by Sally Laces
“Until you found your strength to wed.”
“Until never, Toras. You postpone, you delay, you cite duty to Kingdom and charity and country until the union is forgotten. You send polite letters and vague statements of intent and never visit your fiancee’s country again. You hope for the best between your two nations and pass the issue onto future generations.”
What a feckless, bland, milquetoast solution. How perfectly royal.
“Yet you didn’t postpone,” I observe. “You chose to marry.”
“Yes. As did you grandmother. Do you know why?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Because neither of you were cowards?”
“Because these are royal marriages, Toras. They are for family, not for love.”
“Did my mother know that?”
At that, Annabelle has no response. Her grip slackens on my palm.
“She knew,” my step-mother says quietly.
“Then why.”
“She thought she could change him.”
I put my free hand against my temples, rubbing the ache as I shut my eyes.
“People do change,” I reply. “Not at their core. But for each other.”
“If you believe that…”
“I do.” I stand up, my back toward the altar. I’ll face my union with no one but my bride to be. With Anya, I stand facing the unguarded double doors to the castle. She stands to meet me warily.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Annabelle. Not any more.”
For the first time since we met, a real smile rises to her face. With it, she looks years longer, the stresses of her life and her duty to crown and husband abated for the first time since she arrived in Femnos. “I never have,” she says, reaching to touch my cheek. “You know how to take care of yourself. You know how to lead. You’ll make an excellent King. I only hope you haven’t forgotten that you write your own life, my son.”
She places her fingers against my skin, then withdraws them.
“I do wish you would shave, however.”
I smooth down my stubble. “It’s on my list. Busy day and all. There’s a wedding tomorrow, you know.”
She shakes her head, eyes shut softly with a small laugh. “Yes. I’ll be there.”
So will I.
Chapter 17
Anya
“Yes.” Lady Armitage places two fingers against her chin, tapping them in time with the tick of the clock. “Yes. This is the one.”
I flop backward into the leather chair, feet flying up and out of my white heels. I stretch my toes within my nylons, then set them on the floor with an exhausted sigh.
“Try not to wrinkle the fabric, your grace.”
I open my eyes wide enough to give Ellory a pleading look. My handmaiden steps from the corner of the room, nearly stepping onto Lady Armitage’s feet to get her attention.
“I require a moment with the Queen to discuss royal business.”
It’s the only request that Lady Armitage is willing to hear. I’ve made mild protests for breaks or for some room in the waist of my tight-fitting white dress; she’s promised me some mild relief and then moved on, ordering her assistants while pinning and plucking and sewing away at my dress.
By now I’ve let her have full rein of my body and my garment. What seemed to hang on me loosely at first now looks designed for my figure. The woman is a genius when it comes to fabric, filling out my bust with extra cloth and emphasizing my hips and ass even under layer after layer of taffeta. The white pantyhose, delivered by Ellory from the royal closets, are just a shade lighter than my dress, drawing the eye downward and perhaps hinting at what’s underneath. Alongside my flawless makeup - the extended lashes, the eyeliner, and a bit of rouge for color - and my flowing blonde hair, I look the very picture of a perfect bride.
Which is why it’s a shame I’ll have to take this all off in a few hours so I can go to bed, sleep fitfully, and get up tomorrow to put it all back on.
“Very well. I do know the importance of royal business.” Lady Armitage clicks her tongue, then delivers a stern nod to each of her three assistants. At the simple gesture the women begin to collect their kits, then line up to bow to me before leaving the room with their Mistress.
“Anything I can do for you, your Grace?” Ellory asks, rushing up to my side. I extend my hands and let her help me to stand in my nyloned feet.
“Yes,” I exhale. “Help me out of this damnable dress.”
Ellory covers her mouth with one hand, hiding an improper smile. “You don’t like it?”
“I absolutely adore this gown, Elle. It’s the most wondrous dress I’ve seen in my life - much less worn.” Plenty of time to try on others. This one will always remain my favorite.
We both do our best to unclasp buttons and pull out the extraneous pins that keep the dress temporarily fitted to my frame. Lady Armitage has already taken all my measurements so I feel nothing but relief at having this gown slipping off my shoulders. I pluck the bunched fabric out of my bra and rub my tender nipples beneath the cups.
“Would you like me to…?” Ellory pulls at the clasp of my bra.
“No, leave it on. I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to it.”
“Of course. I felt similarly when I began wearing them.” We both turn toward the door at the sound of a tumult outside.
“I said I’m with the caterer!”
“Never heard of ‘ya!”
“I’m on the worker list ya bloody twit!”
Ellory pats me on the back. “Mistress…”
“Yes, I know. See if you can handle it; if not, call me and I’ll give them a mouthful.”
“In your bra and panties, your grace?”
I stick my tongue out at my handmaid. “A Queen does as she pleases.”
With a giggle, Ellory bows to me and recedes toward the door, leaving me alone in the changing room to slip out of my dress. I hang it on the peg behind my door, then move behind the changing door to pick up my old clothing, a plain sheath dress that makes me look like a simple visitor. No one is particularly paying attention to me today, and I can slip around the castle as I like, sampling the foods for tomorrow, observing the decorating, and eavesdropping on the guests who’ve only recently heard of the ‘new’ princess.
Ellory’s knock at the door comes a bit harder than usual.
“You can just come in,” I shout, reminding her that she’s more than my maid now. I would have thought she’d learned that by now.
Perhaps she has. The person through my door isn’t my handmaiden.
It’s my fiancè.
Chapter 18
Toras
“Anya? Are you in here?” I step into the room, my dress shoes tapping against the tile floor. The security head told me, with proper obsequiousness, that the princess was busy in the royal changing room and asked not to be disturbed. We make an exception, given that I'm, y'know, her King and all.
There isn’t much space in the fairly plain room. Just four walls and a bit of fabric and pins lying discarded on the floor, a curtain drawn back at the left wall, and an unattached folding screen. Anya’s head suddenly pops up from behind the screen, her vibrant eyes wide with surprise.
“Toras!” She squeaks. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
“I’m not?”
“It’s less than 24 hours before the wedding!”
I glance back at the door I just shut. A white wedding dress hangs like a bridal phantasm. “I thought that was only if you’re in your dress.”
“I suppose. What is this regarding?”
She speaks so properly. “The objective, if I may, regards -”
“Oh just tell me for shit’s sake.”
Ah. There’s the girl I'm to wed. “Right. It is something rather serious - something I feel I should get off my chest. Regarding the wedding.”
Her eyelids soften, hiding her irises. “Oh.”
“could we talk?”
“Yes.”
“Without the screen?”
My fiancee
steps out from behind the folding door and puts her hands on her hips. “Here is fine? The room is sound-proofed, this is about as private as it gets.”
I double-check to make sure I both shut and lock the door. Eavesdroppers are less of a concern when your fiancee is wearing nothing but a cream-colored bra with matching lace panties and a pair of white pantyhose.
“I, ah, didn’t mean to interrupt your changing.”
She kicks a crumpled dress over toward me. “I was just wearing that. I know, I know. After that elaborate wedding gown, I just felt like putting something casual on.”
She doesn’t seem much interested in the ecru dress on the floor. Without a hint of embarrassment, my bride-to-be finds the nearest leather chair and sits down on the armrest, her plump little rear facing me.
“So what is it you wanted to discuss?”
With nowhere else to sit I take the seat, one arm on the armrest, the other in my lap, giving Anya the full stuffed space on which to rest her ass. My eyes scan up her body - the curves of her hips, every exposed rib, her graceful arms and slender neck. I swallow hard and take a moment to try to remember why I’m here.
She moves her legs toward me, feet perched right beside my thigh resting on my seat.
Memory fails.
“It was about the wedding?” She prompts. “We’re… We’re still getting married, right?”
Her questions carry a pained note. Perhaps she too has heard of the possibility of postponement.
“We are,” I vow. “Nothing has changed in that regard.”
“Oh thank god,” she says, hand to her naked chest. “I was thinking you still didn’t want to be seen with me.”
I tilt my head just as she lowers hers, that dainty chin nearly pressed to her chest.
“I’d never feel that way,” I aver, wrapping my hand around her waist. “Anya. There’s been no question. You and I belong together. We’re the Dominaris and Femnosi. We’re the only two in the world who know what it’s like to live this life. Our marriage is a foregone conclusion - who else could I have?”
Her eyes are flood lights, looking down at me with a vibrancy I’ve never seen in a woman’s eyes before.
“Then what?” she asks in a breathless voice.
I put my hand on her knee. Something just to keep her steady on the armrest, of course. Though the cool, enticing fabric of her nylons keep me there.
“It’s a royal wedding. The expectations are not what I’ve set for myself.” Her hand rests on top of mine, her fingers tracing the tendons on the back of my hand. “The cheating, the infidelity, the disregard for one another - I can’t live through that. Not again.”
“I see. Then this isn’t just about politics to you.”
“Not at all.”
“Then let me be better for you,” she says, sliding down the armrest into my lap. “Please, Toras. If you want me to be your dutiful, faithful, virtuous wife, a picture out of the very book, then let me. This can be more than just a marriage for the people and the press and the professionals.” She takes my hand from the armrest and holds it tight. “This can be us.”
The idea entices. With a beautiful girl in my lap begging for my heart and aching at my cock, I can hardly fathom turning down the chance to be her King.
“Only,” I murmur, “if that’s what you want.”
An urge to grab her overwhelms me when Anya begins to slide further down my lap. Her knowing smile and heavy-lidded eyes correct me. Nothing’s wrong; she’s going where she wants, which is apparently on the floor between my ankles.
“Let me show you what I want.”
All I can see is her angelic face and the thin straps of her bra atop white shoulders. Then her hands travel up my knees, then my inner thighs, then rest on the buckle of my belt. 3000 dollars of silver latch unbuckle and fly apart. Pants tailor-made for a King are unbuttoned by devilish fingers before my cock falls out of my boxers, hard and aching from weeks of doubt.
In her hands, I wonder why I ever didn’t want to get married.
“Fuck,” I murmur, leaning back in my seat. Her mouth wraps immediately around the tip of my dick, her tongue gliding over my slit and licking up my precum as if it were royal jelly. Soon her lips part to take the entirety of my cock, her pillowy soft tongue massaging the underside of my dick while her mouth creates a vacuum around my manhood. My fingernails dig into the armrest, nearly rendering centuries-old leather and not giving one single fuck about the heritage.
“Mmmm…” The vibrations from her throat coax an orgasm out of me, drawing me ever nearer to the point of no return. I try to hold back, if only to intensify the overwhelming feeling of giving myself over to another, letting her handle my scepter like a Queen should.
With her hands spread out on my thighs and her bubbly eyes wide open up toward my face, she licks my cock from hilt to head with the very tip of her tongue and lays her cheek on my knee.
"Come for me," she mewls. "Please."
Her grip finds my shaft. Her mouth finds my cock-head. Her tongue swirls around me.
And within seconds, the dam breaks. I feel my essence flooding into her mouth, a climax beyond any I've experienced before. Aside from a short, aching moan, there's no sense that Anya doesn't have this under control. SHe's as graceful as ever, her slender back curved as she sits on her knees, her bra straps tight around her torso, her visage unflinching as she goes about her work.
"My King," she purrs, licking up the last bead of cum. I slide my hands under her arms and lift her into my lap. She's as light as a feather and as malleable as pure, shimmering gold.
With my hands around her waist and my lips grazing her neck, I tell her the words I've longed to speak for so, so long.
"My Queen."
Chapter 19
Anya
We sit like this for a long time. It's a small room heated by our lust, the door double-bolted, our unwed desires hidden from the guards outside. In here, we're simply each other's and nothing more. Even with the wedding dress hanging on its peg and Toras already wearing his wedding suit, we both feel that sense of nothingness, that pleasant untethered sensation of absolute freedom.
That feeling is a myth. It comes after the joy of a nice blowjob, receiving or (to my surprise) giving. Sure, my own much smaller cock remains hard in my panties, yet that's barely a constraint compared to the doubt my fiance has carried for so long.
I let myself sit on his broad lap and lean against his perfect chest just to tease myself. I want so desperately to feel the mental anguish he's gone through for so long. A scurrilous father, a scorned mother, a lifetime of wanting the one thing he could never have - a real marriage. Compared to all that, the scratchy-soft sensation of my cock tip pushing against my panties seems barely noticeable.
Even now he's still thinking. Those deep green eyes stare across the room. His back is perfectly straight in the sunken chair, one hand on the armrest, the other wrapped tight around me. I'd hop off his lap at a moment's notice if I felt he wanted me gone.
Yet that firm, steel arm only wants to keep me where I am.
He's in his own thoughts now, yes, but he needs me too. My slim pale body and my luxurious perfume should help him see through whatever pains he has. For now, and forever.
That's what a Queen is. A support to her King.
Well, that's what I want, anyway.
And I always get what I want.
I know I shouldn't smile right now. This is a serious moment - our first sexual encounter, mere hours before our wedding, in a private room of my castle. Oh, but it's so hard not to.
This boy is just too much.
He could have easily married me in a short, small ceremony, then almost literally never talked to me again. We'd join for state functions and the occasional royal dinner, wave to the press from time to time, then go enjoy our purely symbolic marriage apart on our own terms. He could have run around being the globe-trotting playboy he's always been. I'd prepared for that. It's reality.
He wants a di
fferent reality. One where we're not only King and Queen but Husband and Wife as well. That sort of marriage is unheard of amongst royals. Two days after we meet, I'm supposed to become his everything?
What a silly boy.
What a sexy man.
What a King for me to serve.
To hide my growing smile I lean against his neck and give him a light kiss, just a reminder that I'm still here whenever he needs me, and that I'll always be here for him and him alone. It's a massive mad promise to make to a man, but it's one I'm willing to keep.
"I need to go."
"What?"
He gives me a soft yet firm pat on the rear. I hesitate just a moment before sliding off his lap, not sure if I should fall to my knees before him like I so want or stand tall and proud in nothing but my underwear.
When he stands, he puts his hand on my hip, keeping me on my feet.
"There are things left to do for the wedding," he says.
"Ellory and I saw to everything this morning. Everything is as arranged."
The shadow of a smile tilts toward the corner of his lips. "Everything as they've arranged it. I may want to put a few touches on the day."
I tilt my head, curious. "I didn't know you were into decorating."
"Nor did I know your fondness for lace panties."
I wiggle my hips, trying to distract him from the bulge. Maybe black would be better from now on. "I suppose there's a lot we don't know about each other."
"There is." His hand on my chin confirms his severity. "But I'm eager to find out."
We part with a final kiss. At first it's very much like the one a bride and groom should share - innocent, yet redolent with a feeling of love, affection, and duty. Then it grows into something uncouth for an audience of guests. His tongue slips into my mouth, his hands move from my chin to my waist, and his sheathed bulge presses against my abdomen until I can't resist letting a moan slip out.
And that's how he leaves me - horny, frustrated, with his saliva and scent muddying my thoughts.
"Until tomorrow, your grace."
"Bye," I huff, turning my head away from him.
He laughs softly, then plants a kiss on my cheek. I feel a warm shiver rush across every inch of my skin. He passes toward the door.