The Helmet Itch

He stood at attention, as he had been trained in the Al-Fimian by Lord Vleck. He could remember Vleck’s lessons.

“Move a muscle and it shows weakness. Smile and the queen could cut off your head. You are allowed to blink, twice per minute. That is all. The queen does not like frequent blinkers. And if you are touched, you ignore it. Do you understand?”

No movement.

The last petitioner of the day entered the throne room.

“My queen, thank you for hearing my audience.”

“State your case,” she answered, bored. Arlo recognized the tone. She played with her silken hair, lifted her head.

Without moving his head Arlo could see her large eyes, long lashes, and perfect complexion. The potions had improved her already desirable body.

The petitioner droned on.

Arlo maintained his attention, a small itch creeping up the back of his helmet. Damn. If only he could dip his head and scratch it against his shoulder.

The petitioner finally exhausted his appeal, bowed, and left. The queen remained sitting on the throne, a ruby encrusted monstrosity she had dusted off from dungeon storage. Rumor had it that it was cursed, but Queen Filestra didn’t care or didn’t believe the legends.

Damn, that itch.

Now the room was empty, he could relax his attention and his mind turned to Virenia. He wondered about her life. Perhaps they would have been together if he hadn’t pledged himself to the Finestra, a lifetime bond of servitude to the queen.

The itch persisted but there was nothing Arlo could do.

The queen rose from her throne and circled the room, her lips creased up every so slightly into what he thought could only be a smile. Unusual.

“Your eyes are allowed to move,” she said, surprising him. She had never addressed him before and her words broke protocol. She walker over and stood inches from his face.

He inhaled her perfumed scent, jasmine. The smell reminded him of Virena. The queen studied him for a moment and then reached out a hand and laid it against his chest.

“You are magnificent looking.” Her arm looped around his back and her hand rested on his shoulder, right below the itch. “If it was allowed, I would take you to bed.” Her hand so close to the itch magnified its power, his whole body throbbing with the need for something or someone to scratch it.  “That helmet is a bit ridiculous looking, though. I’m going to need to speak to Horvar about updating your wardrobe. Such full lips.”

She leaned over and planted a gentle kiss, their lips touching. Queen Filstra kissed him passionately, and the itch rose in intensity, close to madness. Finally, she pulled away.

“Wonderful. Good night,” she said, pulling back and dragging her robes with her through the doorway.

He heard her padded feet disappear down the stone hallway.

Still, the itch throbbed under his helmet.

In two hours, he would be relieved, and then he would scratch.