The Dove and the Hawk Pt. 04

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

Content warning: depictions of religious sexual abuse, references to sexual assault

***

Litheian awoke to nervous giggles, rousing slowly. The sounds hushed as she turned over, wondering why the bed was so large and warm, and her body so tight and achy. Opening her eyes, she realized where she was, and the memory of the night prior made her cheeks burn.

In the corner of her eyes, she could see a trio of maidservants quietly cleaning and setting out a meal. Wanting them to leave, she gave a tired moan and rolled over into a fetal position. Let them think she was in pain after being used by him all night long. They gasped and murmured to themselves, quickening their pace, and soon left.

Sitting up, she stretched broadly. This was a different kind of soreness she felt, in her muscles and in her asshole. She savored the feeling, making for the bathing room without bothering to dress herself. The cold water was refreshing, and she patted herself dry and warm before donning her underdress and perusing the food.

She had finished eating and was lying on the bed again, spreading out her body in its comforting wideness, when she heard him coming up the stairs, slowly as ever. He always did this so she would know it was him and could hide away as she pleased. But she wouldn't hide today. She didn't need to; he was her husband.

As he opened the door she sat up to greet him. Her breath froze at his dark expression, but it lightened upon seeing her.

"What is the matter?" she asked, walking over to him.

He put his arms around her and hugged tightly. "I thought you were hurt," he murmured. "The maids were gossiping about you, and --"

He stopped as she giggled softly, pulling away and frowning. "Forgive me, im-uvnyan," she said, "I simply wanted them to leave, so I made it sound as though I were in pain."

"But are you, im-uvnya?" he asked, reaching out and caressing her face with worried eyes.

"I did not expect to be so tired and sore," she replied, and he sighed and held her once more.

"I should have been more gentle with you," he said, and she shook her head, mussing her hair on his chest.

"You only gave me what I wanted, im-uvnyan."

He sighed and kissed her forehead, and they stayed like that for a while.

Pulling away, he said, "I have something to give you, im-uvnya. It was my mother's first. My second brother gave it to his wife, and now I give it to you."

He pulled a small box from his jacket, opening it to reveal a delicate gold ring. She stared at the small, thin band, remembering how she had last donned jewelry that fateful morning years ago. She blinked back tears, not wanting to sully this gesture, but he put a hand to her shoulder.

"You need not accept it, im-uvnya. But I wished to give you a token of my promise to you."

She nodded, reaching out hesitantly. Hands trembling, she lifted it from the box and slid it onto her finger, where it sat snugly. "It fits," she noted simply, and he smiled.

"Here is a leather cord you can use too, if you need," he added, placing it in her palm.

She nodded absently, still staring at the ring. It was heavier than it seemed and engraved with tiny twining vines.

"What was your mother like?" she asked, suddenly wishing to meet the woman who had brought this ring with her from distant Sytheire.

"I do not remember much," he told her, "but my second brother used to tell me stories. She had a sharp gaze she would use when he was misbehaving." He chuckled at the memory. "And she was always singing," he added more softly, "that I do remember. Children's songs and lullabies. She would sing us younger ones to sleep, the both of us, before...."

She closed her fingers on the leather thong and put her arms around him, not needing him to finish. He returned the gesture, clutching her as the unspoken thought passed between them: she might share the same fate as his mother, as his sister-in-law.

He pulled away and she let go reluctantly as he composed himself. "I go to meet with my father now," he said. "I think the temple means to bring us both there a day early, so they may be here soon."

"Is there some way I should act?" she asked, worried she might do something wrong.

"Just be as you were first with me, only do as they tell you. It will be women from the goddess' temple, so you should be safe with them."

She nodded, seeing his worried brows, and tried to reassure him with a smile. "I understand."

He put his forehead to hers, catching her elbows in his hands and she did the same, feeling his pulse at her fingertips. She had seen her stepmother do this with her father, remembered being told it was a gesture of welcome and of farewell. She squeezed his elbows, breathing softly.

"Be well, im-uvnyan," she said.

"You also, im-uvnya," he replied, and pulled away reluctantly, and left her standing there alone.

She turned the ring under her fingers absentmindedly. She would have to hide it in her room for the time being. She pulled it off and slipped it on the leather cord, knotting the ends together and stashing it at the bottom of Adrialsa's chest, folded up in a square cloth. She put away the box of stone stools -- the gelib, he'd called them -- noting he had replaced the one from the night before after cleaning it. She blushed to think of him in her room but continued tidying, moving all but the lamp and jug of oil to the chest.

Litheian shut the door to her little room and sat on the great bed again, her time empty now that she had no more reading or writing to do. She should stay out of the library, she knew, and wait here in his chambers even if he were wrong, even if the temple weren't sending for her today after all. She groaned and fell back on the bed with a huff, already bored. She'd grown accustomed to filling her days with scrolls and ink, in between the appointed times the servants brought meals and cleaned and refilled the bathwater.

But the skills she'd honed those long years came back to her, and she emptied her mind of everything but the faintest sounds, the slightest movements. Empty time was just the calm before the storm, the space between things happening. There was no past or future, only the now, and for now she was safe.

Her ears pricked at the great doors downstairs groaning open, which they only did for the prince, or perhaps, now, whoever the temple had sent. Nervously she stood, hearing the patter of several pairs of feet ascending the stairs. The door opened and a woman with graying hair scowled at her. Behind her, two younger women stood timidly, not much older than Litheian herself.

"You look well-kept," the older woman said sourly.

Litheian said nothing, looking meekly at the floor.

"Strip her," the woman commanded, and her assistants came forward.

Litheian clenched her fists, resisting the urge to fight. The two quickly undid her underdress and threw it on the bed.

"Turn her around," the woman ordered. "Let's see what we have here."

The two younger ones complied, each taking an arm and pushing as though she were a millstone to be turned about.

"Well, well, no bruising at all," the woman murmured to herself. "He treats his little pet nicely, he does. Emani!" she called, and a young girl came forward, carrying a large cloth bundle. "Get her dressed," she said, waving toward Litheian's naked body.

She stood as still as a dressmaker's dummy as the bundle was opened to reveal fine undergarments and the dress the sempster had made. The two young women set to work dressing her, and she mutely followed their directions, stepping into long stockings, lifting her arms for the underdress. Lastly she was laced into the gown itself, and the older woman appraised her.

"Emani, the shoes!" she snapped, and the girl brought forth a second, smaller bundle to reveal a pair of slippers.

Litheian stepped into them, feeling her feet constricted after so many years going barefoot. She dared a glance around her, and the older woman stepped forward. Litheian dropped her eyes, not wanting to draw her ire.

"You've behaved yourself well so far," the matron said icily, making her shiver. "Now, you'll keep doing so if you know what's good for you. No trying to escape, unless you want to be bound and gagged." She took Litheian by the chin and clenched hard. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes," she whispered, unable to nod against the woman's grip.

"Good," she replied, releasing her and turning away, aiming for the door. "Let us depart!"

On each side of her, the young women clamped their hands about her wrists, and she was led sideways like this, out one door, then another, down the steps. What men were in the hall stood back silently, and she felt them staring hungrily. The double doors opened wide for this strange procession, and she stepped down into the courtyard.

The afternoon light shone brilliantly, just as it had that day she first met the prince months ago. But she had barely a moment to bask in its warmth before being hustled into a carriage.

Litheian sat back and exhaled, though it was difficult to relax with the two young women holding tight to her arms. She dared not look outside, but the light dimmed as they went through first the inner, then the outer gatehouse, picking up speed as they wound their way down to the city below.

After a long while, they passed through another gatehouse, then slowed to a halt. She was half-dragged out the carriage into the blue evening air. She heard gasps and murmurs all around her, watched as sandaled feet stepped back to make way.

"Emani!" called the older woman, and the girl scurried forward.

They passed one door, then another, and another until she lost count. Finally she was deposited in a small room with high walls and tiny windows. It was barely furnished, but she found a stool to sit on next to the cot and its threadbare covers. The young girl, the one called Emani, came in to serve her supper. It was plain and sparse, but she swallowed it down under the girl's watchful gaze. When she left, Litheian sighed and lay down on the rickety cot. These must be the cells for the ascetics or those being punished, she imagined. There was no pillow to speak of, so she turned her head and slept on her arms, thankful for the voluminous cloth of her gown to keep her warm against the chill.

Morning came too soon, along with another bare meal, and she was again lugged through a series of doorways. A giant tub came into view, and she was carefully undressed and bathed, her hair massaged with scented oils and braided down her back. After she was dried, a simple robe was presented to her, which she donned compliantly. Once more she was ushered about the temple complex until they came to an echo-filled room, and she was forced onto her knees.

She braved a glance about her, taking in the smooth stone walls and the polished floor. Before her rose a giant, empty-eyed statue of the goddess Hamin, her outstretched arm holding a staff of sweet-smelling wood that rested on the floor only paces away. Below this sat the matron from the day before. She took a handful of herbs from the basket at her side and cast them into the sacred flame before her.

"Though it may be useless, as you are already ruined," drawled the woman, "you are to stay here and pray until evening."

Litheian blinked, trying to remember. How did one pray to Hamin, She Who Conceived All Beings? It had been so long since she last set foot in a temple, and she had never heeded her lessons, though her stepmother was devout. Was there even a point in trying? Surely her presence alone was an offense.

"Beg forgiveness for your sins," instructed the older woman, "and praise Her boundless mercy." Her voice turned smooth as she circled Litheian, who clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. "Meditate on the Conception of Beings, and the endless love She holds for all that She birthed from Her own womb.... And if that is too difficult," she muttered, "then sit still, and by She Who Loves All, do not fall asleep."

Litheian ignored these last words, already at prayer, and the older woman's footsteps faded away.

Forgive me for not attending to my lessons, she began, and for all the years I never once turned my mind to You, for I thought myself forsaken. Forgive me for trying to end my life, which You so graciously gave me. Forgive me for being here now, and for what I must do tonight in Your name, when my body has been sullied by so many men. She paused, for she had nothing further to confess. Thank You, she continued instead, for sending me to my husband. Thank You for watching over my health, and for keeping my womb from conceiving. Please, O Mother of All, do not give me another child tonight. Stay Your hand just once more, I beg of You.

Reaching the end of her prayer, she peeked to the left and right of her, not moving her head for fear of being watched. The great hall remained silent and empty. Was this the inner sanctum of the temple, or had they cleared it for her use alone? It didn't really matter either way, she supposed, and there was no way for her to make use of the information anyhow. The temple was a maze of buildings, and all she could recall was that it should be divided neatly in two, with one half for Hamin and the other for Her consort Yealar, the sky god who had impregnated Her.

Somewhere, she thought, on the other side of the temple, might her husband be praying before a sacred flame as well? What was he asking of the god? To perform well? She felt her cheeks turn warm in the cool air, and unbidden the memories of their night together filled her mind. Trying to brush them aside and replace them with chaste thoughts, she returned to her prayer. Forgive me for not attending to my lessons....

There was no sense of time in the dim hall, but her stomach tightened with hunger. She had relieved herself after breakfast but now felt the urge to do so again. She held it in, returning to her prayer again and again, until she could no longer bear it. Before she tried to stand, her legs long since grown numb beneath her, she heard footsteps approach.

"At least you haven't keeled over," muttered the matron. Strong arms on both sides of her lifted her up, and she nearly yelped as her legs buzzed with feeling again.

Supported by the young women, she hobbled through yet more doors, until she reached the tall, sparse room again. Spying the chamber pot, she sighed with relief, not caring that she was watched. Afterwards, a bowl was shoved at her, and she ate as quickly as the little wooden spoon would allow, drinking greedily the cup of water offered to her, which she held out for more. Her food eaten, she slowed her pace and looked around her.

The taller of the young women, who was standing before her, rolled her eyes. She took the empty bowl and cup, curling her lip, and left quickly. The shorter of the two spared her a pitying look before leaving with the pitcher of water.

Litheian sat back, her eyes wandering to the tiny windows at the top of the wall. She could see a sliver of dusk-colored sky, and her stomach tensed. Evening was here, and soon she would be led out before a large crowd waiting to watch the prince take her. She shuddered. As much as she had enjoyed their night together, it was a private moment for just the two of them. But this....

She hadn't the time to complete her thought, for the two young women entered once more to escort her to yet another room. It was well-lit and gleaming from all the polished metal furnishings. This was a sacred place, she felt, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was directed to a glinting low tub, her robe removed and her legs spread open. Two new women came forward bearing silvery jugs, from which they poured a murky liquid into the tub. Litheian gasped as the cool water lapped at her tender asshole.

One of the attendants snorted and muttered, "So he does use her after all." Her compatriot hissed at her, bringing a finger to her lips.

Litheian supposed they had been instructed not to speak, and shut her eyes, feeling the water rising with each pour. Soon it entered her through her open slit, and she felt the coldness seeping further inside her. Once the cloudy water reached her belly, the attendants shifted to pouring handfuls of it over the rest of her body.

She longed to know what was in it, where it was from -- a sacred spring? A well? And what had been added to it, that made it feel so smooth? But she kept silent, standing as she was pulled up and onto the floor, patted down with silky cloths.

The matron came into view again, carrying a small bottle. "Spread your legs, girl," she ordered, but Litheian hesitated. "This is sacred oil," the woman huffed. "You must be anointed with it before the ritual."

Reluctantly she widened her stance, wincing as the woman blotted the cold oil on her inner thighs, her nipples, and both sides of her neck.

"These are the three sacred places of a woman's body," the matron explained, whether to herself or the other women, Litheian wasn't sure. "They are where Yealar touched Hamin before gifting Her with His seed. This is where he will touch you before doing so as well."

Done with her ministrations, she sniffed and corked the bottle. Litheian put her feet together again, feeling suddenly vulnerable in front of this woman whose identity she did not know. She was surely a priestess, a high-ranking one most likely. Was she one of the Eleven, the high priests and priestesses that ruled the temples of Celandron?

"Now," she said sharply, pitching Litheian back to reality. "You will exit this room to a corridor leading outside. There you will disrobe and lie down upon the altar. When he approaches you, he will say 'The sky is swollen with clouds,' and you will respond, 'And the earth has need of rain.' Do you understand?"

Litheian nodded. They were the same lines the gods had uttered to each other before coupling.

"Good," the woman replied brusquely.

She felt the robe at her back and held out her arms for it to be wrapped around her once more. The belt was tied in a half-bow and the attendants all stepped back, waiting for her to walk through the door.

Heart beating fast, she pushed against it gently and it gave way easily. She could hear them following her, hear the murmuring of the crowd ahead. Fingers of fiery light flickered down the long corridor, reaching for her bare feet, her legs, her stomach, her chest, her face.

She was standing at the end of the open hallway, facing the great marble altar and beyond that the seething, murmurating crowd. Four tall braziers stood at each corner of the altar, so the people beyond were shrouded in darkness, but she could hear them. They were watching, waiting to see her be fucked. She held back, not wanting to do this, not wanting to be watched.

She felt a push at her back, a tug at her belt, which undid easily. They were pulling off her robe, forcing her forward one step at a time into the pool of light.

The crowd saw her and roared, snippets of their cries reaching her ears. "O beautiful goddess --" "-- help me bear fruit --" "-- my fields!"

Numbly she stepped forward, reaching the altar and climbing atop the great slab that had been covered in a thick fur. She lay there, heart buzzing in her ears, and reminded her body to breathe. In and out. In and out.

The crowd roared again, cheering and calling out Yealar's name. Her husband must have arrived. Pushing down her fear, she watched him come into view above her.

"The sky is swollen with clouds!" he called loudly, and the crowd rumbled.

She swallowed before she could speak. "And the earth has need of rain." She hoped it was loud enough -- it felt thunderous in her ears, or perhaps that was the crush of people below.

He mounted the altar in a single agile sweep, straddling her as the crowd screamed ever louder. Leaning over her, he kissed her neck, her breasts, and reached for her legs. She unclenched her muscles, trying to soften her body. He spread her open and kissed the inside of her thighs as the people below cheered wildly.

She felt his lips at her ear, felt the vibrations of him murmuring to her, but she couldn't make out what he said. Was he asking to enter her again? Unable to speak, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her knees, opening the most precious part of her body to him.

The crowd roared at this, and she watched him move his hand to guide his member into her. Shutting her eyes, she bade herself breathe, relax, and --

She cried out as he shoved his cock between her thighs, and the crowd cheered. She whimpered, biting her lip as he pulled back and thrust deeper inside her. Despite the slickness of his organ, he felt rough against her inner walls. She must not be wet, she realized, and whimpered again with yet another hard push.

He must have realized too, for he was going more slowly now, rotating his hips to widen her before pushing deeper. But the crowd was growing impatient, grumbling at his pace. A flare of worry sprouted in her chest. Would he not be able to finish?

Instinctively she tightened her legs around his back, drawing him closer. Casting about for words to say, she remembered what Igandrion used to call her derisively as he mounted her.

She nuzzled her husband's ear and spoke as loudly as she dared. "Fuck my little cunt deep and hard, and fill me with your cum."

He had to have heard, for he rumbled against her, thrusting hard and fast. She yelped as she felt herself being torn apart, so large he was inside her tight folds. This roused the crowd once more, and she continued to whimper with every thrust.

He was deep inside her now, his ball sacks slapping lewdly against her ass with every fresh impalement. She could feel him grunting with each stroke, going faster and harder and impossibly deeper, until he reached a steady rhythm that she recognized.

He would be finished soon. She focused on this, gasping for breath as he speared her easily with his cock now. Was it his wetness or hers that eased his way? It didn't matter, only that he would reach his peak soon.

Suddenly she felt him shudder against her, and the crowd roared ever louder. He thrust in time to his cum spurting deep inside her, toward her womb. Over and over he jerked and moaned, and she prayed to Hamin that his seed would not find purchase.

When he was done he pulled away from her, staggering off the altar as the people below cheered and praised the gods. Weakly he walked away, toward a second open corridor, and she watched him disappear from view.

Was she meant to follow, and walk back too? She looked over to see the matron standing there, robe in hand. Shakily she sat up, slipping off the altar and walking weak-legged to the older woman.

She was pulled back into the hallway, the robe bound around her, and she was led to the sacred room once more, bathed again, dried again, dressed again. Blankly she followed where she was led, until she found herself again in that tiny room with the spare cot, which she collapsed upon. Her whole body hurt, and she could still feel his seed dripping out of her.

Please, she prayed once more, do not bless me with a child.

***

Bethaer tried to stay patient as the priests performed his ablutions once more, leading him to the large room and sumptuous bed he had slept in the night prior.

Please, he prayed to Yealar, to Hamin, to whichever being would listen. Please, wither my seed. Let it not take root in her.

Exhausted, he fell asleep. Too soon the daylight through the windows reached his face, and he forced his eyes open.

The young boy who had attended him the day before was kneeling by the door and leapt up at the sight of Bethaer sitting up. Soon a gaggle of temple maidens was attending him, dressing him, delivering large platters of sweet and savory fare for his table. Was his wife receiving the same hospitality? He doubted it.

Staring at the cool wine in his cup, which had been filled twice already by the young cupbearer, her words to him the night before sprang to his mind and made him instantly hard. He put down his goblet and called for water. He tried and failed to brush the memory from his mind, just like sweeping a room clean, as he had learned in his devotions. But it returned persistently, and he groaned.

The attendants around him froze, and a hush came over the room. Could they see his erection, feel the heat emanating from his skin?

"Get out!" he ordered, and they skittered away, not needing to be told twice.

Once the door was shut, he sat back and undid his trousers and undergarments. His cock sprang free, hard and pulsing with need. He stifled another groan as her words echoed in his ears.

Fuck my little cunt and fill me with your cum.

Grabbing the small pitcher of oil from the table, he poured a stream of it into his hand. He encased his member in his slippery palm, squeezing tight, and tighter.

It wasn't nearly as good as being inside her cunt, opening the lips of her slit and sliding deep between her thighs. She'd been so small and tight, not at all as he'd imagined. He'd thought years of being used would make her open wide, but he'd barely been able to fit himself into the small ring of her opening. He knew it must have hurt her, for she'd cried out as he'd crammed his girth into her. He'd tried to slow his pace, be more gentle with her, but she'd held him close and whispered those damned sweet words into his ear.

Fuck my little cunt and fill me with your cum.

And he had. He'd impaled her again and again, until he was balls-deep in her tight, wet hole. He'd rutted like a bull over her slender body, which she had opened just for him. She had taken all of him inside her and held him close as she did, moaning in time as he speared her over and again with his cock.

Fuck my little cunt and fill me with your cum.

Where had she learned such words? They sang to him, breathy and keening as her wails for more when he had pounded into her asshole not three days ago. She'd been greedy for his seed then, and this time too, as though begging to be bred like a bitch in heat.

Yes, that was it. The thought of putting a child in her stiffened him even more as he stroked himself. He could feel an orgasm lapping at the edge of his vision, threatening to overcome him. Quickly he tore a napkin from the table and covered his quivering member.

The feeling roared silently through his body, and his eyes rolled hard. He shook as long ropes of cum squirted into the cloth, which was already soaked. He grabbed another, pumping his shaft into the wet napkins. The bliss lasted longer than he'd ever managed on his own before, but soon it was over, and he sat back, spent.

He grabbed another napkin and cleaned his hands of oil and cum, wiping at his deflated organ and the dark hair around it. When he was sufficiently clean, he tied his undergarments again and buckled his trousers. Standing, he stalked over to the delicately decorated chamber pot and dispensed the soiled cloths into it.

Bethaer returned to the table, still breathing hard. He picked at his food, then remembered the crowd of attendants he had dismissed and called for water once more. The young boy shyly crept back in and poured him a new cup. He downed the sweet, clear liquid as though it were ambrosia, holding out his empty goblet for more.

His thirst quenched, he sat back again and sighed, and his appetite returned. He ignored the nervous, furtive looks the cupbearer gave him, proffering his cup again for yet more water. He'd heard tales of young boys being used by older temple acolytes and priests the same way he had taken his wife on their wedding night. Was that why the boy trembled so, being alone with him? He ground his teeth, for he had no sympathy for those who lusted after children.

But that was the way of desire: the more taboo, the more it beckoned. Was that why the thought of impregnating his bride had pushed him over the edge? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. What aroused him secretly was different than what he truly wished and hoped and prayed for.

He shut his eyes, beseeching the gods once more. I beg of You, Hamin, Yealar, do not let my wife bear my child.

Done with breakfast, he called for a girl to wash his hands, and the young boy visibly relaxed. The table was cleared and a washbasin brought out, first his hands and then his feet were cleaned and dried. He waved away the girl who tried to tie his heavy boots in place, doing so himself and standing, eager to return home.

He nodded absently as the priests saw him out, bowing and scraping. He stared blankly out the window as his carriage passed the grand houses and storefronts of the major thoroughfares. People whirled by in bright colors, still festive from the day before.

He snapped to attention once they entered the inner yard of the palace, muscles tightening in anticipation of dealing with his father. But the meeting went well, Olandrion jovial and still in his cups. He slurred about how Bethaer had shown their people what a virile young warrior he was, taking the Berelthian bitch for all to see. He continued nodding, smiling, saying a word or two where appropriate, knowing his father would remember little. At last he was waved away, and he made for his hall.

As he entered, the room erupted in cheers and shouts, and he smiled and shook his head, embarrassed. His men were clapping him on the back, congratulating him for such a great performance.

"You really did tame her!" remarked one of his heir-guard, shaking his head in awe.

"We all saw her spread her legs for you," added another, with a hint of jealously.

"She even clutched him close!" said a third, and the others nodded, proud of their prince's prowess.

Bethaer raised his arms to quiet the small crowd. "I do hope you enjoyed last night's display," he said, adding amusement to his voice. "I know a taste is not the same as a banquet, but it will have to suffice."

The men about him groaned and laughed, and he swaggered on upstairs, grinning at the guards to his chambers. Walking through the door, he resisted dropping his guard, waiting until he reached his bedchamber to sag and sigh.

He was weary from a full day and night of performing, and the morning's brief interlude of pleasure hit him now. Tired to his bones, he tugged off his boots and sank onto his bed. He closed his eyes, telling himself he would rest for only a moment before checking on his bride, who was surely hiding in her room. Just a few minutes of peace....

Bethaer awoke with a start, the sunlight sparkling in his eyes as he opened them. It must be afternoon now, from the slant of the light. He had slept through the midday meal, which sat untouched on the table.

He frowned, sitting up. Was she feeling alright? Had he hurt her that badly? He sucked in a breath, fighting off his guilt and shame. He'd only done what they agreed to, and she'd led him along with her filthy words. Did she regret it now, saying them? Or perhaps it was their marriage, this whole scheme they had devised so he didn't have to take her by force.

He winced, feeling a sense of dread in his blood. It had all been because of his own selfish desire to tell himself he was different from his brother, different than his father. He'd chosen his pride, not wanting to fight her, and in acceding to his plea she'd bound herself to him, even if it was in secret.

The image of their marriage contract burned in his mind, his mother's ring he'd given her. What if someone found them? He'd be punished but come out unscathed. But as for her.... A pit opened up in his stomach, and abruptly he stood, temples pounding, and made for her room.

"Im-uvnya," he said softly, rapping lightly on the door. "Are you well?"

There was no response.

He felt as though his stomach had turned to lead, his hands growing clammy as they knocked at the door more loudly. Was she even here? Panic set his heart in flight, beating painfully in his chest. He resisted the urge to open her door, not wanting to invade the only space that was hers alone.

"Im-uvnya," he called as loudly as he dared.

Hearing a creak, he froze. Was there someone else in her room? Had he caught them spying on her, on them? Would he need to kill this person now? Uselessly he reached to his side, for his weapons had been left behind when he'd set off to the temple.

"What is it?" came a mumble, and his heartbeat slowed.

"Are you well?" he asked through the door.

There was a long silence before she answered, "Yes, im-uvnyan."

He sighed with relief, sagging against the door. "I thought you were -- never mind," he muttered, not wanting to bother her with his wild fears. "May I see you?" he asked, wanting to look at her from head to toe, to see with his own eyes that she was safe and well.

This time the silence was longer. "Must you?" she asked, voice tight.

His heart fell. Had he truly hurt her the night before? Or worse, had he reminded her of his brother? His hands were still shaky from his earlier fears, which now gelled into cold horror.

Was that where she'd heard those words, the ones that had made him come so long and hard, not once but twice? Had Igandrion snarled them to her as he pinned her down? He could almost hear his brother's wickedly amused voice telling the princess exactly how he was going to abuse her. I'm going to fuck your tight little cunt until I fill you with my cum.

Bile rose in his throat. What he'd feared would pass on their wedding night had surely happened: he'd hurt her, body and soul both.

He still hadn't answered her, and he swallowed down his self-disgust, wrenching out a reply. "No -- no, im-uvnya. It is enough to hear your voice," he lied, wishing desperately to hold her in his arms and hating himself for it.

Who was he to comfort her, to worry for her, when he himself was to blame? His own body had hurt her the same way his brother's had, using her for his pleasure and leaving her broken.

Legs still shaky, he walked out the door to the parlor. He sat on the dusty, unused furniture and sank his head into his hands.

***

Litheian unwound her tender body from where she'd curled up and cried on her bed. Wincing as she moved, she forced herself to stand. Breathing shakily, she pulled on an overdress. She wanted to hide her body from him, though she was already covered in all the places that hurt. She took a few tentative steps about her tiny room, making sure she could walk without limping. Smoothing her face against the pain, she opened the door to the empty bedchamber.

Her midday meal sat cold on the table, and she went to sit down, though her stomach protested. She remembered, from those first days with Igandrion, that if she didn't nourish her body she would become weak. Not enough to die, just to languish until the pain of not eating became too much to bear.

She made herself open her mouth, close around the food, chew it, and swallow. She winced as the dry bread went down hard and poured herself some water. Then she repeated the process slowly, alternating between eating and drinking. It felt as if she would be sat there forever, consuming an endless, painful meal. But at length she reached out the spoon and found the bowl empty, the plate cleared.

She had fed herself today. That was enough.

Litheian rose just as the sound of the maidservants reached her ears. Too hurt to move quickly, she settled for a steady walk, bowing her head so her hair cascaded over her face. She didn't want the servants to see her tearstained visage, for her husband had clearly heard them speaking about her earlier.

She didn't want him to hear how broken he had made her. She didn't want him to blame himself.

She shuffled to the door, opening it just as the maids entered. She slowed her step and walked inside as though it didn't hurt to move, and shut the door slowly as though she had nothing to hide.

Litheian could hear them going about their work, chattering away as always, giggling now and then. Her part in the ritual was surely on everyone's lips by now. How she had meekly submitted to the prince, spreading her legs for him, holding him close. Had any of her people been among the audience? She shuddered to think what they would have felt watching her be taken so roughly. They would think her husband a monster.

She shook her head to remove the thoughts from her mind. Tonight she would sleep and tomorrow she would rise and feed herself again. The pain would recede in time, just as it had before. And she would compose herself before her husband to keep him from worrying about her.

But it was not to be. The moon waned and the moon waxed, and while her body healed it still did not bleed. She felt the tightness in her breasts, the fulness in her belly after eating. It was just as before.

She tried to speak to him, to tell him as he was working at his table in the library, studiously ignoring her. But every time she opened her mouth no sound passed her lips, and she retreated with him none the wiser.

The war was growing dire. She could tell from the meager portions she was rationed out, the reports and maps he left open as though inviting her to read them. He was away more often, his face grim when he wasn't, and the secret in her belly began to grow too big to speak.

One day, two months after she should have bled, he knocked on her door softly, not wanting to frighten her, she knew.

"Im-uvnya?" he called.

"Im-uvnyan," she answered, standing. Was this her chance?

"I am leaving for the battlefront," he said, and her heart sank into her belly where her secret grew.

She leaned against the door, covering her mouth to stop the noises that were trying to escape.

"I have stationed my most loyal men at the doors, to keep any but the maidservants out," he continued, and she smiled despite the doubt hiding beneath his voice. Even now, he was still trying to protect her.

"Im-uvnya?" he asked again, and she wiped at her tears, realizing he awaited her reply.

"Be well," she managed, placing her palm on the door, praying to Yealar to keep him safe. Let his father fall first.

"You also," he responded softly. Slowly she heard him walk away, heavy booted feet treading their familiar path down, out, and away from her.

Litheian waited until the great doors shut below to uncover her mouth, releasing a sob that felt as though it had been building for weeks. She stifled her wails, keening softly as she could.

Had she done the right thing? Keeping this from him, keeping him from adding to the burdens he must carry? Her stomach heaved as it was wont to these days, and she crawled to the chamber pot, hacking her precious breakfast out of her throat. The bile mixed with her tears and snot, and she pressed her face into yet another clean cloth, wiping her face.

Which of them would die first, she wondered. Who would be widowed, and who would be left behind?