Hi lovelies! It gives me
great pleasure today to host S.N. McKibben and her new book, “The Spoils of
Allsveil”!
Be sure to make it to the
end of this post to enter to win ONE of TWO $5 Amazon Gift Cards!! Yep – that’s right!! There will be TWO lucky winners!! See below for more details. Also, come back daily to interact with S.N.
and to increase your chances of winning!
The Spoils of
Allsveil
by S.N. McKibben
Genre: Fantasy,
Romance
Murder. Marriage. Forgiveness. The kingdom of Allsveil is the
chessboard, and the royals are the pieces.
Two noble families meet in a whirlwind of battle, conquest,
hate, and passion.
When
a neighboring army conquers her home, Princess Alexia is forced to marry her
father’s murderer, Darrin, the new king's young prince. While Alexia grapples
with revenge and flirtation, finding her own strength in the process, the new
king, Goththor, seeks forgiveness from his queen and from himself. Two
generations learn that the game of chess is nothing compared to the game of
love and forgiveness...
1 - Alexia
Months of fighting, and finally it had come
to this—an evacuation. The City of Allsveil defending against The Empire of
Dreshall. The Horse against The Hawk. My father, King Fieron Tyilasuir,
fighting King Aiden Goththor at the gates of our regal castle. All because two
men couldn’t see eye to eye about a small city being under one banner.
At that moment, I’d never wanted anything
more than to be a son for my father. Especially while I stood in the
high tower evacuating the servants, wet nurses, and maids. But I was not a boy
or a man. I was my father’s doted-on princess. A girl allowed to swing a sword
with my father’s permission because he was the monarch.
My mother had a sword of her own and used it
in defense of my unladylike desire to hold more than a misericorde. Her blade
was not tempered in metal, but its steel cut and the ring of her tongue drove
deep. They say the pen is mightier than the sword. I’m personally aware that my
mother’s word is mightier than a frail quill from a duck’s arse.
Mother kept sneaking glances out the
windows. I could tell that, like me, she wanted nothing more than to be down
there, wielding a sword against invaders beside our king.
Horrors I’d been told about in stories lay
on our courtyard battlefield. Arrows stuck out from the chests and sides of our
men as thorns to a rose. Not one man died with feathers in his back. Brave
warriors, all of them, who knew they would never see past this day and did not
turn away from protecting us.
Mother’s dark eyes expressed more fire than
a hearth flame when she said, “Get them all out.” Worry tainted her expression
even through her unwrinkled skin and hair pulled back in a severely tight bun.
My mother, the queen, never out of place, never out of sorts, remained that way
even in dire situations.
“Come, Emvery.” I offered my maid a hand and
stepped patiently while the woman, who tended me since birth, waddled down the
stairs one step at a time. “We’re under attack. You have to move faster.”
My mother drilled that sword of flesh with
tone and timing. “Alexia, respect those who’ve protected you from rain and wind
down to their bosom.”
“It’s all right, milady.” Emvery’s plump
hand patted my arm. She always defended me—even against a queen.
“I’m sorry.” I took my maid’s arm firmly.
She had a tendency to fall and was careful going down stairs. “But the castle
gate is failing. We must hurry.”
Near the bottom of the stairs, Mother spoke
to the guards assisting our escape. “Are we the last?”
The two queen’s guards, Clay and Heinsley,
looked at each other.
“I asked you a question, gentlemen.”
“No, my lady,” Heinsley answered. “Samalia
refused to leave her quarters.”
Mother huffed and spun on her heel, stomping
back inside the tower.
Emvery held me tight, or I would’ve
followed.
“My lady!” Heinsley leapt and caught
Mother’s arm. “We must leave.”
The queen of Allsveil ripped out of her
guard’s grasp. “Do not touch me, Heinsley. I will not overlook your inappropriateness
again.”
Clay grabbed both my mother’s arms from
behind. “I’m sorry, my lady, king’s orders.”
“Emvery, go!” I left my maid’s side and
rushed back up the stairs.
Mother elbowed her guards while I passed
them to get my Nanna, Samalia. A stubborn old nanny wasn’t going to be my
martyr.
“Heinsley! The girl!” Clay said.
“You will address her as princess, or
Princess Alexia!” My mother even now concerned herself with propriety. My
practice in skirmishing with castle guards quickened my feet but while I could
take three steps at a time, Heinsley, with his long legs, could take five or
six even in his heavy armor.
Hands scooped me up by my waist. “No,
Heinsley! We can’t leave her here!”
“We can and we will.” The guard’s rough
voice rushed in my ear.
We struggled down the stairs. Heinsley
squeezed my arms together while he leaned against the wall. I kicked and hit
all the right places to tumble us both, despite the stupidity of falling down a
stairwell. I was too angry. Too fevered in my desperation to get to my Nanna.
We could not leave her to these plunderous savages.
Heinsley took my blows without so much as a
grunt. My attempts became an embarrassment and after the eighth strike, I
stopped. I didn’t want to hurt him or me. He was only trying to save us.
Clay held Mother fast by the shoulders, his
back to the open escape. He was the brawny type that filled an entire doorway.
If he stood in the archway, Mother wouldn’t be able to get around him. Not even
if she crawled. Which, no matter the dire consequences, could I ever see the
queen of Allsveil doing.
“Good.” Clay’s relieved face swept over me
and Heinsley. “Let’s get out of here.”
Clay took hold of Mother’s wrists and turned
around, engulfing the open door. A buzzing, the sound of a thousand whistles,
then screams echoed off outside the tower walls. Clay stumbled back. My mother
scrambled away just in time before Clay fell flat on his back. If it wasn’t for
Clay’s size, we’d all have arrows in our bodies. Twenty or more bolts stuck out
of Clay’s chest, stomach, and legs.
“Oh bloody hell!” Heinsley let go of me and
leapt down the stairs.
My legs wobbled and I leaned against the
wall. Heinsley pulled Clay all the way in and slammed the door. Thuds pelted
the thick oak door.
“Clay?” Mother knelt to the man who’d saved
her life and took hold of his hand.
Clay lifted his head. “Go, my lady.”
Dread shot through my stomach. The pain Clay
must be in. Not only that, but in pain and knowing he was going to die. I
leaned forward to force myself out of my locked position. “Nanna can help!” I
turned and ran up the stairs.
“By God, Alexia, duck under the windows!”
Tears threatened behind my eyes, knowing but
hoping that wouldn’t be the last warning Clay ever gave me.
The thousand whistles of death came again and
I dropped and shielded my head. Glass tinkled. Arrows broke through and
clattered against stone.
I ran up the tower of stairs until the next
window. I didn’t hear whistling, but I ducked under the sill anyway. Five
flights of stairs and endless windows later, I reached the top of the tower and
into the sixth-floor corridor. Rooms were on the right, while the left wall
displayed sculptures, paintings, glassware, and artisan creations of our
people. There was no time to save most of the precious items. Only my Nanna and
my people were more valuable than the items of culture. Empty corridors greeted
me as I raced down the hall.
“Nanna!” My breath labored. I barged in to
her room, not bothering to knock. “Nanna!”
No answer. I went to her bedchamber and there,
in bed, surrounded by all her scrolls, sat Nanna Samalia. The wrinkly old woman
nestled a book the size of a small tabletop between her knees.
“Nanna.” At my wits’ end, I crossed the
room.
“And I’ll repeat myself.” Nanna’s jowls
shook. “I’m too old to run around. Leave me.”
When I was younger, her scowl, chin
whiskers, and wrinkles could scare me into behaving. Now that I was older, I
searched beyond her gruff manner. I saw a woman born from a life that cut and
made people wise to the ways of the world or devoured them whole. Nanna told me
the truth, when so many slathered butterscotch or jam over the rubbish of
innocence.
“You will run or I will carry you.”
Nanna pinched her face into a scowl. “I told
Clay to carry you and the queen out.”
“Clay is dead.”
Her face never changed. Almost as if she
expected as much.
Ringing of metal and shouts brought my
attention to the window. I peeked through, careful not to be spotted by the
enemy. Shadows cast down on the courtyard. Arrows flew. But not even their
arrows could reach up to the top of Nanna’s tower. A hole in the
twelve-foot-thick front wall looked like a screaming mouth with angry ants
pouring out. The portcullis was breached.
“Nanna, we have to leave, now.”
The old woman flung her comforter and turned
to get out of bed. “Damn guards can’t even get you the hell’s breath out.”
My attention went back to my father’s men.
Every one of those brave souls was trying to stave off the attackers to enable
us to escape. To fail them and be captured would not honor their deaths.
Beautiful steeds of white, bay, and chestnut charged into an onslaught of enemy
soldiers. We had spirit, but they had numbers. The clanging of swords reached
my ears, the sound making me shake from anticipation. And then I saw him, my
father, in his plate armor. I could tell it was him even from this height. No
one could spot the riveted armor, the subtle grandeur, the meticulous detail in
the gorget, breastplate, and vambrace, and say it didn’t belong to a king. And
that king was at the front of the lines, protecting us.
“No!” He should be protected! What was he
doing meeting the battle head-on? But father in battle was magnificent. No one
escaped his flank. Soldier after soldier fell under his mace and sword. Hope
grappled with fear, but my elation at seeing Father at his finest was a boon.
Clay would not die in vain.
A man, in a suit of armor equal in quality
to Father’s, fought against the tide, headed straight for my king. Some men
avoided the two. The other king was certainly bound and determined to reach
father. Desire to be there, to protect the one man I truly loved fueled my
frustration at being born a girl. I should be down there, fighting with him.
The two equals met and my father gave the man no soft touch, no breath to hold,
no shield to hide behind. I recognized the emblem across the opponent’s
breastplate. A white hawk with a gold eye. The emblem of Dreshall. For his
salt, the other man took the blows and delivered his own. But the aggressor
overreached and left his right side open. Father swung his mace and knocked the
man down.
“Yes!” I hopped in my excitement.
The bird’s golden eye faced the sky and my
father maneuvered his sword to punch a hole through the metal. A cry as
high-pitched as an eagle’s ripped through the air. I covered my ears and
watched a blond man bound from the aggressor’s ranks like a gazelle. Father
looked up, and the bloody tip of a sword broke through his back plate. My eyes
saw, but I refused to believe.
Father dropped his sword and I staggered
back. The king of Allsveil sailed backwards and the window that let me see the
battlefield now seemed too high to reach. My vision tunneled. My breaths came
with excruciating clarity. My palms hit the floor. My neck could no longer hold
my head. The long braid of my hair curled in a perfect circle under me.
Cool hands touched my cheeks. The wrinkled
face of a woman who scared most men looked into mine. Her pitiless glare
softened. Nanna, whose life’s ravages destroyed her youth but not her wisdom,
was there to comfort me. But her face faded, and all I could see was my father
tumbling down and the blood on his back.
Soldiers came inside Nanna Samalia’s room.
Mother was there. Heinsley disappeared into what seemed a sea of men entering
the bedroom. I watched with numb precision Heinsley’s extraordinary footwork as
he battled to protect us. Our man, the queen’s guard, was both beautiful and
deadly while protecting us. But Heinsley’s life’s work, keeping the queen safe,
wasn’t enough. Seconds later, he too fell. My death was coming and I welcomed
it. For the rest of my days I would not forget the blood on the sword and my
father’s descent.
I stood for our turn. Mother stood in front
of us, hands clasped in greeting as if accepting one of her subjects for
conference. The men, solemn and wary, kept an eye on her, but their swords
remained low. One man dipped his head and approached.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” He sheathed his
sword. “I’m looking for hierarchy.”
Mother’s posture remained straight, her chin
held high. “You’ve found the queen of Allsveil.” She held her hand, exposing
the ring with our house emblem, a red rearing horse.
The soldier dipped his head. “I am Paul
Cartell, King Goththor’s military commander. In the name of my Liege King Aiden
Goththor of Dreshall, I ask for your submission.”
“Submission can only be given by my
husband.”
She didn’t know Father was dead.
Sir Cartell’s face turned stone hard. “I’m
sorry, but your king has been dispatched. The fighting continues despite the
loss. Please tell your man-at-arms to submit and we can avoid any more useless
deaths.”
Mother swayed but I could do nothing to help
her. I leaned upon Nanna, my life ending before my eyes. Sir Cartell reached to
steady her, but thought better and remained where he was. My noble queen stood
her ground. “If I agree...you’ll not go after the survivors.”
“Agreed. Do you yield?”
“Stop fighting and we’ll yield.” Mother
slipped off the ring in clumsy diminution of status and handed it to Sir
Cartell. “Show them this.”
Sir Cartell turned to a man in front of the
line and handed him our family ring. “Get word to our liege.”
The man took my heirloom in hand, nodded,
and pushed through the other soldiers. A voice from the hall echoed through the
corridor and into Nanna’s apartments. “Paul? Have you found anyone yet? This
place is as deserted as a friggin’ desert.”
Paul winced. “Excuse me.” He turned and the
men behind him stepped in line, making a human corridor and letting Paul walk
past. Though his voice was hushed, even I could hear Paul admonish whomever he
was talking to. “Darrin, women and children are present, watch your mouth.”
Sir Cartell and my mother had propriety in
common. Said women and children had just seen a man killed. Why would cursing
matter? Then again, why would a queen preoccupy herself with formalities while
fleeing from enemies? But mother drilled politeness in me and everyone around
her. Much like Paul.
A blond man, just beyond his gawky years,
strode with confidence and bloody clothes through the corridor of soldiers. My
haze of loss cleared. Revenge burned off the rest of my murky reflexes. I
bolted from Nanna’s grip and lunged for Heinsley’s sword. The grip of the steel
handle burned cold. Its weight was unfamiliar, but I was no stranger to this
type of weapon. Heinsley’s sword wobbled heavily as I lifted the massive blade.
Dreshall’s soldiers were slow to raise their
swords against my newfound weapon, laughing at my challenge. I didn’t care for
those men. My sole mission was to kill the man who took my father from me. The
blond man raised his weapon and a slight smile brightened his face. A
mischievous twinkle in his eye scalded me more than a thousand suns. He pushed
one guard out of the way and barked an order to “stay back” before metal hit
metal and I swung, not as an angry youth who takes up arms in spite, but as the
warrior I’d wanted to be.
“Alexia!” Mother screamed. But the name
slipped past. The other men faded to gray.
My father’s killer barked words, but I heard
nothing. My breath, slow and deep. My strength, hard and flowing. My skill
poured from my soul. I was going to kill this man. His smile infuriated me. But
it didn’t affect my footwork, or my strikes. He deflected blow after blow, but
the art of battle guided my actions. I would not lose.
A force of nature slammed into my back and
pinned my arms. Both my backstabbing assailant and I went down. “No!” I
shouted. The tool of my vengeance clattered on the stone floor. We landed and I
thrashed, wanting to resume my vendetta.
“Alexia, stop!” My mother’s voice shattered
my cracked heart. “I gave my word. Stand down.”
“Let me go!” I wailed at Mother, the traitor
to father’s memory.
“No! I will not lose you, too.”
I froze. Her loss of faith in my abilities,
when she had fought for my right to take up arms, cut the flow to my reserve of
energy. My father, my light in the dark, my rising sun, had slipped beyond the
hills never to return. Never to see my wedding or hold his grandchild or meet
the man I’d call my own. I cried for death. The murderer sat at the far end of
the chamber smudging blood all over Nanna’s chair.
“I can see where the spirit of their people
comes from.” He gripped his thigh. I’d struck him and hadn’t known. If I had my
way, he’d be little pieces to feed pigs.
“Paul, warn the others. If the fairer sex
fights like her, we’ll be crushed.” He flashed a smile my way. I scowled.
“Stay here. I’ll bring the barber surgeon.”
Paul clasped the man’s shoulder and left.
No one spoke for a very long time. Swords
pointed at me from every angle. Mother clutched me, but with my reserve
depleted, there was nowhere I wanted to go. With little will to stand, Mother
helped me up and we both leaned on each other for support.
Paul returned, and the men holding a
seventeen-year-old girl and her mother at bay parted for Sir Cartell.
“Noblewoman...” Paul trailed off, asking for
a name.
“Aighta Tyilasuir.” Mother squeezed my arm
and we separated.
Cartell raised his eyebrows and proceeded to
slaughter my family name. “Noblewoman Talliassher.”
I huffed. “Tyilasuir, Tie-la-ser, Tyilasuir.”
Cartell dipped his head to me. “Tylasure.”
“Close enough.” I crossed my arms. Across
the room Darrin the orphan-maker, for I was sure Mother would be killed before
me, chuckled. I hated him for it.
“Yeah, Paul, get it right. Tyilasuir.”
My hate bloomed to a full loathing of
everything Darrin. He’d been able to say my name flawlessly the first time.
That only fueled my desire for vengeance.
Paul bowed to Darrin and gave an ungracious
smile. “As you say, my prince.”
That wiped Darrin’s smile clean off with an
extra dose of soap-root. Paul, my newly endeared enemy, turned back to us.
“Lady Aighta Tylasir, may I present Prince Darrin Goththor, heir to the White
Hawk, son of Aiden Goththor.”
Mother pulled me close and gripped my arm so
tight my fingers tingled. If she hadn’t let go so quickly I might have lost my
arm from lack of blood. “This is Princess Alexia Tyilasuir. King Fieron
Tyilasuir’s only daughter.”
Paul’s eyes flicked to Mother and he gave
her a slight nod.
Darrin rose from the chair. He looked pained.
Good. “Well, now that we know each other, your new lord and master awaits.”
Nanna stepped over to me, taking my other
arm in a death grip. “Hopefully, the
father is not as abrasive as the son.” Nanna’s tenacious rasp cut through our
whispers. Mother glared at Nanna, but Nanna never shied away from a contest of
will.
A line of soldiers escorted us out of
Nanna’s rooms and into the hallway. Where before the halls were empty, now
soldiers hulked about. They took no care as to what broke. The glass sculptures,
the priceless art, the best of our people all became loot.
“What are they doing?” I said.
“Plundering.” Nanna scowled at one man
shoving a glass chalice in a sack. He went for another item and I cringed at
the sound of shattering glass muffled by burlap. That was one of the artisan
glassblower’s finest gifts to Mother. I knew she loved it.
“Fool,” Nanna said under her breath.
Men roamed everywhere. No room was without
soldiers grabbing anything and everything they could. My heart burned all the
more.
We were escorted to the dining hall, where
we had our meals most nights. It was the largest room in the castle because
father wanted to…had wanted to…dine with servants and nobles alike, right
alongside each other. Every man was a jewel, he said. Fascinated by the
“colors” each person reflected, Father had wanted to know them all. He had
wanted to soak in their knowledge, their creativeness. But even with my
father’s geniality, I did not wonder why he could not get along with the
sullen, stern, forbidding chunk of a man that now sat in my father’s chair. If
I were on the battlefield with my king, this one would be dead. Cold gray eyes
assessed Mother. I expected him to ask, “How much for the sow?”
I’d never met King Goththor, but this man
was a king, no doubt—his air overconfident, comfortable with everyone looking
to him. But he also looked devoid of any love. His eyes were hard. Much like
the glaze of death I saw in soldiers’ eyes after battle. Straussler, our
man-at-arms, warned me of men like this one. I didn’t believe one could be
soulless. The king of Dreshall proved me wrong. His eyes skated away from
Mother and I felt the stone in my belly lift.
Paul nodded. “Lady Aighta Tillyasuir of
Allsveil, may I present to you—”
“Aiden Goththor,” my mother finished. “We’ve
met.”
Darrin strode up to his father, pushed a
chair out with his foot, and fell into the seat. A tiny spark of life lit up in
the king’s eyes when Darrin joined him.
“Your king is dead, and your people still
fight,” King Goththor said. “Call in your men-at-arms.”
“I’ve given you my ring and my word, what
more do you need?” Mother clasped her hands.
“Which Paul showed your commander,” King
Goththor’s cold gaze remained on my mother. “He thought you were dead and
fought all the more.” He’d said it more as a threat than fact. As if Mother had
given them the ring to set a trap in motion.
Darrin leaned over and whispered in his
father’s ear. King Goththor grunted and said, “We’ll find him.”
Straussler, head of the Black Knights, was
still alive. He had to be. A Black Knight would not surrender. They would
avenge. All eyes stared at Mother, who said nothing. The span of silence grew.
King Goththor flicked a finger and a guard pulled Emvery through.
Leaning toward Mother, King Goththor said,
“If you want your maid to live, tell them to stand down.”
I grabbed Mother’s hand. Emvery trembled,
fear in her eyes, but she didn’t speak a word.
“Father,” Darrin leaned forward. “Hasn’t
there been enough for one day?”
The words didn’t remove that cold, dead mask
on King Goththor’s face. Instead he ignored his son and gave the signal, a
raised thumb, to slit Emvery’s throat. The soldier holding Emvery flicked a
knife from his palm and brought the sharp edge to Emvery’s neck.
“Wait!” I stepped forward. Emvery’s eyes
popped out.
“Alexia,” Mother whispered. I ignored her.
The gray, lifeless eyes of a king who no longer cared for much other than
himself stared at me.
“Blow the horn four times,” I said.
“And you are?”
Paul cleared his throat. “Sire, may I
present Princess Alexia Tyilsure.”
Darrin snorted. “Keep trying, Paul.”
King Goththor did not look amused with his
son or his commander. “And what will happen if the horn is blown four times?”
“The people will know that we’ve yielded and
they will retreat.”
The golden eye of the hawk on King
Goththor’s breastplate flashed. He glanced at Paul. The man-at-arms bowed and
walked behind the row of chairs at the long table to the end of the room. A
large horn spanned the wide window. Its pipe tapered from the mouthpiece and
was long as a man was tall. My spine went rigid. For an enemy, Paul seemed a
decent man. It would be painful to watch him convulse and die when his lips
touched metal.
An arm twirled me around, a sharp blade
pressed upon my neck. Mother yelled but I couldn’t see her. “What aren’t you
telling me?” King Goththor whispered in my ear. “Tell me now, or you and the
maid die.”
“Poison, the mouthpiece is poisoned.” But
only to those not immune to the drug. Father had bested an enemy by the same tactic.
“Paul, stop.” The king’s baritone boomed
down the dining room. I staggered as the pressure around my neck relaxed
abruptly. King Goththor sprawled back into my father’s throne and glared death
at me. His eyes glinted dire threat if I defied him again. The soldiers around
me echoed his expression, disdain painted across their features. I held my
neck. Red, sticky fluid coated my fingers.
“Clever.” King Goththor smirked wickedly.
His eyes found my mother. “You have another mouthpiece? Or is that even the
method?”
Mother nodded. “Four blasts will halt the
fighting.”
“You do it.” King Goththor stared at me. “If
things go well, I’ll let your mother live.”
I could hear the lie. But it was my mother’s
life. I looked to her. With a pause, and her reserve back in place, she nodded
once. I paraded down the hall with my head lifted, past Paul and to the horn.
The closer I came to the window, the more I could hear the shouts of men, the
ringing of steel; our forces were still fighting. All for naught. I could only
hope the invader on my father’s throne would keep to his word.
“Stop,” King Goththor said. “You don’t dally
to your death, do you, child?”
I whirled around. “What does it matter to
you?” Before anyone could stop me, I blew four times. Outside, the fighting
slowed. The clatter of swords dropped on stone rang in the air. Goththor’s
people called out, my people shouted in surrender. The stench of death that had
surrounded us for months still lingered, but the battle was over. I turned
around, walked back to my mother, and stood next to her.
“You’re still alive.” Darrin smiled. He had
the kind of smile a girl could swoon over, but he would not win me.
“The Tyilasuir family is immune.” My prim
voice did me proud.
“Or maybe it’s not poisoned,” Darrin said.
“Want to try it for yourself?”
Darrin waved a hand. “Oh no, you did a fine
job. A surprise to see such a talented horn-blower.”
Soldiers around me laughed. Confused, I
frowned and looked to Mother. She gave me a stern look that told me to say
nothing. Still…I expected to die anyway. “I could teach you, although you might
do better if you used your other end.”
Paul snorted but regained himself. Some of
the soldiers snickered. Darrin flushed and frowned. Mother grabbed my arm.
“That’s enough.”
It was slow in coming, but King Goththor
started to cackle. “Fiery like my Bridgette, that one.”
The soldiers went silent. Paul gave me a very sad look—a look
you’d give a favorite goose before the hatchet went down on its neck. Chills
ran down my spine. I’d forgotten about the stories of King Goththor. For every
laugh of his, another dies. Was he truly that mad?
Still chortling, King Goththor said, “Take
them back to their rooms. Make sure they’re comfortable.”
At his command, we were escorted out of the
room.
What is something unique/quirky about you?
I’ve
thought about this question and thought, well, I can roll my tongue, but other
people can do that too so… not so unique. Then I went to my friends and asked
them. There was one consensus on my quirky uniqueness – apparently, I’m goofy.
Hey there words, not mine.
Where were you born/grew up at?
Born
in Kentucky, but I was raised in the USA! I’ve gotten to live in New York,
Florida, Virginia, California and soon…Texas!
If you knew you'd die tomorrow, how would you spend your last
day?
I’ve
thought about this question and the answer is, exactly the same as I always do.
I’m with my guy and my family. A life shared is a life of worth.
What kind of world ruler would you be?
I’d be horrible. I’d leave
everyone the hell alone unless provoked. Politicians would be obsolete. My
advisors would constantly disagree with me. I’d let REAL capitalism balance the
market. I would let banks die…or any other company that can’t find a way to be
useful to its customers. And any who messed with the US, there’s a saying…
don’t mess with Texas. That saying would be amended. Don’t mess with the U.S. I
believe in the ten to one scenario because it’s what I’ve learned works. You
hit me, I hit you back ten times and with enough force to break my own hand.
Yeah. It’s be a mess. I wouldn’t recommend me being ruler.
Slave
to a 100 lbs. GSD (German Shepard) and a computer she calls "Dave",
you'll often see her riding a 19 hand Shire nicknamed "Gunny" to the
local coffee shop near the Santa Monica mountains.
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