Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One)

Home > Other > Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One) > Page 10
Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One) Page 10

by Alexander, Lacey


  But she felt so overwrought that not even a good case of nerves could be found inside her as she walked down the hall and outdoors, heading for the altar behind Dane’s flower garden. Instead, all she could feel was a strange, persistent sort of lust. Indeed, her body teemed with more blatant desire and hunger than she’d ever known or even imagined possible.

  It all seemed too unreal to be true, and the most unsettling part was knowing that by all rights the excitement had just begun. Before the sun came up tomorrow morning, she would marry a man she desired but despised, she would endure the wedding feast, she would play the sacred Maran tiles and finally learn what secrets they held, and she would lose her virginity, would know—for good or ill—what it felt like to have Dane’s enormous shaft inside her body.

  * * * * *

  Dane stood waiting at the altar in finery made just for his wedding day. Pants of fitted black leather hugged his still-rampant erection tight. Above, he’d donned a thin tunic of white silk with long sleeves and an open collar.

  “You don’t think the bride has changed her mind?” the priest asked with a smile when the sun behind them began to descend, slowly turning the sky a vibrant pink.

  Dane looked up at the middle-aged man of religion from beneath shaded lids. “The bride doesn’t have a choice.”

  “Ah,” the priest said, clearly trying to hide his dislike for this sort of arranged marriage.

  Dane couldn’t have cared less what the man thought—it was Dane’s estate, and the farms thereon fed the nearby villages, keeping them in work and giving the priest of Ares a population to serve. Not to mention that he was paying the priest handsomely for this service.

  “Don’t forget to recite the correct ceremony,” Dane reminded him. There were two—those for marriages of choice and those for the marriages of the royal and wealthy, where one party might object but was not to be given any other alternative.

  “Don’t worry,” the man replied in a slightly scolding tone, “I know which words I am to say.”

  When Dane caught sight of Maven approaching through the garden, he felt his cock grow tighter, even longer. Dear Ares, there was a part of him that couldn’t fathom the thing getting any harder or longer.

  Yet wasn’t this what he’d wanted? To be so big for her, so lust-filled, that it would leave no doubt in her mind that she belonged to him in every way?

  He smiled to himself as she moved toward the altar in the golden dress, which draped her high breasts and revealed the length of her legs with each step. He couldn’t help remembering that once upon a time, while journeying to get her, he’d thought the prolonged excitement would also help him on his wedding night, should he find her…less than arousing. That, however, was not a problem. She was a lovely creature, lovelier this moment than he’d ever seen her before. He only wished he could yank the bindings from her hair, spread her locks out with his hands. But that would come soon enough. His lust for her was so intense he could almost taste it on his tongue.

  That thought reminded him of her tongue—and of her kiss on his cock. As she stepped up to the altar to face him, he looked deep into her eyes, wondering if she’d gotten the kissing lessons he’d planned for her, wondering if her cunt had tingled and her heart had raced, wondering if all his schemes of arousal for her over the past couple of days had indeed left her burning for him as he now burned for her. Like him or not, that didn’t matter—so long as she burned for him.

  A long evening lay ahead—first this, the private marriage ceremony, and then the rituals to follow. He was more than ready to begin, and nodded at the priest to start.

  “Dane of Rawley,” the priest said in a grand-sounding voice, “do you willfully wed this young woman, Maven of Myrtell, daughter of Enrick, the ruler of Caralon? Do you vow to provide for her needs, to protect her from harm, and to fulfill her physical desires for all the days of your life?”

  “Yes,” Dane answered, clear and resounding.

  “Maven of Myrtell, daughter of Enrick, the Ruler of Caralon, you have been chosen to wed Dane of Rawley, to be his wife, give him heirs, and do his bidding all the days of your life. By this ceremony, you are bound to him, now and forever.”

  Her face stayed as stony as ever, but to Dane, it didn’t mar her beauty—he’d grown used to her scowl, and it only reminded him that very soon he would be wiping the distaste from her face and replacing it with ecstasy.

  The priest turned back to Dane. “Do you have a gift for your bride?”

  In reply, he reached into a pouch at his hip and drew out a specially commissioned choker of black leather, inlaid with rare sparkling gems. Maven gasped when she saw it, and even the priest pulled in his breath.

  “An exquisite piece,” the man murmured as Dane moved to stand behind her, tying it snug around her neck.

  When he faced her again, the priest addressed her once more. “Do you have a gift for your husband?”

  “No,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

  Even so, Dane only cast her a wicked, knowing grin. He hoped she could read his mind—I shall get my gift from you tonight, between your thighs.

  “Very well,” the priest said, sounding a bit flustered by the lack of a gift. “Then, I suppose that’s everything. You are now wed,” he said, falling back to the traditional ceremony. Then he shifted his gaze to Dane for the final, union-sealing words. “She is now yours.”

  Chapter Nine

  As soon as the short ceremony ended, Dane took her hand and led her back toward the fortress. She knew there was yet a wedding feast to endure before the Maran game and the wedding night fucking, yet she still felt like a lamb being led to slaughter. The choker he’d given her was the finest piece she’d ever seen—even given her father’s wealth and the luxuries she’d always known—yet he’d tied it too tight and it felt more to her like a collar than a gift, like a yoke one might use to harness a beast of burden.

  As for Dane himself—he looked utterly breathtaking in his wedding clothes, every bit the confident man of power he was. As had been the case all day, she felt torn between loathing and desire for him, but desire was winning. In fact, despite all her underlying fears, desire seemed to be consuming her. Beneath her dress, her cunt felt somehow inflated, engorged, the largest part of her.

  Dane pulled her through a different door than the one she’d exited—it opened directly into a great hall like the one at home, and it was filled with people. “Make way for the master and his bride!” a deep voice yelled from somewhere to her right, and as a path parted for them, she was stunned to notice that everyone besides herself and Dane wore little clothing. The men had donned their usual leather pants, but their torsos were bare, most sporting only strips of leather that crossed over one another or which created ladder-like patterns across their chests. The women, too, wore the normal leather and fur garb, but the skirting was hemmed sinfully short, and round, curved breasts were nearly bared, either by low-cut, fitted vests or scraps of leather tied over the chest. She couldn’t believe the amount of skin revealed in the enormous room.

  Dane led her to the center point of a long table that twisted and wound around the hall, the whole length of it heaped with countless roasted birds, sides of beef and lamb, corn and potatoes, sweet cooked apples and peaches, bowls of fruit—including the expensive bananas she knew must be delivered from the south, and every manner of pie and sweetened bread for dessert.

  The whole meal went past in a blur as man after man toasted Dane’s health and prosperity, wishing him a long life with many children, and one fellow added, “To a prosperous night with his virgin bride as well!” evoking laughter from the crowd. Maids moved about, constantly refilling drained wine goblets and taking away empty wooden platters to replace them with full ones. Maven drank and ate much—all that was set before her—as a means of distraction from all the attention being heaped on her. She’d have had to been blind not to see the men leering and the women flashing blatant looks of jealousy, and keeping her hands occupied with foo
d and cup helped her not to notice so much.

  As the crowd grew drunk on the plum-colored wine, even more ribald toasts began to fill the air.

  “To Dane’s mighty cock—may it fill the virgin well tonight!”

  A bold woman responded with, “And to the virgin’s cunt—may it open wide for him!” Again, merry laughter filtered through the room.

  “May Dane and his bride wear out the mattress on his bed this night!”

  “May her breasts be ripe and her pussy moist for him!” someone else called.

  She couldn’t help thinking of just how moist her pussy indeed was—and growing more so with each passing moment. Never had she dreamed she’d feel so sensual, so hungry, on her wedding night to Dane the Dreadful, yet her physical response to everything around her seemed beyond her control. The wine, too, seemed to lull her—much like her bath had earlier—into a place where there was space for little else but desire and pleasure.

  Oh certainly, bits of momentary shock or revulsion still set in at unexpected moments—but those emotions were always short-lived compared to the lust that seemed to be replacing the blood in her veins.

  When finally the platters were all emptied and the food no longer came, the man who she’d watched fucking outside her window stood up near Dane, and the gay conversations and laughter around them quieted, indicating that he was a respected man, just as Maven had thought.

  “As you all know, it is tradition for a man’s best friend to plan a bit of entertainment for him at his wedding feast. When Dane announced to me his plans to marry the lovely Maven of Myrtell, I began to ponder on exactly what sort of event I would provide for us here tonight. I asked myself, ‘What would the mighty Dane enjoy most?’” Kells gave a dramatic pause. “Perhaps a skit performed by a troupe of traveling actors?”

  “No,” the crowd echoed in unison, booing the suggestion.

  Kells lifted one finger to his bottom lip, as if still considering. “Perhaps a musician of some sort, who might serenade Dane and his bride with a romantic ballad of love?”

  The crowd hissed and booed its rejection again, the sound echoing down from the ceiling.

  “Or perhaps a performer of impossible tricks, someone who might read minds or make objects disappear before our very eyes?”

  Another barrage of protest muddled the air.

  Finally Kells smiled. “Then it occurred to me that there are two things Dane holds dear in life—battle and women.”

  At this, raucous cries and whistles of approval saturated the great hall.

  “And one of these things he will be giving up with the advent of marriage, yes?”

  Maven heard a mixed reaction this time—some yelling approval and others objecting.

  “So for Dane of Rawley on his wedding night, I have chosen to bring to him…a special dance.”

  The crowd fell mostly silent then, not quite knowing what to expect given Kells’ sudden shortness of explanation.

  At that moment, a wild drumbeat filled the room and seven dark-haired women exited the crowd from all directions to form a circle before Dane and Maven, all wearing scant silk tops that barely covered their breasts, and skirts much like Maven’s own dress—long, with high slits climbing each side. The crowd cheered and clapped when the women began to sway in rhythm to the drums.

  Maven watched as the women’s easy movements dissolved into a sensual dance in which they arched their backs, dropped dramatically to their knees, and began to touch themselves as if lost in excitement, their hands roaming their breasts, stomachs and thighs as they moved, appearing lost in the pulsing music. Each woman wore a different color—Maven took in blue, yellow, orange, red—all vibrant hues that drew every eye to the dancers’ impassioned motions.

  When the woman in blue pushed upward to her feet in the center of the other dancers, two of them crawled sensually toward her, soon hugging her legs, reaching up to caress her inner thighs. The front of her thin, silken skirt dropped between her legs and Maven could make out the imprint of her mound beneath.

  She wanted to look away, wanted to at least take in Dane’s reaction to the provocative dance Kells had arranged, but she felt as lost in lust as the dancers appeared, unable to tear her eyes from their seductive moves.

  The four remaining women rose as well, and in pairs of two began an intimate dance in which they smoothly arched their bodies together in time with the drumbeat, meeting from cunt to breast in a slow rolling motion that added to Maven’s arousal.

  People in the crowd began to whistle and cheer. The wetness between Maven’s thighs increased with each moment and she wondered if the back of her dress would be stained when she stood up. She yearned desperately to touch herself, and the wine had her so out of sorts that she actually considered it, wondering what Dane would do if he looked over to find her stroking herself beneath her dress. Worse, she also found herself wanting to reach under the table and begin stroking him—stroking that stupendous cock she knew rested between his thighs. Even as she hated herself for kissing him there earlier, she hungered to know that part of him better.

  As the dance continued, the women broke apart from their various partners to re-form a circle and began to spin and dip and sway in untamed movements that showed off their legs and breasts to best advantage. Then each reached out to the female to her right and, still swaying sensually, pulled a string that caused their small silk tops to fall away! The crowd responded with loud clapping and cheering as each girl’s beautiful round breasts were put on display.

  Maven could scarcely believe this was a marriage feast—yet she was enjoying it despite herself. Just like today in the bath, she was discovering the beauty of other women in a way she’d never imagined.

  The women caressed their bare breasts as they danced on, still in a revolving circle so that the spectators got the opportunity to enjoy each female as she moved past.

  As the drumbeats increased in furor, the dance grew wilder, almost reckless, the women throwing back their heads, jerking from side to side, breasts jiggling, glimpses of pussies being revealed by their crazed movements. They all began to twirl in circles—fast, wild circles that Maven could barely see. The women moved so rapidly that they each became spinning blurs of flesh and fabric. The crowd now clapped in time to the beat, which seemed to gather strength along with the women’s motions, every eye in the room held captive, until finally the dancers collapsed onto the floor in dramatic poses at the last beat of the drum.

  Raucous cries sounded from the crowd and even Maven applauded with great fervor, amazed by the dance and spurred on by the enhanced sense of arousal she felt after watching it. Although the drums had ceased, her cunt still pulsed against her chair.

  As the dancers began to depart, Dane got to his feet and lifted his goblet high. “A hearty toast to Kells for such titillating entertainment on my wedding!” Goblets around the room were eagerly raised and a small cheer rang out for Kells, but quieted when Dane continued. “I cannot think of a more enjoyable end to this great feast, nor a more fitting beginning for the Rituals of Passion!”

  Rituals of Passion? As more wild voices called out their agreement, Maven was left stumped over the words her new husband had just uttered. Even amid her arousal, panic shot through her.

  He sat back down and leaned over to her, casting another of the wicked grins she had come to expect from him. “Now, my little virgin bride, it is time for you to go.”

  She blinked. “Go? Where?”

  He laughed, then spoke softly. “Fear not, Maven. You will be brought back to me very soon, once you’ve been made ready for the rituals.”

  “But what rituals are these? I’m not familiar with the term you just used.” Her heart threatened to beat through her chest.

  “You’re such a difficult girl,” he said on a laugh. “But don’t worry—you shall understand very soon. All the mysteries will be made clear.”

  She looked up to see Kaelen, Anya and Tally all at her side, dressed in the same short white frocks a
s earlier, only dry now. “Come,” Kaelen said, her green eyes seeming to reach out to Maven. “You are to go with us.”

  Maven was entirely confused. Perhaps it was the wine. But no, even if she’d not drunk a drop, she’d still have no idea what was taking place or what would happen next.

  When Kaelen took her hand and pulled her gently to her feet, she had little choice but to go. Kaelen led her from the great hall, Anya and Tally following behind. Like when she and Dane had entered, the crowd of scantily clad people parted and watched her pass.

  As soon as they reached the hallway, she turned to Kaelen. “Dane said it was time to begin the Rituals of Passion. What are these rituals? No one told me of anything called by that name.”

  Behind her, Anya and Tally giggled, but Kaelen only offered a soft smile as they walked on. “It’s part of what they keep secret from the royal girls. But don’t be afraid. It’s simply the part of the evening when you play the Maran tiles.”

  Upon entering Maven’s room, the girls immediately began to undress her—Anya worked to unwind the gold fabric that circled her torso, then Kaelen and Tally together lifted the gold wedding dress over Maven’s head to leave her naked before them once more—except, she remembered, for the gem-studded leather choker around her neck. At moments she’d forgotten it was there—at other times, however, she was keenly aware of the way it made her feel slightly bound.

  Before Maven knew what was happening, Anya had produced a shocking array of apparel, laying it out on the bed. A swath of black leather, a miniscule black leather skirt, and a tall pair of leather boots such as were worn in winter. Only it wasn’t winter, and at a glance, these did not appear to be fur-lined.

  “Come,” Kaelen said, motioning Maven toward the bed. Together, Kaelen and Tally pulled the wide swath of leather tight around her torso until she could feel Anya lacing it from behind. The garment possessed two pouches of leather that lifted to cup her breasts, but … “My nipples are barely covered,” she told them.

 

‹ Prev