by Sally Laces
"Toras." He turns back toward me, one hand on the knob. I lift an imaginary dress and plant a foot back behind the other in a curtsey.
"Until tomorrow... My King."
He watches me go through the rigid, nervy movements, and it takes all of my will not to fall backward onto my ass. Ellory and the rest of the servants do this dozens of times a day. I'm still getting used to my own feminine body.
When I return to my starting pose I put my feet close together and wait for him to say something, hoping I did it right.
"Until tomorrow, my beloved Queen."
Beloved.
The word lingers in the air even as he leaves me, warm, fulfilled, and aching for more.
Chapter 20
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 different 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.
"Toras." He turns back toward me, one hand on the knob. I lift an imaginary dress and plant a foot back behind the other in a curtsey.
"Until tomorrow... My King."
He watches me go through the rigid, nervy movements, and it takes all of my will not to fall backward onto my ass. Ellory and the rest of the servants do this dozens of times a day. I'm still getting used to my own feminine body.
When I return to my starting pose I put my feet close together and wait for him to say something, hoping I did it right.
"Until tomorrow, my beloved Queen."
Beloved.
The word lingers in the air even as he leaves me, warm, fulfilled, and aching for more.
Chapter 21
Anya
The Wedding Day
The dress fits snugly around my body, the veil only slightly obscuring my vision. In my hands I hold a full bouquet of Femnosi chrysanthamums and daffodils, and in my long blonde hair a single daisy sits atop my left ear. My makeup, done entirely by Ellory's expert hand, softens my features and leaves my lips with a pink gloss that gives me an almost doll-like appearance. Innocent. Pure. Surely not someone who spent last night sucking off her husband in a castle changing room.
Oh no, not me.
I'm a good princess.
And I'll make a lovely Queen.
Ellory is by my right side, Lady Armitage on my left. Both women are sweating in their bridesmaid gowns, a green shoulderless outfit with open-toe heels. Behind me, several castle servants follow, three to keep the journalists and photogs at a respectable distance, two to play the lilting Femnosi Wedding March on flute and drum, and one young woman to lift my train. Tradition states only an unmarried woman may touch the Queen's dress train, and apparently the best they could find is this tiny slip of a thing. I'll make sure she gets whatever she wants for this long march carrying a heavy length of fabric.
As we reach the double doors to the Royal Garden the musicians play the last few bars of our traditional. I stand in front of the door, eyes forward, waiting for the two head guards with their swords in their sheaths to pull the doors open for me, revealing a bright sun flowing down onto a vibrant scene. 300 guests seated in high-backed chairs - dignitaries, clergy, dukes and duchesses, entertainers and artists alike - all turn to see the bride.
I walk slowly. Cameras flash from the far walls of the room. Young women smile at me. Men my age grin. Older men let their eyes veer up and down my body. Older women whisper to one another. The organ music grows in volume, as if intent on drowning them out. No words can describe the way I feel - or the way I look, an angelic beauty straight from the oldest Femnosi myths, come to earth to lead, to rule, and to love.
Him.
My husband, standing alone up on the dais, li
ke a mortal to challenge a goddess.
Oh, could he tame me. Looking just as fine as yesterday in that perfectly cut Femnosi-style suit, his only show of nerves is a light sheen of sweat across his brow. His black curls are swept back above his tan forehead, and his legs are spread shoulder-length, giving me a nice view of his bulge.
Stop looking at his bulge, I remind myself, drawing the bouquet up to my button nose for an affirming whiff. The flowers I carry are the same lining the trellis above him. Chrysanthemums, daises, and daffodils, the long-standing traditional flowers of our neighboring kingdoms. Trust, honor and duty, once bought in blood, now handled through delicate marriages of duty.
The flower in my fiance's lapel is of a different species, and it takes my eyes a moment to understand what I'm seeing. I never was so great at the flower symbolism, oddly, for a girl who loves them so much. I suppose I always enjoyed their color and scent more than their symbolism.
As I draw near to the holy altar, the particular scarlet hue of the petals comes into better focus beneath my veil. Set into the black silk fabric of his suit, the single rose sits pinned, a silent declaration of love.
My cheeks are as red as his flower, and I thank the Goddess my veil can hide my prickling tears. He's not just worn one; red and white roses sing down at me from the trellis, and petals drift softly past my blonde locks on my way up the dais.
I wonder if he can see what I look like beneath my veil. Ellory and I woke so early to make sure my delicate face was fresh for him. Dark eyeshadow with the faintest hint of silver makes me look and feel like the Queen I'm about to become, and the swirl of peach pink across my pouty lips should remind him of what's to come.
"Dear noble men and women of Femnos, Dominar, and our beloved neighboring realms," intones the priest, hands raised toward the open blue sky. "We gather these two royal souls..."
I'm lost in his eyes. I know it's a cliche beyond cliches but I'm literally not allowed to look anywhere else and the priest's words are so slow, so old, and so in a language I barely speak that there's nothing else for me to do.
I have to stand here and just stare at the man who'll have me as his wife.
For 10 straight minutes, without speaking, hearing his thoughts through the window of his soul.
Chapter 22
Toras
She's quivering.
I suppose I'd be uncomfortable for a while too after standing this long in those heels. And that dress, with the skirt that blooms out wide around her shapely hips, with a bodice that clings tight to her slender frame, surely must be heavy on such lithe shoulders. Even though the servants have discreetly detached the train behind her dress, she still carries a good weight on her slight body.
I know no one else can see her squirm. We're far enough up on the dais from the perceptive eyes of Annabelle, King Olar, Queen Petra, and the Femnosi Prime Minister, all sitting straight-backed in the white-washed front row seats. All of them wear the same approving smile, one that sits unmoving from the dozens of cameras documenting this wedding. Behind the front row are two dozens rows twenty seats in length filled by dignitaries, politicians, and celebrities, all jockeying for proximity to the throne.
In Dominar these are private ceremonies. In Femnos, they open the gates up to the public. The dazzling show of wealth, from the priceless artifacts hanging on the far wall to the full Royal Orchestra lining the perimeter of the acreage of flowers, reaffirms the royal right to the country's stewardship. Riches buy power, and power creates its own rules.
I may never have warmed to those regulations on life. Kingship will only impose further strictures on my freedom. Joined not only to my own country's success but now the fate of Femnos, people will look to me for guidance in times difficult.
I know where I'll look - to the beautiful, doting, delicious Queen I made my own.
"If anyone has any reason these two should not be wed," The priest says, looking down his nose at the audience, "Let them speak now. Or forever hold their peace."
Perhaps a few drama-seekers gasp or murmur excitedly from the crowd. All I hear is the rustle of wind through the flowers arranged over our heads and the slight ruffle of her veil against the wind.
No one speaks.
No one dares take what's mine.
"King Toras of Dominar," the priest says solemnly, spreading his hands before the altar, "you may kiss your bride."
I lift the veil. My hands have never felt heavier. My fingers grip the embroidered golden edge of the veil, then peel it back like the curtain to heaven.
Her bright eyes blink at me, moist and large as silver moons. Her mouth slightly, a brief tremor moving across her perfect bottom lip. For a moment I wonder if she’ll speak; no matter what she wants to say, there's only one answer.
My lips, pressed against hers, while my hands tilt her head back and turn her away from the cameras. I don't want the world to see when I slip my tongue into my bride's mouth for the first time as husband and wife.
We turn upward, cameras flashing, enjoying a faux-innocent, polite lip kiss while our smiles reach across our faces.
No one has to know what our marriage is like. Let them think things are purely symbolic.
We'll be the only ones who know how much we really mean to each other.
And I'll show it to her the moment we're out of this castle.
Chapter 23
Anya
Bells ring. Doves rise toward the air. People clap, cheer, sing aloud to hymns both Dominari and Femnosi.
I whirl around in my dress hand-in-hand with my husband.
Now is the part where our traditions entwine. By agreement our wedding took place in Femnos, with the 'union' meant to symbolize our partnership finalized in the Tower of Peace, a white stone spire that looms on the border between our two nations. Luxury tourists have offered thousands to have one night in the world's most exclusive bedroom, yet to let commoners or minor nobles into the Tower's chambers is forbidden. The building is owned in equal share by the Dominari and Femnos royal families, used in the past for tense negotiations meant to avoid war. Now it's just another piece of the joined empire Toras and I represent.
It's also where we'll consummate our marriage. I do hope Ellory made sure to have everything perfect for me as I ask. When my new husband and I make our way to the garden's exit, we spot Ellory and Isaac standing in the corner of the near-empty chamber. I think they're holding each other, though once a deluge of people follows us out, snapping cameras and tossing rice, I see they're only standing beside each other, wan smiles on their faces. Ellory wears a red blush across her cheeks; Isaac wear's red smudged across his lips.
Despite our curiosity Toras and I press onward down the hallway, waving and nodding and smiling where we can at the servants, cooks, caterers, guards, and staff who cheer loudly for us. I wonder in some small part if Toras' announced vacation for them is part of their glee; in any case, the bonhomie will look great in tomorrow's front page news. A limo with deeply tinted windows and a bulkier armored frame waits for us just down the castle steps, far back from a perimeter created by the Royal Femnos Army. Toras and I slip into the open seat. A Dominari Royal Guard salutes us both before shutting the door and stepping into the passenger seat. The Driver is Femnosi, and both men are at the peak of their driving and protection skills.
They're also maximally discreet, which is why I leap into my husband's lap the moment the door shuts and locks.
"Anya," he groans, pulling me against himself for the rest of the kiss he took at our wedding. Roving hands explore up and down my hips, my waist, threatening at any moment to tear my dress to its seams. I love this gown and the way it fits me; right now, I wouldn't even notice if he rent it apart like an animal.
I pause suddenly when someone calls my name, not in the breathy deep moan of my husband, but in a high-pitched stadium cheer. I look out the window glass at the streets, lined with a swell of citizens young and old. Police officers and soldiers stand intermittently at the perimeter, keepi
ng the road fully clear and the citizens behind a barrier along the sidewalk. For such a swell of people the mood is pleasant; even the Royal Guards nearest our limo smile as they jog along with their rifles slung over their shoulders.
If those stoic guardians are smiling then the rest of the crowd must be elated. I push the window button down just a tad and a roar enters the limousine. The passenger guard immediately darts his head to look at the new intrusion, yet all I see are the people lined up to cheer for us.
Toras pushes the window down further, then leans out the window, his shoulder taking up more than half of the opening. He lifts his hand, palm-up, to wave at the crowd, and I stick my head out through the opening. We look ridiculous crammed together like this, the blood rushing from the faces of all our guards who see us exposed.
"One for the crowd?" My husband shouts in my ear. I barely hear him over the din of the crowd and decide to make my answer the full, loving kiss on the lips he wants as badly as the cheering people.
------
The Tower's garage is really more of an army bunker built three stories underneath. We drive in through the forest road and pass the gates of a nearby army base, met with uniformed yet grinning soldiers of both uniforms. Once in through the garage our driver and guard see us to the royal elevators, a nondescript machine built into the wall. Inside the decoration is more ornate, with a chandelier and mirror walls to make it seem infinitely larger than it is. Once the doors are shut Toras and I are simply crammed in at close proximity - just like we want.
Only I've somehow ended up facing away from him, the bulky skirt of my dress making it impossible for me to turn back around. Toras grips my hips, calming me down once the elevator begins to move.
"Shh. You're fine."
"I didn't want to ride up facing away from you." I could see him in the mirror if he weren't right behind my frame.
"Neither did I. This is only temporary. And we'll do what we can..." He lifts the bottom of my dress up with one clutching hand. "With what we have."