The Royal Wedding Night (Royal Discipline Book 2)

by Joseph,Annabel

  His eyes held hers, deep blue pools that could be stern or loving. How often would he be stern in the course of their marriage? How often would he be loving? She supposed that depended a great deal on her ability to moderate her behavior.

  “I’m trying to get used to the idea that you’re my husband, Your Grace.” Her voice quavered with the force of her emotions.

  His fingers tightened around hers. “‘Your Grace’ is too formal between us now. Since I call you Violet, you must call me Thomas.”

  “Thomas?” She’d known his name was Thomas, but she didn’t know if she could be so familiar as to use it. “I...I will try to remember that.”

  He leaned closer. “Why do you tremble, love? This evening’s rituals will be over soon enough, and we can settle into married life.”

  “What do you mean, ‘this evening’s rituals’?”

  He gave her a searching look. “This evening, when the banquet is over, we’ll go abovestairs to the nuptial chamber. You know, of course, what happens then?”

  Violet kept her fingers very still within his. “Of course I know what happens.”

  But she didn’t, not exactly. Were these the “marital duties” her father had alluded to? She prayed there was no bloodletting involved, no chanting or praying or any other taxing event. It had already been such a long day.

  She smoothed her silver skirts and glanced up as a page refilled her wine. The duke—Thomas—waved the boy away when he would have filled his glass. She supposed he wanted to have his wits about him for this “ritual,” whatever it was.

  Violet, on the other hand, did not wish to have her wits about her. She began to drink twice as much wine as she had been, until the duke waved the pages away from her and suggested in a firm voice that she’d drunk enough for someone who ideally ought to stay awake.

  Oh, to curl up in bed and sleep. She mouthed pleasantries as people filed past their table, forcing a smile until she felt her jaw would break. Now and again she heard her father’s jolly laughter across the Great Hall. Dancing broke out as the afternoon lengthened to evening. There was more food, more music, more speeches, more visitors bowing low before them and wishing them well.

  “When will they leave?” she whispered to Thomas as the sun began to fade over the horizon. “The servants have begun lighting the candles.”

  “Yes. It grows late, but no one will leave until we’re well and truly wed, especially since you’re the royal heir.”

  Violet stared at him. “We’re not wed yet?”

  He observed her closely, with a troubled slant to his brow. “Sweeting, have you the slightest idea what’s to go on tonight? Do you understand that you must be bedded before all the king’s councilmen?”

  “What does that mean? That I must go to bed to truly be married?”

  “We must go to bed. Together.” He shook his head and gestured for the page to bring more wine after all. “I fear you’re about to be shocked, my love. I would have arranged some education for you if I’d understood the necessity, but now it’s too late.”

  “Some education about what?” She was so confused. She supposed she should have admitted earlier that no one had told her anything about the rituals to take place after the banquet. How shocking would they be?

  He pressed a wineglass into her hands. “Drink it quickly. They’ll herd us upstairs very soon, judging by the tenor in the room. Smile if you can manage it. Pretend to be at ease.”

  Violet couldn’t manage it, although she tried. He placed a hand at her back, smoothing it up and down where no one could see the slow caress. A few moments later, a group of aristocratic ladies converged upon their table and said they must steal the bride and make her ready.

  Thomas encouraged her to go with them. “I’ll come to you soon. Be brave.”

  Again, he was telling her to be brave. The salacious looks on the fine ladies’ faces didn’t comfort her. What on earth was going to happen, that she must be brave? That she must be made ready?

  Violet was too frightened to ask.

  Chapter Three: Wedding Night

  Violet lay shivering in the nuptial chamber with the linen and wool blankets clutched about her. The room was warm enough, but she felt naked in her sheer, abbreviated shift. The ladies had pulled the delicate thing over her shoulders, simpering over the fine silk and lace. The neckline was egregiously low, and the material so flimsy it could hardly be called a garment. When she asked to wear the sturdy shift she’d donned beneath her wedding gown, the ladies had laughed and exchanged looks.

  “Your husband will like this better,” said the eldest, tweaking her cheek.

  “But it’s practically transparent.”

  They had laughed some more at that. Violet wasn’t laughing. She felt uneasy in this room and wished she might have retired to her own chambers instead of this echoing space. It wasn’t even a real bedchamber, but a meeting hall that had been outfitted with a bed and floral decorations in the style of a bower.

  Her eyes went wide as a stream of wedding guests, both men and women, flowed into the room. She recognized her father’s council members, and then her father himself arrived to a flurry of curtsies and bows. He crossed to the bed and smiled down at her as she bundled under the sheets.

  “Your mother would have been so proud of you,” he said. “You’re so much like her, dear Violet. I wish you the same blissful happiness in your marriage that your mother and I shared.”

  “Thank you,” Violet whispered. “But you might have told me that downstairs. I’m ready to go to bed. Will you have your councilmen file out so I can dress in a more substantial shift and take my rest?”

  “Your husband must come to you first.” A blush bloomed on her father’s plump cheeks. “The marriage must be made official in every sense, and it must be done before witnesses, you understand, when it comes to the royal lineage.”

  “No, I don’t understand.” She felt the haughty princess flaring to life. She wanted to shriek at the staring old men, and the ladies tittering in the shadows. She wanted to scream at them all to leave her in peace so she might rest. “Where is my husband?” she asked. Thomas would make them go away. He would calm her and help her remember her royal manners.

  “I’m here, darling.”

  He appeared behind her father, his dark hair and light eyes blessedly familiar among the strangers filling the room. He, too, looked dressed for bed in a handsome robe of embroidered velvet. He bowed and greeted her father, not at all taken aback by the presence of his entire council in their wedding chamber.

  “Will you have them go?” She didn’t know if she pleaded to her father or her husband, she only knew both of them gazed back at her with apologetic expressions.

  “Soon, they’ll go,” said Thomas. “Once the deed is done.”

  “What deed?”

  Thomas shot her father an irritated look. Her father pretended not to notice, looking about instead as the assembled guests settled into benches along the walls. “I’m going to retire, then, and leave this business to my councilmen. And to you,” he said to Thomas. “I trust you’ll make things as easy as possible for the princess.”

  “Of course. As far as I’m able.”

  Her father lowered his voice. “They watched my wife and I like this on our wedding night, three dozen of them ranged around the room. Damned off-putting when you’re trying to bed a virgin. Never understood why a bloodied sheet wasn’t enough.”

  A bloodied sheet? Violet clutched the blankets tighter. “What’s this about? What are you going to do to me, Thomas?”

  Her father leaned down to pat her shoulder. “He’s not going to do anything that hasn’t happened to a score of princesses before you. Just be a good girl, and it shall quickly be over.”

  He straightened, nodded to the duke and assembled council members, and left the room. Violet turned to her husband. “Please make them go. I want to sleep.”

  “I can’t make them go, darling. I wish I could, but royal beddings are witnessed. It
’s been so for as long as anyone can remember. There can be no questioning the bloodlines.”

  “Please stop using the word blood. It’s frightening.”

  He sat beside her and stroked her cheek. “Don’t be frightened,” he said in his stern, authoritative voice. “This is merely a royal duty to be discharged. It will only happen once. They’ll watch me join with you to be certain of two things. One, that no other man has come before me.” He paused with a rueful smile. “And there can be little doubt of that, based on your confusion. Two, they’ll watch to be certain I can...perform.”

  “You’re going to perform?” Violet asked, imagining a song or poem. Was that why the entire council was assembled?

  “I’m not going to perform in the way of a minstrel. I’m going to couple with you,” he finally clarified. “And it suits the council and the Kingdom of Hastings to be certain I’m up to the task. After all, royal heirs only come one way.”

  She gazed into his calm blue eyes, feeling some of her tension ease away. “I’m sure you’re capable of any task they set you. You’re a very capable man.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How do we couple?”

  The calm in his eyes wavered, just for a moment, into exasperation.

  “They really ought to have prepared you better, considering this.” He waved an arm around the room at their legion of spectators. “But it’s no matter. No, don’t frown. I’ll teach you what coupling is, and then they’ll go away.” He smiled at her with a confidence that buoyed her courage. “It’s an uncomfortable business the first time,” he said. “You’ll have to attend me and trust me. You may find it a test of your obedience.”

  “I’ll be good,” she said, only because he was being so steady and upstanding, and she felt so scared. “Let’s do it quickly, as my father said.”

  “We can’t do it too quickly.” His fingertips traced her cheek again, and then dropped to the bare spot of skin just above the clenched blankets. “Come here. Let me hold you. How beautiful you are.”

  She melted against him as he moved closer. His robe felt smooth and cool against her skin, but his lips were warm as they captured hers. Unlike their first rough, passionate kiss, these kisses were slower, almost tentative.

  She pressed against him, centering herself in his embrace. It was so wonderful, so singular to be kissed in this way, with so much smoldering passion. If only he could hide her from all these awful people. If only it was him and her, and no need to watch him “perform.”

  “Does that feel nice?” he asked. “Do you enjoy being kissed? I certainly enjoy kissing you.”

  As he said this, he pried the sheets from her fingers and tugged them down so her arms and breasts were bared, covered only by the transparent shift. She tried to cover herself again but he prevented her. “How lovely your breasts are. Let me touch them.”

  “But—”

  “Think of me, Violet. Only me. Forget them. Close your eyes and let me love you.”

  She tried to block the others out. In truth, his caresses felt wonderful. He trailed a finger around her nipple, through the thin silk of her shift. It created a whispery, delicious tension that made her whole body draw up tight.

  “Yes, that’s it, my love.” He rained kisses on her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, occasionally teasing open her lips as he stroked her breasts. He’d hurt her nipples once, during an awful punishment, but this was a completely different sensation.

  But somehow—oh—both times she had enjoyed being touched there, whether it felt blissful or not. Now and again, through the haze of pleasure, she heard someone move, or perceived soft murmurs. It was distracting, but then he’d draw her attention back with a soft caress, or a kiss.

  “Is this coupling?” she asked.

  “It’s part of it.” His fingers slid beneath the bunched-up sheets in her lap, beneath her shift, to graze over her flower. She let out a gasp and another small sigh, and tried to ignore the soft peals of laughter from the cluster of ladies.

  “Focus on me,” he said. “Focus on how it feels.”

  “Oh, goodness.” She gasped again. “Thomas! I love how it feels. My flower loves when you touch it.”

  “I know. I’ve missed your little flower,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ve missed touching you. Now you’re all mine, and my body’s going to come inside yours, and it’s going to feel perfect.”

  “You’re going to come inside me?” She stiffened, remembering his hard, thrusting male part. “Inside my mouth?”

  “No,” he said, trying to stifle her question.

  She pushed his fingers away. “Inside my bottom then? But I haven’t been naughty. You said—”

  “Lower your voice, if you please,” he whispered, throwing a look at the people flanking the walls. “My shaft’s not going in your bottom. It’s going in the entrance to your womb. If you ask me what a womb is, I shall lose my composure.”

  “I know what a womb is.” Well, she knew in a vague sense. Something to do with her monthly courses, but that had nothing to do with this?

  “My sheltered princess,” he said with a sigh. “Later, when this performance is over, we’re going to have a talk about your body and how everything works. A talk you ought to have had before now.”

  “A talk about coupling?” She glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve been touching me a while now, but they’re all still here.”

  “They’re waiting for us to finish. And I told you to ignore them.” He stopped stroking her beneath the shift, and tilted her face to his. “Listen to me, darling. You’re going to lie back, and I’m going to come over you and press my cock inside your womb. It may hurt a little at first.”

  “You’ve hurt me before,” she reminded him, thinking of long, torturous disciplinary sessions when she’d been utterly naked and subjected to his whims. “I doubt this could be worse.”

  That, finally, brought a smile to his sober expression. “Perhaps you’re right. But I dislike hurting you when you’ve done nothing to deserve it. If I could make this hurt less, I would. But I can’t.”

  He gave her one last kiss, and then his hands went to his robe, to untie the belt and part the fabric. Oh my. Oh my goodness.

  The man wore absolutely nothing underneath. As he stood to lay the robe aside, the whispers of the women intensified, to the point that one of the old councilmen scolded them to be silent.

  But she understood the ladies’ reactions. Her husband—the new royal consort—was glorious to look upon, all broad shoulders and muscles. There was a time his man’s body had frightened her, a time when his physicality had seemed a threat. It still felt a bit scary to look upon his nakedness. Her eyes dropped to his waist and she noted his large, erect phallus. When she’d been a sassy, incorrigible princess, he’d forced it into her mouth to humble her. Today it was going somewhere else inside her. Not her bottom, he’d said. Thank goodness.

  Thomas stood before everyone in confident nudity, stepping aside as the group of ladies came to strip the blankets from the bed. Violet clutched at the coverings, but he shook his head. “Let them go. Everyone must see.”

  Cold rushed in upon her as the blankets were borne away. Her flimsy shift offered no warmth or modesty. When he climbed onto the bed, she clutched at him in a panic.

  “Be brave,” he told her. “It’s only this once. You need never endure this again.”

  “They’re all watching!”

  “Don’t think about them. Think about me.”

  He gathered her close and kissed her, slow, drugging kisses that almost, almost made her forget the staring audience, all of whom had gone very quiet. He climbed atop her and nestled his hips between her legs, drawing up her shift. She tried to shove it back down again, to no avail. He caught her hands and made a quelling sound. When she tried to close her legs, he prevented her, nudging them open again.

  I’m afraid, she thought. And they’re all staring. She clutched Thomas hard.

  “Steady, love,” he said. She felt his ri
gid man’s part slide over her flower, and experienced a lovely frisson of pleasure. He had promised her, while she was enduring his training regimen, that her future husband would allow her pleasures once she was wed. Of course, he’d known he would eventually be her husband. He’d been making her wait for marriage, making her wait for this...

  She arched her flower against his thick, hard member, seeking more pleasure, but instead he reached down and positioned his shaft between her legs. It poked at her, and she tried to twist away in confusion, but he bid her to lie still. He slid a hand up her thigh and used his other hand to brace himself over her. He began to ease forward, pressing himself inside her body.

  She gazed up at him, no longer distracted by the silent audience. All she thought about was the feeling of him moving against her, probing her, stretching the entrance to her womb. He said he would come inside her, and now she understood that she could accommodate him there. She still wasn’t comfortable with it. She put her hands on his hips. “Thomas. I don’t...”

  “God, you’re so tight,” he said between his teeth.

  She quailed at the feeling of pressure. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be done about it. Nothing but this...”

  He pushed deeper, cradling her so she couldn’t jerk away from the jarring pain.

  “Oh! Ow,” she protested.

  “Shh. It will get better.”

  “It hurts!”

  “I know.” He caught her whimper in a kiss. “Just this time,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth. “Next time, it will feel better.”

  “But you said...” She sucked in air at the burn of his penetration. “You said this coupling will never happen again.”

  “Never again...with an...audience.” He appeared to be having difficulty forming words.

  At the mention of their audience, she became aware again of all the people watching. She tried to be brave, but oh, she felt so uncomfortably full and trapped with him above her and inside her. He was buried so deep in her body, she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.