly, and his purple eyes showed an unpredictable deep luster under the changing light. For a moment, Yamenla was fascinated by his eyes.
"That is the etiquette of knights, and I don't have the title of knight. As clergymen, we don't kneel to anyone except the Holy See. The secular royal power can never compare to the authority of God." The young man's last words were so light that Amenla wondered if it was his own illusion.
"It seems that in addition to religion, we also need to add etiquette courses, and..." Delacroix thought for a while and laughed again. Amenla found that this man seemed to love to laugh, which was not a bad thing. Such a handsome young man's smile could make everyone feel happy and make him look very gentle and harmless. "Perhaps we also need to add a course on the customs and practices of the Syracuse Peninsula? You will be the queen of Roman in the future, so you can't not even know what your people eat as their staple food."
This sentence made Yamenla's heart tremble slightly. She put away her playful and indifferent attitude and nodded seriously: "I understand, sir."
"No," Delacroix laughed again. He really loved to laugh, as if he was born with a smiling mask, always wanting to show his smile to everyone. "No need to be so serious. Please just call me Delacroix. I am ten years older than you, but your address makes me feel like I am a generation older than you."
"You know, even men sometimes mind their age."
The Archbishop of Valencia made a little joke.
"To be honest, ten years old is already very old," Amenla said bluntly after they were very familiar with each other and could communicate with each other without restraint. "One of the husbands that Aung had planned for me was even four years younger than me."
Delacroix drew his bow beside her and patiently aimed at a pheasant in the distance. He had been in Assyria for almost three years, but he still insisted on wearing clothes in the style of the Syracuse Peninsula. The slim-cut clothes outlined his slender figure, with ruffled sleeves suddenly spreading out at the elbows, and pure rhinestones dotted between the layers of snow-white lace. In the middle of the scarf was a thumb-sized dark blue collar pin. He no longer looked like an ascetic clergyman, but a dissolute and romantic nobleman from the Syracuse Peninsula.
In fact, judging from his background, he was indeed a nobleman, and if he had not chosen the path of clergy, he could have inherited the title of marquis.
"Really? Am I late?" The archbishop thought for a moment and tilted his head slightly. This action, which was very girlish, did not seem very feminine when done by him. Instead, it showed a different kind of grace. Amenla was captured by his occasional childish innocence. It might be the desire for control in her nature that made her always unable to help but cast her eyes on such a childish Delacroix.
The princess laughed and said, "I was only five years old at that time."
Well, Delacroix's hand shook, and the arrow he shot naturally went astray. Not only did it miss the pheasant, it didn't even touch its tail feathers.
The marriages of nobles always start very early. He should have thought of this earlier. The marriage between Amenla and Prince Roman was arranged when she was fourteen years old. It must have been a long time ago that King Zhenga was looking for a fiancé for his daughter.
Amenra looked at the young man's deflated expression and giggled. There was a sly and lively sense of pride in the corners of her eyes and eyebrows. She seemed very satisfied with his silent jealousy. However, in order to take care of the man's self-esteem - she was so considerate - the princess praised herself in her heart, walked forward, and held the longbow together with Delacroix.
"You will be laughed to death if you can't even shoot a chicken. This is a prey that Assyrian children can shoot at the age of eight. I could shoot a pheasant by myself when I was six." The proud little princess raised her chin. She patted Delacroix's arm, motioning him to raise the bow again, and held his hand to adjust the position.
The princess's hands were not very soft. There was a layer of calluses on her palms where she held the sword and the longbow. Delacroix thought of his sisters in his large family. Many of them were about the same age as Amenra. They were surrounded by flowers, silk and desserts every day. The heaviest thing they had ever handled was an ivory fan. They used milk and honey to take care of their skin before going to bed and wrapped their hands tightly with silk when they went out.
But, but…
The young man lowered his head. He could see the little whorl on the princess' head in front of him. Her long golden brown hair wore a chain crown that was easy to move around in. Turquoise, rubies and patinas were dangling between her braided hair. The deep green, quiet red and bright yellow, these intense colors supported the princess, and her brightness was not suppressed at all.
She is harder than honey, more brilliant than flower petals, and more flexible than silk.
She does not need milk and honey to nourish her hands. Her hands are for holding swords and reins. She was born to soar in the sky.
Delacroix raised the corners of his mouth, and this time his smile was more sincere and gentle than ever before.
The arrow flew off the bowstring like a meteor chasing the moon, accurately piercing the pheasant that was standing arrogantly on the branch and nailing it firmly to the tree trunk behind it.
"Perfect!" Delacroix cheered softly.
Yamenla turned her head and raised her eyebrows at him lightly.
Their eyes met at a very close distance. In order to draw the bow more conveniently, Amenla was almost half-held in Delacroix's arms, with the princess's back pressed against the archbishop's chest. They could even feel each other's heartbeats and the blood flowing in their veins.
Ah, no, when their breathing was completely intertwined, Delacroix thought to himself, this was not Amenra's heartbeat, but his own heartbeat.
No matter how many times he kissed Amenla, he would always feel the tension as if his blood was boiling, as if the Archbishop of Portia, who was once proficient in everything, had completely turned into a greenhorn. He hugged Amenla's slender waist, and the other put her soft arms around his shoulders. They staggered back, then tripped over grass stems and rolled on the ground.
The sudden dizziness forced the two to separate temporarily. Delacroix used himself as a cushion. The young princess's cheeks were flushed with a rosy blush from the kiss, like the soft halo rippling on the surface of golden red agate under the sunlight. Delacroix looked at her in fascination, her watery blue eyes and her bright red lips.
"Oh my god, I should stop," he muttered, as if warning himself.
"But you can't," Yamenla declared arrogantly, "No one can refuse me, even if you are a scumbag."
This time it was Amenra who took the initiative. The princess, who was always very opinionated, stretched out a hand arrogantly, pressed Delacroix's shoulder, and pushed him back to the ground. The soft grass was a natural blanket, and lying on it was like being trapped in a plump cloud.
Amenla sat astride him, stared at him for a while, then leaned down and kissed him again.
This time the kiss was not as gentle as before. They invaded each other fiercely, like two wild beasts biting each other, using all means to fight for each other's breath. A thin layer of sweat seeped out of their bodies, soaking the clothes on their backs. Their weight crushed the grass leaves beneath them, and the lush grass squeezed out emerald green juice, staining their clothes with twisted stripes and balls of color. The rising body temperature quickly evaporated all the sweat and grass juice. The whistling wind blew over the grassland, and the warm wind with the temperature of the sun brushed against Chiduo's skin, just like silk brushing gently.
They tore off the skin used for disguise, and all the tenderness and patience became a thing of the past, leaving only the burning anxiety like a boiling flame. They hugged each other tightly, with each other's body temperature in their palms, and their fingers slid from cheeks and neck to collarbone. A thin layer of sweat glowed with noble golden light on Amenla's honey-colored skin. She was facing the sunlight, with the light cast by the sun on her body. The light outlined a furry edge on her body, and the blurred curves were like the smudge of gouache, giving her an artistic beauty that transcends reality, like a Valkyrie sitting on the throne. No one was more beautiful than her at this moment. The Assyrian wind created her free soul. Delacroix looked at her as if he was looking at the Supreme Lord in the temple.
I really can't refuse, he thought vaguely, how could I refuse? ┆┆
——She is more eternal than love.
The author has something to say:
Today is parents' love hahahahahaha
I feel like I'm really not suited to writing love stories. When I write about love scenes, they become dry and weird. [Mask of Pain]
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