After a full day of touring the Queen's estate and speaking with her staff members (or, more accurately, watching as they serviced their lady with silent, adoring expressions), nighttime arrived.
It was my first evening acting in the official capacity of Ambassador to this country and I was determined to make a good impression among the wider political circles of the Queendom.
Not that it would have mattered to any members of this insulated, exotic land, but I wore my most formal attire by the standards of the United Council and thought I made quite a neat picture on my way down the grand staircase to the state dinner.
The Queen certainly had prepared a lavish spread, giving me - and by extension, the country I represented - the respect we merited on the occasion of seeking an alliance between our two nations. The banquet hall was filled with merry tables of local (and powerful) figures: politicians and wealthy merchants and healers and academics, all who had turned out to show their support for the budding friendship (and trade) between us.
I had found the Queen a particularly gracious host during my first morning and afternoon in the Queendom, even if it was still taking me time to adjust to the local customs.
As I intend to bring this journal to the capital with me at the end of my stay here, that it may better serve as a travelogue, resource, and guide to the exotic traditions and social nuances of this place, I am prepared to explore and reflect on some of the more outlandish practices. I feel a little like an anthropologist in a foreign land, trying to preserve the knowledge of such strange places beyond our own comfortable homes.
The most important item to note is that the citizens of this country worship their Queen. Not only does she function as a political and symbolic figurehead of the country, as well as wielding great power in her own right, but she also adopts a sort of spiritual role in which she is treated with the reverence of a divine being.
The citizens consider favor or attention from her to be a blessing, even at times when our own citizens might not see her gestures as very benevolent or gracious. But trust me when I say that the people of this nation respond powerfully to their Queen, and shower her with love and affection, when she deigns to "bless" them.
This blessing most often takes the form of something like liquid baptism. One of the primary tenets of this Queendom is that the monarch - and the whole royal family by extension - has the ultimate right to relieve themselves wherever and whenever they like. It is their ultimate prerogative to choose the nature and context of their output.
Because of this fact, the citizens of the Queendom believe it is the ultimate blessing for their Queen to relieve herself on them.
When she parades past in the streets, they line up on both sides of the road, lifting their arms, opening their mouths, begging for her to grant them benediction. When she does in fact stand in her regal carriage and direct her stream outward, they all run headlong into the streets, dancing and laughing and celebrating.
Of course, I am getting a little ahead of myself here. I still had not witnessed this experience firsthand, but had gleaned its nature from the travel writings of Turelius the Sage, who wrote extensively about the traditions of the previous monarch, best known as Prince Philip. After my experience in the gardens and the stables, I was eager to see the Queen choose and bless someone, and to learn a little more about this unique custom.
When I entered the banquet hall, pageboys immediately escorted me to the high table to sit at the Queen's own side. She wasn't seated yet, as she naturally took her place after everyone else had arrived, so I struck up a lively conversation with the gentleman on my other side, who was just as interested to hear about life in my own home country as I was to hear about his.
I kept glancing at the doors to make sure I didn't miss the Queen's entrance, but there was no chance of that: the room got completely, reverently silent when the double doors opened and she appeared, clad in only a smile.
If our own Prime Minister had appeared to a formal dinner without a single stitch of clothing, there would have been an uproar at home: half the room yelling themselves hoarse, and the other half applauding. Here, there was only a deafening silence as the Queen descended to her seat, gazing out benevolently at the assembled audience. Every single face in the room looked rapturous to see their Queen shimmy her slender frame down the stairs.
"It's been too long since we had a dinner that celebrated the old ways," she announced, still standing, when she reached her seat right next to me.
I was eye-level with her pubic thatch, a little bustling of hair that seemed to shine and catch the light, and trying not to stare as she opened the dinner with a speech. Her breasts were pertly round, her hips gratifyingly wide, and her entire body exquisite. She didn't have to wear jewels to look radiant. We all hung on to her every word.
"It's delightful to have an excuse to return to old traditions," said the Queen. "And delightful to have someone to show off to again. After 500 years of isolationism, we are learning through our relationships with those around us that we need to open our borders if we are to share and disseminate ideas that will advance the world. There is much we can learn from other nations of the world - and much that they can learn from us!"
A little cheer arose at her words, and she continued, emboldened. "So let's give them a show of what it means to call the Queendom home!"
She sat down, satisfied, at their applause, and turned to me with a perfect hostessing smile. "Are you enjoying your stay so far, my dear?"
"Yes, very," I said, trying to keep my eyes on her pretty face, feeling very conscious of how nude she was below it.
"Lovely. You have your journal here to take notes? Ah, yes, I see it next to your plate. I hope you will make good use of it - there should be lots to observe tonight which may seem, ah...foreign to you."
"I am excited and humbled to witness it, Your Highness."
She winked at me, then picked up her water glass. "Cheers," she said, draining it.
I turned to her - in my country it is considered polite to angle the body towards the other person and make eye contact when making toasts - and in the process, stubbed my foot against something soft under the table which also said, "ow."
"I'm sorry," I said, gathering the cascading tablecloth in my hands and trying to pull it up to peer under. At first I assumed perhaps a young child was wandering around under the tables, exploring out of sight of some parent of governess, and I was horrified to have kicked someone unwittingly.
Imagine my surprise to find, not an errant child, but a near-naked servant crouched under the table. He was wearing only a collar around his neck, and was bare down to the waist, where only a small loincloth covered his groin.
"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised, and he nodded, but even when I spoke he never took his eyes off the vision in front of him: the Queen's naked lower half, seated in the chair, remained under the tablecloth and accessible to him. But he never reached out, never touched her...only stayed rooted, kneeling, in front of her.
Evidently my kick hadn't hurt him that much, because I suddenly realized he was sporting a sizeable erection under the loincloth fabric.
"I see you're meeting my staff," the Queen said, smiling at me again with that look that implied mischief and delight.
"Uh, in a manner of speaking," I said.
"This is Minot," she said, gesturing to the collared servant - or was he a slave? - and continuing, "He is one of my most loyal assistants."
