Marissa Holsteins's Arc

Chapter 1 of 10

Marissa Holsteins pushed her cart up the road with one goal: to reach the king's castle and have him drink her milk. She was a cow-woman from the dairy lands, curvy and strong, and no one made richer cream than she did. Behind her rolled a wagon holding her prized milking machine, its curved hoses and rounded cups packed tight in straw. She had traveled two days for this chance. She would not turn back. Red spears crossed the road ahead. Two guards stepped from the shade and blocked her path. "Halt," said the first. Her red hair spilled loose, and her chainmail caught the sun. This was Angelica Martinez, the king's guard. She looked Marissa over with a bored, tired frown. "Every peasant thinks her gift is worthy of the king. Most are wrong." Beside her stood a blonde knight with a heart-shaped sword. Lilith Maria tapped the blade against her heel. "Prove your offering is worth his time," she said. "Or crawl home." Marissa's face went hot. "My milk is the finest in the land. Let me pass." "Words," Angelica said. "We hear words all day. Show us." Marissa's chest tightened. She could argue, or she could act. She chose to act. She hauled the milking machine off the wagon and set it in the dirt. She fitted the cups, flipped the switch, and let the machine work. Rich cream poured into the glass jar, thick and golden at the edges. The guards leaned in despite themselves. Angelica dipped one finger and tasted. Her bored frown broke. Lilith took the jar and drank a long swallow. She lowered it slowly. "That," Lilith said, "is better than anything in the royal kitchen." Angelica wiped her mouth and met Marissa's eyes. Her tone changed. "You may pass. But hear this. The king has one hunger, and it is not milk. He collects wives. He wants a harem, not a dairy." Marissa held the jar to her chest. "I only want him to taste what I make." "Then be careful," Angelica said. "A man who wants many wives sees an offering like yours and wants the whole cow." She stepped aside and pointed up the road. Marissa loaded the machine and pushed her cart past the crossed spears. She had won the road. But near the castle gate stood a tall billboard, its letters bold and plain. It read: MILK FOR MOMMY. Marissa stopped and stared. She had not put that sign there. Someone knew she was coming. Someone had planned for her arrival, and it was not the king. She gripped her cart and walked toward the gate, no longer sure who waited inside.