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Bitter wind of freedom Olga Kuno

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Title: Bitter Wind of Freedom

About the book “Bitter Wind of Freedom” Olga Kuno

Olga Kuno is a writer from Russia who is now safely settled in Israel and writes romance fantasy novels for a female audience. She already has enough cyclic and non-cyclic works to her credit. Now we will talk about an off-cycle novel called “The Bitter Wind of Freedom.”

The book tells the story of a girl named Sandra. She is smart, well mannered and educated. The girl lived her normal life until her hometown was attacked. Sandra, like many other girls, was captured by slave traders who kept her and everyone else in the hold of a ship that was heading to a country where traders could make a good profit for young bodies. One thing is good: the slave traders did not abuse the girls so that the price for them would not fall. When the ship reached the shore, Sandra and the others found themselves at the slave market. Being a freedom-loving nature, the main character is trying to avoid a terrible fate. Sandra pisses off the pirate so that he gets rid of her without thinking. But not everything turns out to be so simple. At the last moment, the girl is redeemed by a noble foreigner for double the amount, who thereby saved her life. This foreigner is good-looking, rich and kind.

And it seems that he developed feelings for the main character. What awaits Sandra in a foreign country? And will she get what she wants most – freedom?

Olga Kuno is famous for the fact that her novels always lift your spirits. It's like a kind of cure for depression or just a bad mood. After immersing yourself in another imaginary world of the author, all problems disappear, allowing you to relax and get a lot of pleasure from reading. The author's books are also not devoid of humor. Funny situations that happen to the main characters cause a lot of positive emotions and a smile on the face. The book about the freedom-loving Sandra is no exception. And although the novel covers a rather serious topic about the slave trade, Olga Kuno did everything to make it light, and each hero received what he deserves.

The book “Bitter Wind of Freedom” is written in an easy and accessible language. It is worth reading for those who just want to spend time in the company of unobtrusive literature, devoid of any deep thoughts and complex plot maneuvers. This is a typical women's novel with a classic love triangle, betrayal and a happy ending (not for everyone, however). But the emphasis in the book falls not on sex scenes, of which there are a minimum here, but on the sincere feelings of the main characters. And on top of everything else, there is magic in the book.

On our website about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free without registration or read online the book “The Bitter Wind of Freedom” by Olga Kuno in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Olga Kuno

Bitter wind of freedom

The family library of the Elvandi family was extensive and at the same time very heterogeneous. The latter was manifested both in the content of the books stored here and in their design, as well as in the method of storage. Thus, fiction was combined here with scientific literature, although scientific literature undoubtedly prevailed. The history of magic, geography, alchemy, the art of warfare, an encyclopedia of horses... and a very small number of love adventure stories and collections of ballads that are fashionable today. Here one could find both the latest book novelties, printed in modern Arkansian printing houses, and not so high-tech samples, written in the calligraphic handwriting of Gallindian nuns. Other books were even more reminiscent of notebooks, covered in handwriting that was very far from calligraphic, but they existed in a single copy and sometimes contained extremely valuable information. Finally, some volumes were stored in tall bookcases with elaborate carvings and clear glass doors, while others were stacked in piles collecting dust on simple wooden shelves.

Documents that were not particularly secret were also kept in the same room. The library also served as an archive.

I sat at a massive desk, bent over another manuscript, and periodically made notes in the margins, not without difficulty making my way through the ornateness of the foreign text. The peculiarity of the Irton language was that all words were written together, without spaces, and it was possible to determine where one word ended and the next began only by the way the letters were written. The fact is that all letters in this language had two spellings, one of which was intended specifically to indicate the end of a word. Rumor has it that such intricacy was introduced into the alphabet specifically to complicate the task of strangers like me who decided to encroach on the national cultural heritage of the Eretonians. However, I did not give up and, despite all the difficulties, due to perseverance and the education I received at the time, I coped quite well.

I left the door ajar: in general, no one was forbidden to visit the library. Guests, secretaries, stewards, garrison soldiers, castellans and other inhabitants of the armon, including even lower-ranking servants, had every right to take a book of their choice to read. With my knowledge, of course. Although I can’t say that this happened often, despite the fact that literacy was not uncommon in Gallindia. All the greater was my surprise when a girl who worked as a flower girl in Armon did not enter, but literally flew into the library, that is, she daily decorated the living rooms and luxurious arched corridors with bouquets, wreaths and other decorations from garden flowers.

Agnes – that was the girl’s name – was never particularly fond of reading. In fact, I don’t remember her ever coming here for a book. But what surprised me more than her appearance itself was that it happened exactly today - on the day when the flower girl was getting married to the young carpenter Marco. And she ran into the library in a magnificent snow-white bridal outfit, with her hair flowing, traditionally decorated with light ribbons of different shades.

I instantly forgot about the manuscript and put the pencil aside.

- Agnes, did something happen? – I asked worriedly.

- Yes! - came the answer. The girl's breath was lost from her fast running. – Madam Archivist, I urgently need a book!

- Book? – I was surprised. As I already mentioned, books did not arouse much interest in the flower girl in ordinary times, but now? - Agnes, your wedding is coming up! Well, come see me in two days, we’ll find something to suit your taste.

- I can’t in two days! “The flower girl shook her head so desperately that the flickering of pale pink, yellow and blue ribbons made my eyes dazzle. - I need it now! Urgently!

- How is it now? – I was completely confused. - Agnes, but you have a wedding... - I glanced at the clock, -... in FORTY MINUTES?!

- Well, it’s just for the wedding that I need the book! - Agnes exclaimed. - For the wedding night.

- For the wedding night? – I repeated slowly, deliberately. I don’t know: either I have problems with my hearing, or with my head, or maybe it’s not for me... Or maybe the day today just didn’t work out.

- Exactly! – the flower girl hastily confirmed. – I simply can’t live without a book.

I immediately imagined a bedroom specially prepared for newlyweds. Romantic candles, a bowl of fruit, beautiful bed linen, a naked groom on the bed... and a bride in a white peignoir, eagerly turning the pages of a novel.

“Agnes,” I tried to speak slowly and soothingly, “I’m absolutely sure that on your wedding night you and Marco will find something to do without reading.”

“If I don’t get the book I need, we won’t find it,” the girl shook her head in frustration.

“Uh... tell me,” a ray of understanding began to illuminate my brain, but somehow very slowly, “what book interests you so much?”

The flower girl blushed, lowered her eyes to the floor, but then resolutely looked up.

I swallowed.

“You see,” the girl continued to explain, “I’m a virgin.” “She said these words with a guilty look, as if there was something reprehensible in the bride’s innocence. “And I don’t know anything about it at all.” That is, I simply don’t know which side to approach the issue from.

“Well, which side to approach, I think you’ll figure it out,” I tried to support her. – I believe the question will be... quite acute. And besides, Agnes, I’m sure that your fiancé will understand everything perfectly and teach you.

“So you’re saying,” the flower girl’s eyebrows knitted angrily, “that Marco already had women?!”

Hm. Misfire. I should have chosen my expressions more carefully.

“No,” I objected carefully, “I don’t want to say that.” I don't know Marco at all, so I don't know anything about this side of his life. It is likely that he is a virgin. I just meant that nature will help. Will tell you what to do.

– What if it doesn’t help?

Agnes looked very skeptical: it seemed that it was not in her character to expect favors from nature.

– You understand, Madam Archivist...

“Just Sandra,” I interrupted her.

“Sandra,” Agnes agreed. – The fact is that even if Marco already knows everything, well, I can’t show myself to be completely ignorant!

I sighed and stared thoughtfully at the table. Of course, there might have been relevant books in the library, but I had no idea where or what exactly to look for: after all, my specialization is of a completely different kind...

“Listen, Agnes,” I frowned, “of course, I understand everything, but why did you come here right now?” Well, why not look into the library a week or at least two days before the wedding?

“Yes, because,” Agnes whispered, full of confidence in her own rightness, but not wanting strangers to inadvertently hear her, “that I was counting on a pre-wedding course.” I was absolutely sure that everything would be explained in detail and clearly!

I sighed knowingly, then shook my head. Pre-wedding course – yes, that’s what it was called. A conversation or, one might say, a lecture that the priestess and priest held on the wedding day with the bride and groom, respectively. Personally, since I had never gotten married, I had no idea what exactly was being said during these conversations. But, apparently, this is not at all what Agnes was counting on. And, by the way, I calculated it quite fairly. If religion commands chastity before marriage, at least in this case they could provide people with minimal knowledge!

“And why didn’t they explain anything at all?” – I asked sympathetically.

“Nothing worthwhile,” Agnes said gloomily. – You must obey your husband in everything, not contradict him in anything, provide all conditions for work and rest, respect and darn your socks...

“Respect and darn your socks,” I repeated measuredly. – I don’t even know what is more important. And what about the wedding night - they didn’t say anything at all?

“Well, it’s not like nothing at all,” Agnes admitted, but for some reason she rolled her eyes. – True, not specifically about the wedding night, but... well, in general.

- Well, so much the better! – I was happy. - And what did the priestess say?

“That this should under no circumstances be done for pleasure, but solely for procreation,” Agnes said in a colorless tone, like a memorized text. - And not too often. Best on Mondays and Thursdays.

– Why exactly on Mondays and Thursdays? – I was sincerely interested. – Why, for example, are Fridays worse?

The family library of the Elvandi family was extensive and at the same time very heterogeneous. The latter was manifested both in the content of the books stored here and in their design, as well as in the method of storage. Thus, fiction was combined here with scientific literature, although scientific literature undoubtedly prevailed. The history of magic, geography, alchemy, the art of warfare, an encyclopedia of horses... and a very small number of love adventure stories and collections of ballads that are fashionable today. Here one could find both the latest book novelties, printed in modern Arkansian printing houses, and not so high-tech samples, written in the calligraphic handwriting of Gallindian nuns. Other books were even more reminiscent of notebooks, covered in handwriting that was very far from calligraphic, but they existed in a single copy and sometimes contained extremely valuable information. Finally, some volumes were stored in tall bookcases with elaborate carvings and clear glass doors, while others were stacked in piles collecting dust on simple wooden shelves.

Documents that were not particularly secret were also kept in the same room. The library also served as an archive.

I sat at a massive desk, bent over another manuscript, and periodically made notes in the margins, not without difficulty making my way through the ornateness of the foreign text. The peculiarity of the Irton language was that all words were written together, without spaces, and it was possible to determine where one word ended and the next began only by the way the letters were written. The fact is that all letters in this language had two spellings, one of which was intended specifically to indicate the end of a word. Rumor has it that such intricacy was introduced into the alphabet specifically to complicate the task of strangers like me who decided to encroach on the national cultural heritage of the Eretonians. However, I did not give up and, despite all the difficulties, due to perseverance and the education I received at the time, I coped quite well.

I left the door ajar: in general, no one was forbidden to visit the library. Guests, secretaries, stewards, garrison soldiers, castellans and other inhabitants of the armon, including even lower-ranking servants, had every right to take a book of their choice to read. With my knowledge, of course. Although I can’t say that this happened often, despite the fact that literacy was not uncommon in Gallindia. All the greater was my surprise when a girl who worked as a flower girl in Armon did not enter, but literally flew into the library, that is, she daily decorated the living rooms and luxurious arched corridors with bouquets, wreaths and other decorations from garden flowers.

Agnes – that was the girl’s name – was never particularly fond of reading. In fact, I don’t remember her ever coming here for a book. But what surprised me more than her appearance itself was that it happened exactly today - on the day when the flower girl was getting married to the young carpenter Marco. And she ran into the library in a magnificent snow-white bridal outfit, with her hair flowing, traditionally decorated with light ribbons of different shades.

I instantly forgot about the manuscript and put the pencil aside.

- Agnes, did something happen? – I asked worriedly.

- Yes! - came the answer. The girl's breath was lost from her fast running. – Madam Archivist, I urgently need a book!

- Book? – I was surprised. As I already mentioned, books did not arouse much interest in the flower girl in ordinary times, but now? - Agnes, your wedding is coming up! Well, come see me in two days, we’ll find something to suit your taste.

- I can’t in two days! “The flower girl shook her head so desperately that the flickering of pale pink, yellow and blue ribbons made my eyes dazzle. - I need it now! Urgently!

- How is it now? – I was completely confused. - Agnes, but you have a wedding... - I glanced at the clock, -... in FORTY MINUTES?!

- Well, it’s just for the wedding that I need the book! - Agnes exclaimed. - For the wedding night.

- For the wedding night? – I repeated slowly, deliberately. I don’t know: either I have problems with my hearing, or with my head, or maybe it’s not for me... Or maybe the day today just didn’t work out.

- Exactly! – the flower girl hastily confirmed. – I simply can’t live without a book.

I immediately imagined a bedroom specially prepared for newlyweds. Romantic candles, a bowl of fruit, beautiful bed linen, a naked groom on the bed... and a bride in a white peignoir, eagerly turning the pages of a novel.

“Agnes,” I tried to speak slowly and soothingly, “I’m absolutely sure that on your wedding night you and Marco will find something to do without reading.”

“If I don’t get the book I need, we won’t find it,” the girl shook her head in frustration.

“Uh... tell me,” a ray of understanding began to illuminate my brain, but somehow very slowly, “what book interests you so much?”

The flower girl blushed, lowered her eyes to the floor, but then resolutely looked up.

I swallowed.

“You see,” the girl continued to explain, “I’m a virgin.” “She said these words with a guilty look, as if there was something reprehensible in the bride’s innocence. “And I don’t know anything about it at all.” That is, I simply don’t know which side to approach the issue from.

“Well, which side to approach, I think you’ll figure it out,” I tried to support her. – I believe the question will be... quite acute. And besides, Agnes, I’m sure that your fiancé will understand everything perfectly and teach you.

“So you’re saying,” the flower girl’s eyebrows knitted angrily, “that Marco already had women?!”

Hm. Misfire. I should have chosen my expressions more carefully.

“No,” I objected carefully, “I don’t want to say that.” I don't know Marco at all, so I don't know anything about this side of his life. It is likely that he is a virgin. I just meant that nature will help. Will tell you what to do.

– What if it doesn’t help?

Agnes looked very skeptical: it seemed that it was not in her character to expect favors from nature.

– You understand, Madam Archivist...

“Just Sandra,” I interrupted her.

“Sandra,” Agnes agreed. – The fact is that even if Marco already knows everything, well, I can’t show myself to be completely ignorant!

I sighed and stared thoughtfully at the table. Of course, there might have been relevant books in the library, but I had no idea where or what exactly to look for: after all, my specialization is of a completely different kind...

“Listen, Agnes,” I frowned, “of course, I understand everything, but why did you come here right now?” Well, why not look into the library a week or at least two days before the wedding?

“Yes, because,” Agnes whispered, full of confidence in her own rightness, but not wanting strangers to inadvertently hear her, “that I was counting on a pre-wedding course.” I was absolutely sure that everything would be explained in detail and clearly!

I sighed knowingly, then shook my head. Pre-wedding course – yes, that’s what it was called. A conversation or, one might say, a lecture that the priestess and priest held on the wedding day with the bride and groom, respectively. Personally, since I had never gotten married, I had no idea what exactly was being said during these conversations. But, apparently, this is not at all what Agnes was counting on. And, by the way, I calculated it quite fairly. If religion commands chastity before marriage, at least in this case they could provide people with minimal knowledge!

“And why didn’t they explain anything at all?” – I asked sympathetically.

“Nothing worthwhile,” Agnes said gloomily. – You must obey your husband in everything, not contradict him in anything, provide all conditions for work and rest, respect and darn your socks...

Current page: 1 (21 pages total) [available reading passage: 14 pages]

Olga Kuno
Bitter wind of freedom

Prologue

The family library of the Elvandi family was extensive and at the same time very heterogeneous. The latter was manifested both in the content of the books stored here and in their design, as well as in the method of storage. Thus, fiction was combined here with scientific literature, although scientific literature undoubtedly prevailed. The history of magic, geography, alchemy, the art of warfare, an encyclopedia of horses... and a very small number of love adventure stories and collections of ballads that are fashionable today. Here one could find both the latest book novelties, printed in modern Arkansian printing houses, and not so high-tech samples, written in the calligraphic handwriting of Gallindian nuns. Other books were even more reminiscent of notebooks, covered in handwriting that was very far from calligraphic, but they existed in a single copy and sometimes contained extremely valuable information. Finally, some volumes were stored in tall bookcases with elaborate carvings and clear glass doors, while others were stacked in piles collecting dust on simple wooden shelves.

Documents that were not particularly secret were also kept in the same room. The library also served as an archive.

I sat at a massive desk, bent over another manuscript, and periodically made notes in the margins, not without difficulty making my way through the ornateness of the foreign text. The peculiarity of the Irton language was that all words were written together, without spaces, and it was possible to determine where one word ended and the next began only by the way the letters were written. The fact is that all letters in this language had two spellings, one of which was intended specifically to indicate the end of a word. Rumor has it that such intricacy was introduced into the alphabet specifically to complicate the task of strangers like me who decided to encroach on the national cultural heritage of the Eretonians. However, I did not give up and, despite all the difficulties, due to perseverance and the education I received at the time, I coped quite well.

I left the door ajar: in general, no one was forbidden to visit the library. Guests, secretaries, stewards, garrison soldiers, castellans and other inhabitants of the armon, including even lower-ranking servants, had every right to take a book of their choice to read. With my knowledge, of course. Although I can’t say that this happened often, despite the fact that literacy was not uncommon in Gallindia. All the greater was my surprise when a girl who worked as a flower girl in Armon did not enter, but literally flew into the library, that is, she daily decorated the living rooms and luxurious arched corridors with bouquets, wreaths and other decorations from garden flowers.

Agnes – that was the girl’s name – was never particularly fond of reading. In fact, I don’t remember her ever coming here for a book. But what surprised me more than her appearance itself was that it happened exactly today - on the day when the flower girl was getting married to the young carpenter Marco. And she ran into the library in a magnificent snow-white bridal outfit, with her hair flowing, traditionally decorated with light ribbons of different shades.

I instantly forgot about the manuscript and put the pencil aside.

- Agnes, did something happen? – I asked worriedly.

- Yes! - came the answer. The girl's breath was lost from her fast running. – Madam Archivist, I urgently need a book!

- Book? – I was surprised. As I already mentioned, books did not arouse much interest in the flower girl in ordinary times, but now? - Agnes, your wedding is coming up! Well, come see me in two days, we’ll find something to suit your taste.

- I can’t in two days! “The flower girl shook her head so desperately that the flickering of pale pink, yellow and blue ribbons made my eyes dazzle. - I need it now! Urgently!

- How is it now? – I was completely confused. - Agnes, but you have a wedding... - I glanced at the clock, -... in FORTY MINUTES?!

- Well, it’s just for the wedding that I need the book! - Agnes exclaimed. - For the wedding night.

- For the wedding night? – I repeated slowly, deliberately. I don’t know: either I have problems with my hearing, or with my head, or maybe it’s not for me... Or maybe the day today just didn’t work out.

- Exactly! – the flower girl hastily confirmed. – I simply can’t live without a book.

I immediately imagined a bedroom specially prepared for newlyweds. Romantic candles, a bowl of fruit, beautiful bed linen, a naked groom on the bed... and a bride in a white peignoir, eagerly turning the pages of a novel.

“Agnes,” I tried to speak slowly and soothingly, “I’m absolutely sure that on your wedding night you and Marco will find something to do without reading.”

“If I don’t get the book I need, we won’t find it,” the girl shook her head in frustration.

“Uh... tell me,” a ray of understanding began to illuminate my brain, but somehow very slowly, “what book interests you so much?”

The flower girl blushed, lowered her eyes to the floor, but then resolutely looked up.

I swallowed.

“You see,” the girl continued to explain, “I’m a virgin.” “She said these words with a guilty look, as if there was something reprehensible in the bride’s innocence. “And I don’t know anything about it at all.” That is, I simply don’t know which side to approach the issue from.

“Well, which side to approach, I think you’ll figure it out,” I tried to support her. – I believe the question will be... quite acute. And besides, Agnes, I’m sure that your fiancé will understand everything perfectly and teach you.

“So you’re saying,” the flower girl’s eyebrows knitted angrily, “that Marco already had women?!”

Hm. Misfire. I should have chosen my expressions more carefully.

“No,” I objected carefully, “I don’t want to say that.” I don't know Marco at all, so I don't know anything about this side of his life. It is likely that he is a virgin. I just meant that nature will help. Will tell you what to do.

– What if it doesn’t help?

Agnes looked very skeptical: it seemed that it was not in her character to expect favors from nature.

– You understand, Madam Archivist...

“Just Sandra,” I interrupted her.

“Sandra,” Agnes agreed. – The fact is that even if Marco already knows everything, well, I can’t show myself to be completely ignorant!

I sighed and stared thoughtfully at the table. Of course, there might have been relevant books in the library, but I had no idea where or what exactly to look for: after all, my specialization is of a completely different kind...

“Listen, Agnes,” I frowned, “of course, I understand everything, but why did you come here right now?” Well, why not look into the library a week or at least two days before the wedding?

“Yes, because,” Agnes whispered, full of confidence in her own rightness, but not wanting strangers to inadvertently hear her, “that I was counting on a pre-wedding course.” I was absolutely sure that everything would be explained in detail and clearly!

I sighed knowingly, then shook my head. Pre-wedding course – yes, that’s what it was called. A conversation or, one might say, a lecture that the priestess and priest held on the wedding day with the bride and groom, respectively. Personally, since I had never gotten married, I had no idea what exactly was being said during these conversations. But, apparently, this is not at all what Agnes was counting on. And, by the way, I calculated it quite fairly. If religion commands chastity before marriage, at least in this case they could provide people with minimal knowledge!

“And why didn’t they explain anything at all?” – I asked sympathetically.

“Nothing worthwhile,” Agnes said gloomily. – You must obey your husband in everything, not contradict him in anything, provide all conditions for work and rest, respect and darn your socks...

“Respect and darn your socks,” I repeated measuredly. – I don’t even know what is more important. And what about the wedding night - they didn’t say anything at all?

“Well, it’s not like nothing at all,” Agnes admitted, but for some reason she rolled her eyes. – True, not specifically about the wedding night, but... well, in general.

- Well, so much the better! – I was happy. - And what did the priestess say?

“That this should under no circumstances be done for pleasure, but solely for procreation,” Agnes said in a colorless tone, like a memorized text. - And not too often. Best on Mondays and Thursdays.

– Why exactly on Mondays and Thursdays? – I was sincerely interested. – Why, for example, are Fridays worse?

“I don’t know,” the flower girl shrugged, “it seems that on these days there are the highest chances of conceiving a child.”

- Wait a minute, but today is Tuesday! – I realized. - What should you do now?

Agnes only meaningfully spread her hands.

I thought hard. No, I myself, of course, had somewhat more experience in the issue under discussion than the flower girl, but it was somehow awkward to educate her on this matter personally.

“Okay, I’ll try to look for some books, although I can’t promise anything,” I gave up. – You see, I’m a specialist in the history of magic, and this is a completely different field.

Taking another tense look at my watch, I began to rummage through the stacks of books, then walked around several bookcases, opened one of them and began to run my finger along the spines. Agnes watched my actions, nervously crumpling a white handkerchief in her hands.

- Here! “I emerged from behind the door with a weighty volume in my hand. And she read the title out loud: “A Guide to Family Life for Women.”

- Let's get here quickly! – Agnes exclaimed excitedly.

I didn’t hesitate, made room on the table and, placing a heavy book on it, began to look through the chapter titles. Soon the necessary part was found: “Guide to behavior on the first wedding night.”

Agnes and I were bent over a book. I started reading out loud:

- “On their wedding night, a young wife should take off her clothes and carefully hang them on the back of a chair...” Note: carefully! – I extended my index finger. - “...lie down on the marriage bed.” And pay attention: not a word about the day of the week! – I commented again. – So, what’s next... – My finger returned to the desired line. - “You should lie on your back and be sure to cover yourself with a blanket.”

- Take cover? On your wedding night? – Agnes asked with some doubt, apparently still vaguely guessing what exactly she was going to do that very night.

I looked up at Agnes with a dazed look. The instructions, frankly speaking, delighted me both with respect for the young wife and with the abundance of details.

– So what, that’s all?! – the flower girl asked indignantly.

“Not really,” I answered, looking at the book again. – There is one more paragraph here. “A wife should under no circumstances deny her husband anything. It is strictly forbidden to moan loudly, much less scream, because this can negatively affect the husband’s psyche and also attract the attention of neighbors. If the wife does not follow this point of the instruction, the husband has the right to cover her mouth with his hand.”

I slammed the book shut.

– Is that all or was there something else there? – the red bride asked suspiciously.

“It seems there was something else, but it doesn’t matter,” I said angrily, throwing the book to the floor.

I had never done this with books in my life, feeling almost sacred awe before them, but now I couldn’t deny myself the pleasure.

“These Arkansians have completely lost their minds,” I muttered, still angrily. “If, of course, they ever had one.” “I was hardly being fair here, but I had my own reasons for not liking the Arkansians. – And I’m curious: what year is this book? I really hope it was written a couple of centuries ago. After all, it is handwritten, and lately they have been printing books in printing houses... In any case,” I turned around and looked at the volume lying on the floor, opened on a random page, “into the oven!” In general, Agnes, I beg you very much: forget everything that you and I just read.

- What about the course? – the girl clarified.

“Forget the course too,” I said firmly.

- But what should I do?!

Agnes, in general, did not mind forgetting everything she had told and read so far. She was a sufficiently adequate girl for this. But the lack of a worthy alternative drove her to despair, and the clock continued to tick mercilessly.

- I don’t even know how to kiss! – she blurted out. “The priest will say: “Groom, you can kiss the bride” - and what will I do then???

Sandra, dear, hello! – Renzo entered the library with a romantic bouquet of tulips brazenly picked from the garden. – And I was just passing by and thought... Oh, Agnes! – he exclaimed, only now noticing the girl. - Congratulations! You look beautiful! Just you know, frankly... - he leaned closer to Agnes and, lowering his voice, said: - In my opinion, you went a little too far with the blush.

“This is her natural complexion,” I sadly waved it off.

The topic of our discussion with Agnes really had an effect on the girl much better than beet juice.

- Yes? – Renzo was surprised. - Did not notice.

But the flower girl did not allow him to develop this thought.

- Don Renzo! – she exclaimed passionately. - But you can help me!

At the same time, she greedily grabbed the castellan’s sleeve, which led the latter to bewilderment.

– With joy, but with what exactly? – he inquired, throwing a surprised glance in my direction.

- You see, I have a wedding in twenty-five minutes. – Agnes began to explain. But, realizing that in the event of a detailed story, the remaining twenty-five minutes risked turning into twenty, she plucked up courage and simply blurted out: “Teach me how to kiss!”

Renzo was slightly taken aback, although in principle he was not a timid guy.

- Kissing? - he repeated. – Agnes, dear, I’m actually happy to do it, but... how will your fiancé react to this?

At this, Renzo glanced sideways at me, since in reality my reaction to such lessons worried him much more.

- What are you talking about, Don Renzo! – Agnes threw up her hands. - How could you think such a thing about me? I’m a decent girl and I’m about to get married! I meant something completely different.

- And what?

Renzo seemed completely confused.

“Let you kiss Dona Sandra, and I’ll carefully see how it’s done,” explained the flower girl.

Renzo and I looked at each other.

“Well... basically...” I said doubtfully. – In general, why not? We can meet the bride halfway, right, Renzo?

The idea, of course, was, to put it mildly, strange, but I was consoled by the fact that Agnes asked to show her just a kiss. But she could have asked for something else. And doing this to others for show would smack of pathology. Not to mention that our relationship with Renzo has not yet reached this stage.

“We can,” Renzo confirmed, after which, without any hesitation, he pulled me towards him.

Agnes watched us extremely carefully, coming up from the right, then from the left, so close that I even felt the warmth of her breath on my skin.

“Tell me, Don Renzo, is it necessary to keep your hand here?” – she asked the castellan, who was currently hugging me around the waist.

“Not necessarily,” Renzo replied, breaking the kiss for this purpose. – You can lower it lower. Depict?

“No, no, no,” the flower girl backed down. - I understood everything. Perhaps it's better this way.

A little later, the flower girl moved away, and I hoped that this demonstration could be considered over. But no, she immediately returned, grabbing a blank sheet of paper and a pencil from the table, and began sketching. Again, sometimes on the right side, sometimes on the left.

- Well, are you satisfied now? – I asked when this stage of training finally came to an end.

And then she bit her tongue, feeling that she seemed to have asked something wrong.

Not really,” Agnes naturally admitted. – No, don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful to you, but... Somehow I still don’t have enough practice. In theory it seems clear, but how to act in reality is still a little unclear.

Renzo and I looked at each other again. Personally, I was already ready to give him the opportunity to kiss Agnes in order to finally calm the girl down, but what if the flower girl herself, due to her own chastity, is not ready for such a move?!

- Listen, I have an idea! – I suddenly exclaimed. – Renzo, could you run to the healers?

- To the healers? – Renzo frowned. - For what?

Apparently, he suspected that I had decided to ask them for something soothing for Agnes.

“They have special dolls,” I hastened to dispel this misconception. – For training beginners. They look like people, human-sized, and, in my opinion, their mouths even open so that artificial respiration can be practiced. Ask them for one such doll, tell them that we only need it for a short while!

Renzo returned quickly, since the healers' laboratory was nearby. He actually brought a large doll into the library, judging by the face - male, although it lacked more characteristic sexual characteristics. I immediately thought that it would definitely not be possible to rehearse our wedding night with her. But the doll’s mouth was indeed slightly open, so one could count on minimal work on the kiss.

- Well, Agnes, go for it! – I suggested, pointing meaningfully at the clock.

The flower girl herself understood that time was running out, and therefore she did not pretend to be cute. She quickly tried it on and began kissing the doll on the lips. At first very carefully, as if she were dealing with an enchanted frog, then more confidently.

- Well, how? – Renzo asked with interest, I would even say excitedly.

“It seems to be working out,” Agnes said happily, interrupting.

– Does he kiss back? – Renzo asked. - So what? – he began to justify himself, noticing my disapproving look. – Who knows them, doctors: you never know how they make their dolls.

“Without the slightest magic, you can trust me as a specialist,” I responded.

“Okay,” the flower girl said with satisfaction. “I think I feel more prepared now.”

She picked up the doll and, holding it by the head with her other hand, was about to take it to the wall so as not to leave it in the middle of the room.

- Oh! – the girl suddenly squealed. “I think he bit my finger.”

- I told you so! – Renzo’s eyes instantly lit up with interest.

- Doesn't it hurt? – I asked concerned.

“Almost not, he has no teeth,” Agnes answered somehow confused. “I just closed my mouth.” But the thing is... I can’t take my finger out now: my lips won’t open.

- So how? – I frowned in confusion.

“Come on,” Renzo intervened like a man, walked up and tried to open the doll’s lips. After about fifteen seconds, he threw up his hands in bewilderment. “They really don’t unclench,” he admitted. “As if he had a death grip.”

– So what should we do now? – Agnes asked the most burning question.

The clock, completely indifferent to human problems, showed that there were ten minutes left before the wedding ceremony. The pendulum continued to swing inexorably.

Not completely convinced by the failure of Agnes and Renzo, I approached the girl and tried to save her from the doll’s harassment myself. Alas, the same disappointment awaited me. The artificial gentleman did not want to part with his rightful prey.

- Well... Maybe, since this is the case, we’ll have to go straight like this? – I suggested hesitantly. - Time is ticking.

Something made me doubt the priest’s consent to postpone the wedding on the pretext that the bride had been bitten on the finger by a male doll...

Renzo cleared his throat loudly, apparently imagining this picture: the bride walking down the altar, dragging an artificial man behind her.

“I’m afraid the guests will decide that one husband is not enough for you,” he told Agnes. “And most importantly, the priest may get confused about which of the men to ask questions.”

- Renzo, this is not funny! – I shushed the castellan, although I myself couldn’t decide whether to worry about the flower girl or laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“I might have gone to the wedding with him,” Agnes looked at the doll with hatred, “but he bit me on that very finger!”

-Which one is “the one”?

- Nameless! On the left hand! The one they put the ring on!

Renzo and I became sad. Yes, the disaster was becoming increasingly serious. Without the opportunity to put a wedding ring on the bride's finger, the wedding will definitely not take place.

Listen, Agnes, why do you need to get married at all? – suddenly asked the cheerful Renzo. - Look, what a man! True, there’s nothing special to do with him in bed,” he glanced meaningfully at the doll’s groin area, which, alas, was devoid of any advantages. “But, as we have already found out, he knows how to kiss, he also clearly has a lot of determination, you don’t need to cook for him, and he will never say a rude word to you.” Plus, I bet he doesn't snore at night! And if necessary, I think it could well be adapted as a mousetrap.

The flower girl glanced sideways at the castellan, as it seemed to me, not so much angry as thoughtfully.

“No, I choose Marco,” she finally decided. – I’ve known him for a long time. And I already hate this guy. Oh, you viper! – she exclaimed, for greater persuasiveness, hitting the doll with her foot in the aforementioned groin area.

Surprisingly, at that moment the doll’s jaws opened, and Agnes in amazement brought out a reddened, but otherwise completely unharmed finger. Either the gentle doll's psyche could not withstand the scolding, or the blow to a very specific place, despite the absence of sexual characteristics, turned out to be sensitive even for an artificial man. And most likely, the method worked, which, as I have noticed more than once, works like a charm with the most high-tech devices. This method consists of hitting this device properly (and in a completely low-tech way).

For some time, Agnes looked with silent amazement at the finger that had been so unexpectedly released, then she wrapped the fingers of her other hand around it, as if she was afraid that something else might happen to it on the way to the altar, after which, hastily thanking Renzo and me, she quickly ran out from the library. Judging by the clock, there were two minutes left before the wedding began. Considering that the ceremony hall was located on the same floor as the library (the main part of the non-residential premises was located here), as well as the fact that the bride is generally allowed to be a little late, no problems were expected in this regard.

Renzo and I decided, since this was the case, to also attend the ceremony. We just headed there more slowly and sedately, as our position required. After all, Renzo was a castellan, and this is, in fact, the second man in the army. My status - the status of an archivist - was also far from the last and very respected. Despite the fact that I was a slave, as eloquently evidenced by the magical image of a red dragon on the back of my left hand. An image that could neither be washed out, nor painted over, nor reduced by magic.