The Dove and the Hawk Pt. 03

Many thanks to my advance readers, including Not_E and happyyy_, as well as to my editor LaRascasse.

Content warning: references to sexual assault

***

Litheian heard heavy boots coming up the stairs from where she sat reading the latest news at the prince's desk. Anxiously she replaced the papers as she had found them, scurrying up the steps and sliding through the open door. She shut it behind her just as she heard loud thumping noises come from beyond the main door. Was it another soldier, come to assault her? Softly she slithered along the wall, reaching for the door latch behind her, but not finding it before the main door banged open and --

The prince stood there, breathing heavily, and she froze. He was sweating as though he'd come straight from sparring with the soldiers he commanded. His eyes were bright and narrowed, and she swallowed. Had he discovered she was peeking at his work?

Quickly he moved forward and she scrabbled for the latch, not daring to turn her back and expose herself further. Her hand closed around it, but before she could open it he flung himself toward her -- at her feet.

He was kneeling before her like a pilgrim supplicating the gods. A single breathy laugh escaped her mouth. What the hell was wrong with him?

"A thousand apologies," he said to the carpet beneath him, for surely he couldn't be speaking to her. "But I have just discovered... what my father plans for you this spring festival. Plans for us," he amended.

She stared at him in confusion, a tight feeling circling her stomach ominously. What did he mean, his father's plans for her -- for them -- at the spring festival? She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"My father..." he began, then shuddered, sitting up. He was facing her now but looking down at her feet. "My father has decreed that you and I... shall reenact the Conception of Beings, as in the old days."

It took her a moment to understand his meaning. It had been too long since she last heard the story, recounted every spring, of how Yealar, the first god, and Hamin, the first goddess, had lain together and created the beings of heaven and earth. That was what the priests and priestesses called the Conception of Beings. To reenact that....

She whimpered and pressed herself back against the wall.

"I am so sorry to bring you this news, il-susashai," he said, trying to meet her eyes, but she stared past him, out past the door and into the horizon beyond. "But my father," he continued, "has threatened to give you to someone else if I refuse my part in this. The rite shall happen as he wills it, and I would be sent to the battlefront."

Litheian closed her eyes against his words, pushing back her tears. She hadn't cried since that first night with Igandrion, for it had excited him as much as her screams. She'd vowed to never cry again, and to never let a man inside her without a fight. Not even this man, who prostrated himself before her, begging her forgiveness.

He was waiting for her to say something, do something, she realized. Opening her eyes, she went into her room, grabbed her writing tools and brought them out, scribbling furiously on the table as he stayed on the floor. Angrily she shoved the paper in his face, watching as he read her words: I will fight you.

He slumped down, the paper shaking in his hand. "If you do that... I do not know if I can --" He looked away, flushing.

Hissing, she tore the paper from his hands and wrote another line: Then get me out.

He looked even more crestfallen this time, shaking his head. "I cannot. We will be caught. You will be caught."

Again she took the paper. Then find another way.

"There is none," he said helplessly, pleading with his eyes. "Just once," he begged her, "just this one time, will you not --" He stopped as she shook her head fiercely.

She watched him as he crumpled up the paper dejectedly, bringing his fist to his forehead in defeat. She spared a moment's pity for him, a good man born of an evil father. If only... if only....

Outside the clouds shifted, and the bright sun shone through the shutters, making the room glow. A strange feeling welled up in her, a faint sliver of something she hadn't tasted in so long, she'd almost forgotten its name. Hesitantly she wet her lips, as it bloomed from memory to thought to words.

***

"Marry me."

Bethaer stared, dumbfounded. She had spoken.

She frowned, then cleared her throat. "Marry me," she said again.

"What do you mean?" he asked, dazed.

She sighed at his slowness. "If you become my husband... I will not fight you."

"Oh," he said, blinking. It was such a simple solution. Except.... "Do you mean... officially, il-susashai?"

She frowned again. "Of course."

He swallowed hard. "Then we will need a witness at the very least."

"And a contract," she corrected him.

"Yes," he agreed. "But as for the witness...."

"Is there no one you can call here?"

"It is not so simple," he replied. "But I suppose I can start with the apothecary's assistant... so long as the man himself is not there. I only have one excuse for him, and it is wearing thin," he explained.

"Then should I ask one of the maidservants?"

He shook his head. "It is too dangerous for you, il-susashai. All the servants here are Anderthan."

She sighed. "Then you must try the apothecary's assistant."

"I will," he promised, though inwardly he doubted it would be of help. Nevertheless, he departed shortly.

After a morning of drills with his men, a bath, and a meal, he wandered over to the apothecary's, praying as he opened the door. The woman stood there at the counter and looked up, her bruising long healed. She smiled hesitantly and beckoned him inside. Quietly he looked about the place for signs of the apothecary.

"He has gone out for a few minutes," she said softly.

He nodded and spoke equally low. "I have a message: what did you mean, to go north under the gatehouse?"

She shook her head. "I do not know, I was told only to pass it on."

"I see," he said, pushing down his disappointment. "But who gave it to you?"

"A maid," she answered quickly. "She works in the laundry, her name is --"

She stopped short as the door behind her swung open and traced the final word on the countertop: Barion.

He nodded at her and turned to greet the apothecary. "Have you heard?" he asked cheerfully. "I'm to participate in the sacred ritual this year."

"Yes, my lord prince," the man answered as the woman disappeared into the back. "Have you come for more of the poultice?"

"Have you anything stronger?" he requested.

The apothecary laughed. "Been using it too often, eh? As it happens, I do have something else -- one-time use only, you understand -- and it will warm her up nice and good as well." He took a stool and searched the high shelves, returning with a tiny bottle of liquid. "Here, my lord prince," he said, setting in down.

Bethaer took it and cautiously uncorked the bottle. The scent was surprisingly warm and sweet, and he raised his brows in approval.

"Smells good, does it not?" chuckled the other man. "But the stuff is quite potent, so the less the better."

Bethaer nodded. "I must pay you this time," he insisted, and the apothecary bowed his head in thanks, accepting the coins from his prince's purse with ready hands.

He left, slipping the small bottle into his uniform. This time he really would need what the vile man had sold him. The thought of taking the princess in front of all of Jashil made his stomach turn.

Setting aside that matter, he turned to a more pressing concern: finding Barion. As was his wont, he sauntered off to the kitchens for something sweet, which he brought to the laundry room, where a gaggle of young women fawned over him.

"Easy, easy," he laughed, tearing off pieces to drop into their palms. "I'm looking for someone today," he said, winking, and a few of them giggled.

"Who is the lucky lass, my lord prince?" asked one.

"Barion," he said, heart pounding. "I was told she's quite comely."

An older woman snorted in laughter. "It must have been a jest, my lord prince. She is very plain, you see."

"Still," he said, "I would see for myself."

The woman shrugged and turned, putting a hand to her mouth as she hollered. "Barion, you lackwit, the prince wants to see your face!"

A leggy young woman with big blue eyes scampered into sight breathlessly. Her eyes widened even more upon seeing him, and she bowed low.

"She is not so plain as you said," he observed with a grin. "Come, girl, to the stables with me."

She wiped her red hands nervously on her apron, then removed it, smoothing down her hair as the other women teased her. Bethaer hoped her willingness was a sign of her bravery and not just the daydreams of a simple laundry maid. He strode out toward the stables as she trotted behind him to keep up. She seemed to grow nervous as they entered, eyeing the giant hot-blooded chargers. He pointed to the ladder leading to the hayloft and gave her a hand, following her guardedly. If she really were a spy, he would have to be sure she didn't meet him with a knife in hand.

As he rose up past the floor, he saw her turned away from him, moving her hands suspiciously. He rushed her and pinned her standing form to the nearest wall of hay.

"My lord prince!" she exclaimed, giggling nervously.

He put his mouth to her ear as his hands roamed her body, searching for weapons. "You'd better not be thinking of fighting me," he whispered.

"I would never, my lord prince!" she said, affronted. "It is an honor to be chosen by you."

"You truly think so?" he asked, turning her around. Her bodice was unlaced, revealing her underdress and her breasts beneath. He cupped them in his hands, then continued feeling about her slender body.

"Of course, my lord prince," she murmured, blushing.

"Good," he replied, finding no trace of a knife. Taking her hands, he raised her arms and pinned them above her head, lifting her skirt and feeling about the inside of her legs.

"Oh, my prince," she crooned, raising goosebumps along his arms. "Make me yours," she continued, and he stopped her with a finger to her lips.

"Say nothing else," he hissed, "unless you can answer me one thing." Staring into her enormous unblinking eyes, he asked in a low voice, "Why should I go north under the gatehouse?"

"My prince?" she whimpered.

"Answer me," he growled, once more whispering in her ear. "Your princess wishes to know."

She didn't move for a long moment, then wiggled her hips, baring her teeth at him. "Take me first," she challenged, jutting her pelvis out to meet his.

He hissed again and shoved her against the hay, pushing his groin against hers. "You'll get no more than this," he murmured.

She rolled her eyes and cried out. "Oh, my prince, it is too much! I cannot take any more of you!"

"Oh, but you will," he said, loudly playing along. Grunting, he thrust against her rhythmically, and she gasped and moaned in time.

He could feel himself growing hard, his precum seeping into his trousers. "Tell me, Barion, if that's truly your name," he grunted in her ear.

"Oh, my prince," she nearly wailed, "yes, yes, take all of me! Oh!" This she followed with a great moan, which deepened into a hum, and then she sighed.

"Are you done?" he murmured, impatient.

"Hold me close, my prince," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around him as he released her. "Ask for the sempster who sleeps there," she whispered, clutching his neck. "Tell him I sent you."

With another great sigh, she flopped down on the wooden floor, looking as spent as if they had truly done the deed. He turned around, dropping his trousers before lifting them again and buckling them in place. Turning back to her, he spread his arms. "Good enough?" he asked.

"Oh, my prince," she said, "how could anyone ever be dissatisfied with your great manhood?" Standing up, she mussed his hair and rumpled his shirt. "Will you call on me again, my lord prince?" she said hopefully, stepping back to appraise him.

"I'd like to," he answered honestly, "but I must save my vigor for the spring festival."

She nodded, satisfied, then asked, "What do you mean, my lord prince?"

"You'll hear soon enough," he replied. "Now cover yourself, woman."

She did so quickly, then flounced down the ladder, leaving him alone. He sat down on a hay bale and leaned against the wall and shut his eyes as though dozing, but his mind was racing.

He could easily make an excuse that the princess needed her measurements taken for a new gown, for the day of the festivities. The temple would surely dress her in their own garb when the time came, but he could appeal to his father's vanity, that dressing her up would show their wealth and retain their dignity. It might even please him for her to be assisted by a Berelthian captive, who would only do the work under threat once he knew what it was for.

Yes, it was a solid plan, he decided. He would speak to his father tomorrow.

***

Litheian paced across the bedchamber, biting her lip until it bled. Hearing the chambermaids arriving, she slipped into her room and listened at the door. There was a surplus of giggling today, and she strained to make out their words. One of the maids spoke loudly as she passed the door, and she listened, stunned, to hear that the prince had dallied with a laundry maid that very afternoon. Bile rose in her throat, but she cooled her anger with the thought that this was likely the only way he could meet one of her people without arousing suspicion.

When the servants left, she exited once more, bringing her current scroll to the table to read. But the words blurred under her eyes as her thoughts wandered back to the prince. Had he truly taken the woman, she wondered, or was it a trick? She shook off the thought, chiding herself. She was in no position to question the actions he took on her behalf, to find a way for them to complete the ritual without resorting to rape.

Because that is what it would be, if he couldn't find a witness for their wedding. She was determined on this point, desperate even. Her stepmother's words still echoed in her ears, the lessons she had taught of proper conduct for women making her blush even now. The union of a man and woman was a sacred act, and as a princess, her dignity demanded that only her husband take her in that way.

Her heart beat furiously in her chest, her face flushing as she thought of allowing the prince inside of her. It would be strange, lying still or even opening the way for a man, even if he were her husband. How would it feel? Would it be any different than all those other times? Would she like it, even? Her face was hot now, and she went to pour some water for herself. None of it mattered, she decided, so long as he was her husband. It would be humiliating enough submitting to him while others watched, for she knew that was how it was done, in the old days. She would simply follow her stepmother's advice, to relax and breathe and hold him tight as he moved inside her.

It was hard to turn her thoughts back to reading, harder still when he made his appearance, disheveled. She tried not to stare and waited for him to speak.

"I think I have found a way," he said, and relief flooded through her. She didn't want to fight this man. "I must speak with my father first, but there is a sempster among the prisoners kept at the north gatehouse, so --"

He stopped abruptly, and she looked at him, confused.

"Are you well, il-susashai?" he asked, voice full of concern.

She blinked and felt a tear running down her cheek. Embarrassed, she turned away, wiping at it. When had she started crying? She felt a smile broaden across her face and realized this strange feeling must be joy.

"I am well, il-susashaian," she said softly. "I am simply... so relieved."

"As am I," he replied, shoulders relaxing. "If all goes well, tomorrow I shall bring here a man under the guise of measuring you for a gown to wear on the day of... the ritual."

She nodded, brushing at her cheeks, her mind turning to the marriage contract that would need to be drafted. "Do you have a contract I can read? To write our own, I mean."

"Yes, il-susashai. There are a few records in my study; let me bring them for you now."

She listened as he walked off, down the steps and moving the strange ladder that he used for reaching the highest of shelves. No wonder she hadn't seen them; she never dared to use the contraption. Presently he returned with a handful of scrolls, placing them carefully on the table where she sat.

"Here, this is a record of Muagthi documents, though they are dated. Another of Hisian documents. And this one, Sander describes common points for legal clerks to consider when drafting marriage contracts." One by one he tapped each tome, and she nodded, realizing the work ahead of her.

"I do not know if I can have a draft ready by tomorrow," she said, biting her lip again. It was a great deal to read on the matter.

"Do not worry, il-susashai," he replied. "With a sempster, several visits can be arranged. We need not even sign the contract until the day before."

"Two days," she said, "to be careful."

"As you wish," he deferred, retreating to the library once more.

She had read only half of the Muagthi records before it was time for supper to be delivered, and she carefully moved the scrolls and her writing equipment to her room. She ate little, her stomach too tense for food, knowing she would sleep badly that night.

The next morning dawned clear and cold, and she picked at her breakfast, anxious for the day to proceed. Time passed like honey once more as she pored over the rest of the Muagthi records, then hid everything for the midday meal, then replaced them again to move on to the Hisian records. She was absorbed in these, noting down common elements, when she heard footsteps approaching. She stood to hide her reading yet again, when she heard a soft knock. She went to stand by the main door, alert for danger, but it was the prince's voice she heard.

"I have brought the sempster, il-susashai. May we enter?"

"Yes," she croaked, wondering how she must look. It had been months since she'd even seen another person besides the prince.

The door opened, and in stepped a thin man wearing once-robust clothes, hands clasped before him deferentially.

"Shall I stay, il-susashai?" the prince asked her, waiting in the doorway.

Litheian glanced at the prisoner, weak and pale, and shook her head. "Please leave us, il-susashaian."

He nodded and turned back, shutting the door.

She wiped her palms on her hands, trying to remember her manners. "Please, sit," she said, indicating the chair across from hers.

Mutedly the man walked forward, sitting hesitantly.

"Excuse the mess," she said, rolling up the scrolls and covering the ink.

"I am glad to see you well, my princess." The man spoke softly, eyes casting about the room and landing on the large bed.

"Did his highness explain the... situation?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "I heard, your highness, that it was decreed you two would participate in the ancient rites come the spring festival."

"Yes," she affirmed, and he winced. "He brought you here under the guise of measuring me for a gown," she continued, "but truthfully we need a different kind of help."

"Anything for you, my princess," the sempster replied, bowing his head.

"Then would you serve as witness to our wedding?"

Startled, the man raised his head and looked her in the eyes. "Is that truly as you wish?"

"Yes," she replied firmly. "It is my condition for... agreeing to the ritual."

His eyes widened. "And he accepted, your highness?" She nodded. "Do you understand what that would mean, my princess?" the man asked. "For him, and for your royal family, and --"

She shook her head at him. "I don't have the luxury of believing in the future. I can only do my best for what time I see before me."

He frowned but sat back, sighing. "If my princess commands it of me, so I shall follow."

"Thank you," she murmured, tears pricking the back of her eyes once more. "You cannot fathom what this means to me."

Clearing his throat, the sempster stood, pulling out a small notebook and measuring tape. "I should do my task before all else," he said.

"Of course." She stood, arms out, and he carefully began to take her measurements.

***

Bethaer heard the door open and stepped out into the hallway, hailing the man, who bowed. "Do you have what you need?" he asked softly.

"Yes, my lord. As for my work... should I tarry?"

He paused, calculating. "We wish to be joined two days beforehand. That leaves --"

"Ten days, my lord." He bowed once more. "I shall return in a few days, to confirm the fit."

Bethaer nodded, then assumed a frown. The sempster hunched over, servile, following him as Bethaer strode to the door and knocked harshly for it to be opened.

True to his word, the guards escorted the man to the study three days later, carrying a cloth bag that the sempster bade them be mindful of. Bethaer dismissed them and once more allowed the princess time alone with the man, who returned sometime later. This second visit accomplished, he looked in on the princess, who waved him over to show him her notes on the marriage contract she would write for them.

Most of it was standard -- vows of faithfulness, tenets of property transfer, and so on. Shyly she read out the lines of a wife's duties to her husband, which he balked at.

"I have no need of this clause," he said, flushing. "As for terms of divorce -- let it stay a secret between us, without need for witnesses."

She frowned. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," he assured her. "Indeed, this whole marriage should stay secret unless you decide to reveal it."

Her brow furrowed. "Only me?"

He nodded. "As for children... that is your decision to make." Gods forbid she conceive from just one night together.

She bit her lip. "I never want a child of mine to fall into your father's hands."

"Nor do I," he agreed. "But the choice is still yours. Should we both make it out alive" -- he shut his eyes, braving the possibility -- "then I will not claim any child of yours, unless you wish me to."

She nodded slowly, adding another line in her notes. "What of inheritance?"

He paused. The idea of having a child with her, to live on after him, drifted before his eyes like a mirage. "Any child you have should inherit all that is mine, if you choose."

"Even a daughter?" she asked, quill poised above the paper.

"Especially a daughter," he murmured in response. It would be a fitting end to his father's bloodline.

This written, he skimmed the rest, but there was not much else to cover. He stood back, impressed. She had done so much work in but a few days, with no practice. How accomplished she must have been as a child, and how much more she could have learned if not for his third brother.

His stomach twisted. Soon, if all went well, he would do the same thing his brother had done, take the same woman his brother had violated. But this would be different, he told himself sternly, watching as his future bride squinted in concentration, writing out the new draft of terms on a clean sheet of paper. This was her decision, her choice in how to confront the evil his father had thrown their way this time.

"Was there something else?" she asked, not looking up from her work.

"No," he said, and turned to leave.

***

Litheian watched him go, then stood and stretched. Done for the day, she returned her work to her room and lit the lamp. She shut the door and opened the great chest of Adrialsa's things. Moving her belongings about methodically, she reached the bottom, where the plain wooden case sat as she had left it.

She couldn't remember the name for this thing, but had recognized it instantly upon first opening it. Her stepmother had showed her one like it once, explaining its use in simple but graphic terms. She had been too young then, too embarrassed, to fully understand. But now, facing her wedding, she understood: there was more to coupling than making children. This way she had been shown was for pleasure only and required the deepest trust and gentleness. She wondered if her soon-to-be-husband would agree to her request and take her this way, just the two of them alone. But all she could do in this moment was to prepare her body for him, to train her asshole to take his girth.

That was what the box held: the old, carved stones were shaped to stopper up the body like a jug of wine. They started small, widening gradually then tapering off before ending with a handle like the head of an anchor, to keep them from being swallowed up.

Litheian sat back, considering the varied sizes, before a thought occurred to her. Finding the jug of oil the prince had procured for her lamp, she opened it and dipped her finger in, tasting it. The sharp tang of cooking oil met her tongue. They must have been running out of proper lamp oil, she realized; no wonder it smoked so much. But this was to her advantage, for this selfsame oil could safely be used with the body.

Taking the smallest of the implements, she dipped it in the jug, letting the oil drip before removing it. She lay down and hiked up her skirts and splayed her legs wide, reaching with the object for her asshole. Pushing gently, she gasped as it opened her, then sank into her neatly, making her throb there. She closed her legs, adjusting to the sensation of being plugged shut. It did something to her, and she wiggled her butt, clenching her asshole against the smooth, cold stone.

Day by day she practiced, breathing deeply and relaxing her body as she opened herself more and more with larger and larger tools. She enjoyed the feeling of fullness they gave her, even pulling on the handles gently to rub the large bulbs against her tender asshole. She took extra care with the last and largest, giving herself time to warm up to its giant size.

Finally, the day before they were set to wed in secret, she spread herself open on her bed one last time. Taking the large object, she dipped it in the wide mouth of the jar, unclenching her asshole, willing it soft and pliant. She pushed hard against her hole, and it opened, wider and wider, until she could barely take it -- then the stone plopped inside her, nestling comfortably in her ass. She sighed, feeling the shape of it keeping her open. This was meant to be the same width as a man's member. Satisfied, she smiled. She was ready for her wedding night.

***

The last day of the dress fitting was warm but cloudy, and the sun peeked through intermittently. Bethaer paced across the floor of his study, his sandals slapping the flagstones. Any moment now his guards would knock on the door, yet he still felt unready. Nervously he tugged at his clothes; instead of his usual uniform, he was wearing formal wear, ostensibly to check the fit before the festival. Not that either of them would be wearing clothes for the rite itself. He swallowed and smoothed back his hair. Nothing else would happen today, he reminded himself. They would read and sign the marriage contract, that was all.

The hard sound of the knock startled him. He called for the door to open, trying to mask his restlessness by gazing down at his desk, as though uninterested. When the door shut, he looked up and saw the man stood there, head bowed.

"She's waiting for you upstairs," he said, struggling to sound calm.

"I shall call for you when she is ready," the sempster replied, and climbed the stairs.

It seemed like barely any time at all before the door opened once more. He didn't wait for the man to speak, but took the steps slowly, making himself breathe. Stepping into his bedchamber, his eyes widened as he drank in the sight of her in the dress. It was as dark as the night sky, with silver-threaded rivulets embroidered all across it, and despite the modest cover, he could still make out the gentle curves of her body.

"You look stunning," he said, bowing to his bride.

She bowed shyly in return, then motioned to the table where the marriage contract was laid out. He had watched her write it carefully in her neat, flowing script for several days. Now it lay finished, waiting only for their signatures.

It was a short affair. The sempster, surprisingly literate, read out the bulk of the document, handing it to the prince and princess for their separate vows. Bringing forth the beeswax he'd procured, Bethaer held the container over a lamp and poured it out when it had melted. With precise movements, he pulled off his signet ring and stamped the face of it into the soft wax, pulling away cleanly to reveal the seal of House Andertha. As for the princess, she took up a quill and wrote her name out gracefully -- Litheian Bereltha.

It was done. They were now husband and wife.

"I must bring back the dress with me," the sempster said apologetically, and the princess turned her back to Bethaer, lifting her braid for him to unlace the back of the dress. It felt awkward, doing this in front of another man, but he made no complaint, silently helping her out of the voluminous cloth. She then retired to her room, and he ushered out the sempster.

Returning to his bedchamber, he caught her leaving her room, having donned one of Adrialsa's dresses. She bowed her head to him, and he returned the gesture, unsure of what to say.

"Has the wax dried, im-uvnyan?" she asked.

He started at the sound of her address, for a moment sure she must be speaking to someone else. But no, her husband was none other than himself.

"I -- I think it should take a little more time, im-uvnya," he replied finally.

She nodded and went about moving the writing tools back to her room, taking with her the little crucible with the remnants of the wax. When he was sure it was cooled enough, he rolled up the large document and tied it off, giving it to her with both hands.

"You should keep this," he said.

"Yes," she replied. Then, "Would you take supper with me today?"

"I can arrange it," he said slowly, "but what for?"

"Because it is our wedding night," she said, gazing down at the floor.

His heart quickened to hear her utter the words, though he stilled his runaway thoughts. This was merely a formality, he was sure. "Then I shall do so, im-uvnya."

"Thank you, im-uvnyan."

"Not at all," he replied. "I shall see you this evening."

She nodded and watched him leave, clutching the rolled-up document to her chest.

He took his time heading down the steps to take his midday meal, then ambled to the kitchens to tell them he wished to dine in his chamber that evening. Afterward he wandered about the castle grounds until he reached the bathhouse, walking past the long-dead gardens his mother used to carefully tend. He tarried at the baths awhile, listening to his men as they filed in from their daily training. They seemed to sense his apprehensive mood, saying little but to encourage him that he would perform well at the ritual. He thanked them silently, nodding, and left with the rest of the men headed toward supper.

Entering his bedchamber, he saw that she had laid out their respective meals at the table and was pouring his goblet full of wine.

"You need not do that, im-uvnya," he protested, but she shook her head.

"I wish to follow the customs as much as we can," she replied firmly, and he did not argue further.

Compliant, he sat at the western side of the table, as was tradition. She took her seat across from him, serving him first. Watching for when his cup emptied, she tried to pour him more wine, but he covered it with his hand, shaking his head.

"I can serve myself."

She bit her lip, frowning. "But the custom --"

"The custom is for a wife to serve her husband at their meal, so he can serve her in their bed," he interrupted, feeling his face burn.

"At least let me serve you water, then," she replied, and he relented.

When he had eaten his fill, he sat back as she cleared the dishes from the table, then returned to sit opposite him, pouring a small amount of wine for them both.

This was the moment that he'd dreaded, the signaling of cups, when the newlyweds would indicate their intentions for the wedding night. After a final drink, they would position their empty cups either close to themselves, meaning they did not want to lie together, or close to their spouse, meaning they desired to share of their bodies.

Bethaer watched as she lifted her cup, following her cue. Eyes closed, he downed the wine and set his goblet before him. She made a soft noise, and he opened his eyes to see her plain cup sat a finger's width away from his own jewel-encrusted one.

Dumbfounded, he looked up at her. She took a long breath, then opened her mouth, but he spoke first.

"You owe me nothing, im-uvnya. Do not think you must do this for me."

She frowned. "It is not for you, im-uvnyan. It is for myself."

He furrowed his brows in turn. "What do you mean?"

"I do not want the festival to be... our first time together," she said haltingly, glancing up at him before looking away, a blush rising in her cheeks.

He swallowed, feeling the blood rushing to his loins at the prospect of bedding her. But no, it wasn't right. "I do not wish to hurt you any more than my father demands of me," he replied. "And I do not want to increase the risk of you conceiving."

"You will not hurt me," she said confidently, with such clarity of belief that he was stunned into silence.

He blinked furiously, a strange emotion overwhelming him. He was reminded again of how careful she had been those first few weeks, watching him intently, always knowing where he was and how he moved. Had she seen deeper than that, even?

"How can you trust me so?" he asked, voice thick.

"Because I know you," she answered simply, and his heart constricted. What was this feeling, of being seen so completely? He felt vulnerable but safe at the same time, and wondered if this was how she felt in his presence too.

"I could hurt you without intending it," he argued, more to himself than her, "and there is still the chance of getting you with child."

"You will not hurt me, for you are my husband," she said firmly. "As for carrying a child... I wish for you to have me in a different way," she continued, glancing at him shyly.

He felt his cock hardening already at the thought. But -- "How can you say I will not hurt you, then ask me to take you in that way?" he protested. "Surely --"

"I have made my body ready for you," she replied, and he felt the tip of his member wet with arousal.

"Do you mean... among her things...."

"Yes, im-uvnyan. I have been practicing to open myself for you."

She must have found the gelib Adrialsa had brought with her when she wed his second brother. And with the oil he had secured for her lamp....

He groaned and put a hand over his face. The image of her spreading herself open and filling up her body, all to be ready for his own body to penetrate her... it was too much.

"How long?" he asked, voice muffled.

"What do you mean?"

"How long have you been... practicing?"

"A week," she answered. "And I have mastered all of them. You will not hurt me to do this."

He let his hands fall and gazed at her, letting lust fuel the direction of his eyes. She was beautiful, still thin but filling out well with regular meals now. And her eyes, normally guarded, were open, hopeful -- waiting, he realized, for his answer.

This was what she wanted. He had only to agree. But how could he dare, to enter where so many men had violated her before? Not because of what his father decreed, but simply to have a night together like any ordinary couple?

"Why do you hesitate, im-uvnyan?" she asked.

"How can I dare to take you... when so many have hurt you before? My own brother...." His throat closed, unable to continue.

"No one has taken me like this before. I ask this of you because you are not your brother. You are my husband."

"Is it that simple for you?" he murmured.

"Yes," she said softly. "You signed your name next to mine. You risked that for me."

He swallowed, his refusal dissolving. "Then... I will do this for you." Slowly he pushed his goblet across the table until it rested before her.

She smiled, glancing up at him before looking away, bashful. "Thank you, im-uvnyan."

He looked at the evening sky glowing through the windows. "Then I shall wait until sundown, as is the custom, im-uvnya."

"Yes," she agreed, standing. Turning, she walked back to her room, and he gazed at her backside before it disappeared behind the door.

How would it feel, to be inside her like that? He had only lain with women a handful of times, and never in that way. He imagined it would be much tighter than the way that brought children, much rougher too, without the natural wetness of a woman's arousal. He would ask her to bring out the jar of oil, the same one she had surely used to practice on herself. He now let himself freely imagine her doing so. It made his loins ache with need, and he resisted the temptation to reach inside his clothes and stroke his lengthening cock. He would be patient for her.

He heard the servants coming and slipped into the study so they could gather the remains of supper and light the lamps in peace. When they were gone, he returned to find his bride sitting on his great bed, clad in nothing but an underdress. Seeing him, she stood, and he let his eyes rest upon the outline of her breasts, her hips. She blushed under his lustful gaze, but did not shy back, letting him drink in her form.

"You are lovely, im-uvnya," he told her, and she blushed even more.

"Shall I help you undress?" she offered, and it was his turn now to flush.

"Do you know how?" he asked, voice rough.

"I have seen it enough times," she said softly, and he winced. He dared not think on the circumstances that had afforded her the sight.

She came forward and he stretched out his arms, allowing her to remove first his jacket, then his shirt and sandals. He put a hand over hers when she reached for the buckle of his belt, but relented at the steel in her gaze as she looked up. She let in a sharp breath as his trousers dropped, revealing his member straining against his undergarments. He put a hand on her shoulder, but she carried on, undoing his last garment until his cock sprang free.

Silently she gathered up his clothes, laying them out on the rack beside his bed. He stayed still, not wanting to frighten her by moving unexpectedly, but he stepped back when she came and knelt at his feet.

"What are you doing?" he asked, for surely she didn't intend to take him in her mouth.

"I wish to please you, im-uvnyan," she said simply, and his member twitched. "Let me do this for you," she asked, looking up at him with solemn wide eyes.

"Let me sit first," he relented, walking to the bed and opening his legs. She crawled over and he shut his eyes at the sight, feeling his erection harden even more.

He stifled a gasp as she took his cock in her hands, petting him gently the same way he calmed his great warhorse. He felt her tongue flick out and lick at the tip, tasting his precum. Then he moaned as her mouth covered him sweetly. She grasped the base of his shaft, rubbing his cock in and out against her soft wetness. He resisted the urge to thrust inside her, to shove his member down her throat. It was leaking freely now, and she paused every so often to suck his juices from its head.

He felt himself drawing close and placed a hand on her shoulder again. "If you wish for me to take you, you should stop now," he warned her, and she sat back, licking her lips.

"I have never done this before," she replied. "Did it please you so much?"

"It did," he assured her. "And I want more of you now."

She blushed and looked away, but stood and with a single motion threw off her garment. He drank in the sight of her, feeling his cock grow even more. Her straight dark hair, normally braided, was cascading down her back all the way to her buttocks. A few strands brushed at her nipples, which were already hard atop her small, round breasts. Her slender waist curved beautifully into her broad hips, which gave way to the hair above her slit.

"Come closer," he said, "so that I might touch you."

She walked forward with small steps until he could reach around and grab her buttocks, squeezing them in his palms. He kneaded them, rotating each butt cheek and pressing them against each other. She whimpered softly and he paused, gauging her face.

"Will you touch me there?" she asked hesitantly.

"You should bring the oil first," he replied.

She nodded and he released her, watching her scant curves jiggle as she turned to retrieve it from her room. This accomplished, he dipped a finger in, then motioned for her to sit on his lap. She did so, her belly slapping against his erect cock, and he reached once more behind her, this time to spread her open. He found her asshole with the tip of his oiled finger, pressing against the tight hole in a circular motion. She moaned, and he felt her clench beneath him.

He pushed a little harder and to his surprise slipped inside her easily. He rotated his finger against the walls of her asshole as she whimpered and mewled at his touch. Cautiously he added a second finger, and she groaned. He spread the two fingers open rhythmically and she moaned in time, so he eased them deeper into her hole.

"Oh, oh, oh," she sighed, and he smiled to himself. She truly had been practicing, and enjoying it too.

"Where are the gelib?" he asked her. There was one final tool he needed before taking her.

"The... what? Oh... in my room, on the table...."

He pulled out of her and lifted her easily, setting her down beside him and kissing her warm cheek before entering her room. He found the box as she had said and opened it and took what he was looking for. Most of the smooth stone objects were solid, but this one was wide enough to allow a small finger-sized hole to bore through the middle, perfect for pouring oil into a person's insides.

He took the object and returned, showing it to her. She nodded shyly and rolled over on her back, lifting her legs to display her asshole for him, which made him groan. He dipped the tool into the oil, shaking off the excess, then crouched before her. Slowly, carefully, he pushed it against her hole, slipping it inside her until the flared base nestled against her. He watched her squirm and whimper, grinning at her need.

"Lift your hips," he told her, and she complied.

Taking the jug in hand, he lined up the spout against the hole, pouring the oil out slowly into her waiting ass. She moaned as the cold liquid filled her, but stayed still. Setting the jug down again, he pulled the stone tool slightly, pushing against her taut asshole, and she whimpered. He continued teasing her, rotating the cold stone inside her ass, marveling as she wiggled and moaned beneath him.

"Please," she begged, "come inside me now. I am ready for your body."

"As it pleases you," he replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek once more.

Cautiously he pulled the object out of her ass, and as it popped out a bead of oil oozed from her now-wet hole. He set it aside and dipped his fingers in the jug, oiling his cock in his hand before climbing onto the bed, straddling her. She watched as he did, only closing her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her eyelids, around her face, and finally, softly, on her lips.

"May I enter you?" he asked, speaking the customary words.

She gazed at him solemnly and reached out a hand to trace his face down to his lips. "Enter me and give me your seed," came her reply, and he took her hand in his, lining himself up against her small, tight asshole.

Pushing gently, he eased himself inside her, and her flesh yielded to him. She gasped as the head of his cock penetrated her, and he paused.

"Shall I stop, im-uvnya?" he asked, worriedly searching her face for signs of pain.

She shook her head. "Give me more of you, im-uvnyan."

He was glad to do so, pushing the rest of his member inside her, reaching deeper into her ass. Finally all of him was encased in her slippery, tight membranes, and he sighed. This was a feeling like no other; she was the perfect tightness around his cock, squeezing him snugly yet relenting easily whenever he pushed against her.

"Does this please you?" she asked, her wide eyes glassy.

"It does, very much," he replied. "But how you feel? Does it hurt at all?"

"No, im-uvnyan. I feel full, and" -- he watched a teardrop fall from her eye -- "safe with you inside me."

He leaned down to kiss the tear as it rolled toward her ear, then returned to her forehead, her brows, her nose, covering her in kisses. She giggled, and he could feel her ass clench around him as she laughed.

Smiling, he asked, "Shall I give you my seed now?"

She nodded. "Please yourself in my body and fill me with your seed."

He groaned at her words and pushed deeper as his cock stiffened even further. "I mean to please you just as much," he promised.

He pulled back until only the head of his member was still inside her, then thrust deeply and she moaned, arching her back. He moved slowly, opening her over and over, rubbing against her tender asshole as it stretched to accommodate him.

"More," she begged him, and he chuckled, thrusting harder, faster.

His ball sacks slapped against her ass in time to his movements, as did her sighs and groans. After a few moments she lifted her legs to the sky, brushing her feet against his shoulders as she did. This allowed him to push himself even deeper into her bowels, feeling her tight asshole against the base of his cock.

He felt himself growing close again and told her as much. "Yes, more," she whimpered in response, and he thrust ever harder, faster, as deep as he could.

"Oh!" she cried, curving her feet around his neck. "Yes, yes, yes!" Her voice rose to a squeak and pushed him past fulfillment.

Never had he felt such a wave of ecstasy, and he closed his eyes to savor the feeling. Grunting and jerking, his cock loosed a torrent of cum deep in her ass, and he imagined the thick, viscous stuff squirting up inside her until she was too full to hold any more. With a few last sighs and moans, he squeezed the base of his member to ooze out the last of his seed.

Opening his eyes, he saw her splayed open beneath him, eyes shut, the trace of a smile across her lips. He pulled out his softening cock, and a mix of oil and cum dribbled out of her asshole. Taking a clean cloth from the basket he had moved nearby for just this purpose, he gently wiped her loose hole, and she clenched shut.

"Your seed is mine, im-uvnyan," she murmured softly.

He laughed at her greediness and kissed her hair before wiping himself down.

***

The prince -- her husband, now -- retired to the bathing room to wash himself, she assumed. She stayed on the bed, her sweat cooling and making her chilled in the evening air. She snuggled under the blankets of his bed, not wishing to return to her little room. Besides, she was exhausted from the day's events.

It was so much different, welcoming a man into her body rather than fighting him off. She was used to the tiredness, but its effect was entirely opposite. She had always failed at keeping men from assaulting her, her strength giving way until she could only lie there, defeated once more. But this weariness was born of success, of reaching satisfaction in a union between two bodies that wanted each other.

Her muscles ached and her asshole felt sore, but she was content. Her husband had agreed to consummate their marriage, and now she was full of his seed. She smiled at the memory of it, him reaching his peak deep inside her ass, the warm gooey feeling of his cum welling up inside her. Some of it had spilled out of her when he left, but she'd liked the sensation, knowing she was full to the brim. She clenched her asshole, feeling slippery inside, and smiled again.

She'd thought she would be more afraid, not just of lying with him, but of even seeing his naked body. But the careful way he had stood still, how hesitant and awkward he had been, even with his organ erect with desire for her... she could not resist the urge to approach him. Never had she seen a lustful man stand still, and she had taken the chance to explore his member.

He'd felt soft and firm, and leaking as she pet him, but still he had not moved, so she had felt safe to lick and kiss him. She could hear this pleased him, feel him grow wetter and harder, and yet he stayed still. She had even opened her mouth to him, taking as much of him as she could, and even then he'd remained unmoving, resisting what she knew must be a mighty urge.

He had only placed a hand on her shoulder and told her how close he was. Then he'd put his fingers in her, and then oiled her up for him. Finally he'd taken her in the ass and fucked her until he came long and hard. She curled her toes, reliving the details fresh in her mind. So engrossed was she that she failed to hear him return to the room and realized only when he lifted the covers to nestle in beside her.

"How do you feel, im-uvnya?" he asked, circling his arms around her.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she said, kissing his forearm as it rested under her chin.

"It was a pleasurable task," he replied, a smile in his voice. "But how are you? Does it hurt at all?"

"Only a little," she assured him. Besides, she liked the feeling, the small twinges an echo of when he'd been inside her.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "But you kept asking for more...." He drifted off, no doubt remembering, like her, how lustful she'd been for him.

He kissed her hair and held her closer, and she rested her cheek against him, pondering the strangeness of being in a man's arms after he was already spent. Enjoying the closeness of their bodies and the warmth of his skin on hers, she dared not break this precious moment. Morning would come soon enough, but until then they could lie in each other's arms, breathing together.

him.