The Dragon Prince's Bride
Chapter 43. Are they all like that?

Chapter 43: 43. Are they all like that?

The entire hall had fallen silent... Dead silent. Even the servants and musicians seemed to be trembling in fear. Because no matter how the story was flipped, the conclusion remained that King Gerald had asked for Barak’s head in exchange for his daughter’s honor being tainted. So it was only fair that the demand be reversed now that it had been proven before everyone that the princess was a beautiful liar who just sullied the name of a mighty warrior prince. Thereby dishonoring the entire Trago nation.

No one trembled as much as Neriah did for she valued her life more than anything else. To lose her neck was not an option! She hated them. She hated them all. Father and son were alike. Beasts cut from the same dirty cloth. She could not believe he was boldly asking for her head and her father stood there blaming her! Doing nothing to counter the words of a foreign king who just threatened royalty!

She returned her gaze to Barak who was still crouched before her. She wished to strike him across the face. The damned man. All this wouldn’t have happened if only he was a guard.

If only he had informed and convinced her that he was the prince Barak, then things would not have gotten this far! It was all his fault. He should have just silently given his life for her happiness to be fulfilled.

Why did he have to defend himself and make her look like a fool before all that many people? She hated him. Lords! She hated him.

Gerald was speechless. For the first time in a long time, he just could not think of any words to say to Bashan.

Erra rose to her feet and moved next to her husband, you could see her also trembling. What mother would not tremble when her daughter, albeit foolish and almost despicable, might lose her head. "Y_yur Ma_Majesty Lord Bashan I—" She paused as she was interrupted by Bashan’s boisterous laughter.

"These are the words I wish to say." He chuckled. "But although many consider us barbarians, I am a just King and also a father of a daughter too. I believe that this meeting today has extended far more than it should have. So we shall return to rest. You will want some private talk with your child. We shall leave for now."

He patted Gerald on his left shoulder in a brotherly fashion then took the hand of the queen and once again placed a kiss on her knuckles. Those simple gestures felt like a heavy load was placed upon the shoulder that Bashan had patted, and a knife stabbing Erra’s hand. It was quite painful... The disgrace.

"Let us go, son." Barak rose to his full height and looked down upon her one last time before walking past her behind his father. And anyone could see the disgust in his eyes. But even deeper than disgust was greater bitterness.

...

Barak was angry. He couldn’t bring himself to ride the same carriage with his father back to their assigned castle. He was angry and embarrassed. No matter how the situation was looked at, he had brought shame to his people... To his father in particular. To think he had gone to him the night before telling him he’d found a woman.

A witch! That’s what he had found. Not a woman. A lying, conniving, treacherous witch. Who obviously had and felt no remorse. He could see it in her eyes that she felt wronged. He could see it that she believed what she did was right. That she believed that nothing was wrong with her evil plan.

Gods! He wanted to wring her neck. While his father had rode the carriage back, he had taken a horse from one of their escorting guards and riden away without a single word to anyone.

What could he possibly say? He had ended up in a bar in town and sat at the counter for hours slowly sipping mug after mug of beer. The wine of the elves was really fine; he had to admit that even if he really did not like them elves. But as for their beer, it tasted like piss.

And yet he sat there drinking that kind of beer from morning till it was dark. "Been meaning to ask yah eh," said the bartender; a big bald man with a big red beard and big brown eyes that were not hidden underneath his full red eyebrows." you are one of them Tragonians eh?" He asked with a wide smile, revealing a set of well kept teeth. Really unexpected for a man who looked like he did.

Barak ignored the man’s questions and just sipped on his beer, he’d had about six refills now and he still cringed each time he took a sip of the beer. It was truly like piss. And to think it was the man’s finest.

"You look big and strong. Heard that all your people are big and strong like yah eh?" He continued even though he was given no response. "Well I guess that is expected of a dragon nation. Compared to us puny elves." And this was where Barak laughed and even spilled some beer out of his lips. He eyed the man who was literally a 7ft giant calling himself puny.

"I do not believe you can be called puny." He finally responded to the man.

"Aye it is true that I am bigger than most. But it is also true that most are skinnier and smaller too." He generously refilled Barak’s cup even though Barak had not asked for one.

"That is true. Your kind are rather small." He was thinking of one particular person. That little witch. "Tell me something uhh," He waited hoping the man would fill his name into the gap.

"Botch. Botch the son of Beer Botch who is the son of Monster Beer Botch." He proudly stated and once again Barak chuckled at the interesting character.

"Ah, right, Botch the son of Beer Botch, who is the son of Monster Beer Botch, are all your elven women like witches?" He had to ask. He could not begin to understand why she had done that to him. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe everything was his fault from the very beginning. If he had not yearned and listed after her all of this could have been avoided.

And yet, it hurt him. Why would anyone do that to another person? "No, let me rephrase that question. I have been with elven women before. The question is are all Avelian women like that? Like little temptresses sent from the deepest part of hell to destroy man. Are they all conniving, with a heart that is desperately wicked?" He asked, then muttered to himself, "Or is it just that one that I met?"

"Ah-ha! I see our Avelian beauties have lured you in, have they not? I could just tell it was because of a woman! Aye, they are all witches. I mean what woman is not? I call them the devil’s little messengers. Them witches." He slammed his hand on the counter as he spoke, causing beer to spill out of the cup of not only Barak but the other customers who were using the counter too.

"Aye, there is not a creature on this earth as sly as women." Said an elderly man with more hair on his face than on his head. He sat down next to Barak and smiled, revealing a set of brown teeth. He placed a wrinkled arm on Barak’s shoulder.

"Get me the regular piss, Botch." The old man said and Barak chuckled that the old man called the beer piss.

"You old fart, I already told yah. Even though the beer tastes like piss don’t call it piss in front of a new customer, Rug." Botch queried as he put a huge mug in front of the old man. His mug was even bigger than Barak’s even though he was clearly smaller.

"So, you a Tragonian?" He asked, ignoring Botch’s complaints.

"What gave it away? The skin color?" Barak dryly replied and clanked his mug with the old man’s.

"You look fancy though. With yah reach boots and is that gold?" He pointed at the rings on Barak’s fingers.

"Only the finest." Barak acknowledged.

"Ahh, better be careful around here with that." He warmed. "Now, having women problems already? Did not anyone tell you that Avelian women are little witches?" The old man laughed and finally moved his hands from Barak’s shoulder.

"Aye, I was not informed." He nodded bitterly and Botch and Rug laughed.

"What a pity... I mean have you seen them women?" Botch pitched in again. "With the body that can make a grown man like me into a baby. Eyes that can melt the coldest of hearts with just one gaze. Voice so harmonious that men get lost listening to it. Hands so delicate when they stroke your head upon their thighs and equally wicked when they strike your cheek. They are witches I tell you. Them devil’s little messengers." Botch hit the counter again with his palm and Rug clanked his mug with Barak’s again.

Barak laughed bitterly as the man’s words sank into his head and he muttered to himself... "If only someone had told me this in time. I might have avoided a lot of trouble."

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