"As the Court Scribe, I have witnessed and documented many notable occurrences in this royal house, nearly forty years by my count. The following is a true accounting of one of the strangest stories among the many. Let me begin the tale, begging your indulgence until I have reached the conclusion, lest you misjudge the outcome.
And so, I commence writing.
The Lady Becca was plump and ungraceful at twelve years of age. Her skirts fluffed out like tents in motion when she passed through the long halls of the Dowager Queen's residence. The old lady, being Becca's Royal Great Grandmother, had taken her in to raise after the untimely death of the girl's parents to the Black Scourge.
The Dowager Queen was no mere figure head in the kingdom. She was uniquely qualified to float unscathed through the rough waters of political intrigues and lethal family jealousies.
She was determined to shelter her granddaughter from the harms she skirted over her long years, by foregoing an alliance outside of the Royal lineage.
With her intimate observation of the Royals, it was not lost upon the old woman that with the many inter-family marriages, cousins to cousins, uncle's to nieces, and so on, the glorious family history began to sound like a tale of idiots and imbecilic rulers.It was time to add fresh blood to the line; unadulterated by close family ties.
She studied her great granddaughter over her growing years, noting a certain strength in her character. She didn't have the beauty of former Royals, none of the flighty temperament either. Her mind was quick and sharp, unlike the elegant buffoons wearing crowns and stumbling over their own shadows.
No, she reasoned, Becca would bring balance and strength to the family lineage.
The years swept past like flocks of dark crows, for indeed, they were dark times in the land, with one mad king after another rocking the throne.
Becca, meanwhile, had been sent away by the Dowager Queen to be refined and well rounded in her knowledge of court protocol.
She was taking no chances that her great granddaughter would not become the cog in the family wheel that was needed, before it went totally off track! She hired the most experienced woman herbalist in the kingdom, to provide Becca with companionship and a daily dose of the herbs to help her grow strong, vital, and at least as attractive as the washer woman she so closely resembled.
When she returned to the marble halls of the castle, she found the old woman had finally succumbed to her burden of years. It was a blessing from the many Gods, that the old Queen hadn't lived long enough to see the result of all her planning and machinations.
The young girl that left her great grandmother's care, returned a young woman grown. And grow she did.
The once softly round twelve-year old, had been transformed into a woman of extraordinary proportions, resembling the mythical warrior women that tempted sailors and travelers to their beds and death.
Her size was matched by her girth, making her approach seem like the mighty Amazonian and her departure like a war wagon trundling toward battle! Of the grace and feminine qualities her grandmother would nurture, nary one had budded, let alone, bloomed with the girl. Even her voice was an assault upon the halls of the castle, booming like thunder when excited, or filled with the ear-itching buzz of a hive when in normal conversation.
There was but a single feminine attribute left to the young woman; her bodice! It was filled copiously to near overflowing and thrust out like the carved goddess on a Viking ship. Though raw-boned and as big as a church pillar, Becca could make herself as alluring as a siren's song as she trod the halls, letting her great bosom swing like twin bells, calling all to attention.
Now, the king reigning at the time of Becca's reentry to the court, was an old lecher and nearly blind. Becca was presented to him as his very distant relation. She made a clumsy curtsy, he squinting from the throne, she, showing teeth the size of a horse's. She asked if she might approach his golden chair to deliver a message from the Dowager Queen, known by her these many years. Naturally this piqued his interest.
Becca rose to her full giantess hight and coming within touch of the king, leaned in, making certain to fill his clouded eyes with those two billowing clouds of flesh. His demeanor changed markedly as the creamy mounds lightly brushed his cheek. The message was clear, if not his mind, but quickly lost, as he felt enveloped by desire.
And so, a new chapter was begun for Becca, for the king and assuredly, for our land. Her Majesty, Queen Becca of the Prodigious Bosom, still rules like a force of nature, long after the king's demise. Storming at the inequity of poverty among the people, raging at political corruption and scheming for self-enrichment by the few wealthy families, Becca Regina has mothered this kingdom and sheltered all beneath her ample bosom's shadow.
I put this tale to pen and parchment, to reflect upon true leadership and perhaps recognize the more subtle points of true greatness.
While the good Queen certainly used her best, nay, only female attribute to garner the king's feeble attentions, she never denied her true self in the doing. She towered over him in every way, her voice boomed from her seat beside him, making him seem like a puppet on her knee. She returned the glares of the fawning courtiers, defying their efforts to control by flattery. Yes, she was the true iron rod in the backbone of the royal house.
If you've read this story, you may arrive at the conclusion that Queen Becca used the only remarkable attribute she had to make her way to the throne. And I would add simply, Bigger boobs have sat there!