Royal Discipline

by Joseph,Annabel

  She sucked in a breath. She was not eager to know, but the last thing she wanted to do at this moment was give her traitorous father a hug and kiss. She swiped away the tears she didn’t want to shed, and realized she was in an impossible bind. This stranger would do something awful if she didn’t obey. He would do it with her father’s support.

  “Very well,” she said in a huff.

  “Very well, Your Grace,” he corrected her. “Say it prettily. Young ladies should not express exasperation, especially with such a frown.”

  Oh, how she wanted to stab him, to run him through with a rusty, serrated sword. She stared at her new master, her dark captor, letting every murderous thought show in her prolonged, direct gaze. His only response was a bland sort of amusement, and another arch of his brow.

  “Very well, Your Grace,” she mimicked with mocking sweetness, before she broke the brittle eye contact. She flounced across the luxurious sitting room and bestowed a hug and kiss upon her father that was civilized, if not daughterly. “Goodbye,” she said to him as they parted. “I wish you a safe journey home.” And I wish you to hell, she added silently, along with this demon you have invited to torment me.

  The king took his leave, and Violet was forced to come to terms with her abandonment, and her predicament. She was stuck here.

  With him.

  “I believe I shall go to my rooms,” she said, “so I needn’t spend another moment in your unpleasant company.”

  His amusement seemed to deepen. “You shall go to your room because that’s where I’ve decided to put you for the time being. I make the rules here, Violet, not you.”

  She knew that he only used her given name to drive home the fact that he had permission to do so. No one, not one person in her father’s entire kingdom, save the king himself, was allowed to refer to her in such a familiar fashion. He might enjoy playing at her superior, but that was all it was, a farce. She was greater than him and he knew it. When he called the housekeeper to show her upstairs, she followed the gray-haired matron from the room without a word of leave to the duke. By law, she was not required to address those who ranked beneath her.

  At least she thought that was a law. It ought to be a law.

  If it wasn’t a law yet, she’d make it a law when she was queen, and her first royal order would be to arrest the horrid Duke of Thornton and have him tortured, and then thrown into the depths of the palace’s deepest, darkest oubliette.

  Chapter Two: The Orientation

  Violet was shown to a room on the second floor, as comfortable and well-appointed as the drawing room downstairs. So she was not to be held captive in some dungeon-like chamber while she was made to repent her crimes.

  Her lodgings were actually quite luxurious. The bedroom was decorated to a woman’s taste, with soft chairs and a sofa in pale gray, and a great poster bed with a ruffled ivory counterpane. The windows admitted the last of the winter day’s thin light, but delicate furnishings and a light wood floor kept the space from feeling oppressive.

  “I’ll just light your candles, miss,” said the housekeeper.

  “It’s Your Highness,” Violet corrected her acidly.

  “His Grace says we’re to address you as miss, and he’s my employer so I daren’t go against him, Your Hi— I mean, miss. I’m so sorry if it angers you.”

  The woman dropped a curtsy as if that made everything all right. “Where are my things?” Violet said. “I’ve been here for at least an hour. Where are my trunks?”

  “I’m certain His Grace is handling all that. You must trust in his authority, for he’s a very organized and exacting sort.”

  “Yes, I heard he was exacting. Do you know I’m here against my will?” she said, just to see what the housekeeper would answer. The housekeeper’s assistant, a mousy maid, looked up sharply and caught the matron’s eye, but the old bat didn’t say anything, only smiled as if Violet were commenting on the weather. “If you help me get away from here and back to my home at the palace,” Violet continued, “I’ll make both of you royal maidservants. I swear, you’ll want for nothing for the rest of your lives.”

  The housekeeper made another bob of a curtsy. “Well, now, I’m sure the master wouldn’t want to hear you suggesting such things. There, Jeannie, plump the mistress’s pillows and be gone with you. She’ll want to rest.”

  “I’d like to eat,” Violet declared. “I’m hungry. Have a tray sent up at once, along with my godforsaken luggage, if the servants in this household can be compelled to accomplish anything useful.”

  Another curtsy. Violet was about to explode into a rage over the endless curtsies.

  “His Grace will send you a tray when he sees fit, I promise, miss. He’ll not starve you, nor lock you in alone. He’s not a bad man, only set in the way that things should be done.”

  Violet sent a scathing glance around the room. “Does he keep many women here, then? Women in need of correction?”

  “You’re the first, miss. But he’s planned well and thoroughly for your stay. We all hope it will be a pleasant one. It’s an honor to serve you.”

  It was an acknowledgement of her lofty station, if a very small one. Violet wasn’t sure if it pleased or angered her. Her emotions were in turmoil, and she had nothing to do, and nothing to change into. She paced her gilded prison for two solitary hours. At last, she went and rummaged through the desk, and snatched out ink and paper, and sat down to write a letter to her father.

  Dear papa, she scribed in an angry scrawl. You are the world’s greatest braying ass to bring me here. This man will not change me. He shall not fix me or tame me or do any such thing, and I will never forgive you for this. She left off when she could no longer see for the tears in her eyes. She wouldn’t send the letter, or rather, her jailer would never permit it to be sent. In the end, she tore it into a thousand ragged, tiny pieces and threw them into the fire.

  When the duke arrived, she was still sitting at the desk, seething with helpless anger. When she looked over at him, she noted how he filled the doorway, and tried not to feel cowed by his outsized presence. She was the higher-ranking person between them, after all.

  “Your servants are not very well trained,” she said. “I have asked three times for my trunks to be brought.”

  “Your clothing will be given to you in due time. I’ve set some of the servants to making the necessary alterations in design.”

  She gaped at him. “Your servants are altering my gowns?”

  He walked over to the couch, his long stride communicating casual and confident power. “They’re altering your gowns in a temporary fashion only. While you’re here at Thornton Manor, your skirts will be gathered up and tacked in the back in order to leave your bottom exposed, and you shall leave off with petticoats entirely. Believe me, after a day or two, you’ll see the sense in the arrangement.”

  Violet stood from the desk in horror. “That can’t... You can’t... You can’t expect me to go about in—in such a flagrant state of undress.”

  “I do expect it. In fact, I demand it.”

  “It is monstrous to demand such a thing.”

  “You say monstrous. I say practical.” He shrugged and leaned back against the velvet sofa cushions, looking even more powerful and threatening as he spread out his arms. “You’ll be easier to discipline with a bare bottom. The chill winter air on your backside will serve to remind you that punishment is always imminent, for any infraction. I intend to teach you manners, Violet, in a very simple and traditional way.”

  “By spanking me? That’s ridiculous.” Her voice shook. She didn’t want him to see her cry, and in fact, she did not want to cry, but he seemed supremely serious, and she felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life. “My father would never allow this,” she said. “He would never allow you to do such disgraceful things to me. When he hears of this—”

  “Violet,” he interrupted in a soft voice, as if he were reasoning with a child. “All of this was your father’s idea. All of this
is at your father’s behest. He admits he was too fond of you to discipline you as he ought. I have no such qualms. Your father and I had long discussions at court about the sort of improvement you need. I intend to deliver that improvement, at my king’s command.”

  “But I’m a grown woman, too old for spanking. I’m a princess of the realm.”

  “You’re the king’s heir, and in dire need of discipline. If he doesn’t wish to do it, who shall do it in his place?”

  She swallowed hard. “No one. Certainly not you. I don’t even know you.”

  “Ah, but you shall. We’ll come to know one another very, very well over the next pair of months. Come and sit beside me, Violet.”

  He patted the sofa cushion. She thought she might start screaming, he frightened her so badly with his calm, assured voice.

  “I do not want to come there.”

  “Shall I fetch you instead?”

  That frightened her worse. She trembled, looking at his big hands, his strong thighs, the daunting breadth of his shoulders.

  “Come stand before me, then. Right here.” He pointed at the spot of floor in front of him, and the specific directions somehow propelled her into motion. She walked to stand warily before him.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. “Give me your hands. We’re going to have a very frank talk about your immediate future.”

  She held out her hands, too afraid to cross him while pinned by his hard blue gaze. His legs were so long that his knees flanked her thighs at either side. He was so close. She hadn’t been this close to him yet. He smelled of sandalwood and freshly starched linen.

  “Look at me,” he said. “That is the first rule of your time here. When I speak, you’ll look into my eyes to show I have your attention and respect. Reply with Yes, Your Grace, so I’ll know you comprehend me.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll not call you ‘Your Grace.’ I’m a princess, whether or not you wish to acknowledge it.”

  “I acknowledge it. But there is something you must acknowledge too—if you choose to defy me, you will regret it. Trust me in this. I’m stronger than you. From this day forward, until you’re released from my care, you are beholden to my will. Now answer me politely, so I’ll know you understand. Yes, Your Grace.”

  Oh, she hated this. “I don’t want to.”

  “But you will. Form the words. You’ll learn it’s easier to use manners than deal with punishment. You’ll soon get used to speaking more pleasantly. Now, answer me the way you were told.”

  “What was I supposed to say again?”

  His fingers tightened the slightest bit. “Yes, Your Grace,” he repeated in a dangerously smooth voice.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” She gave him the words he wanted without inflection, with as little respect as she could muster.

  His jaw moved a little, then his lips curved in a faint smile. “Now that I have your attention, I’m going to tell you very plainly and very clearly what is going to go on. While you’re here at Thornton Manor, you’ll be instructed in the proper ways a daughter and queen—and wife—should behave. In the course of these lessons, you’ll receive corporal punishment for shortcomings and infractions. This may include spankings with my hand, or with a paddle, or cane, or any other implement I think necessary to correct your attitude.”

  Violet shivered at his matter-of-fact recitation. “I can hardly believe you. That seems so brutal.”

  “It’s not brutal to guide and train an ill-mannered female. You may also receive other punishments tailored to the feminine sex. Punishments to your breasts, for example. Females’ nipples are beautifully sensitive and hence quite useful in disciplinary exercises. I have acquired permission to humble you in other humiliating ways if your behavior calls for it.”

  Violet’s mind raced over the terrifying suggestion in his words. “What...what do you mean, humiliating ways?”

  “You’ll experience such methods soon enough, but if you’re curious, I’ll explain to you now. Your mouth and tongue shall be put to humbling uses when they spout too many shrewish or argumentative words. Your bottom hole may be filled with a stinging ginger fig, or with an unforgiving bulb or shaft, if you engage in exceptionally poor behavior.”

  Her shivering turned to shuddering. Her legs could barely hold her. “I have never...heard of such things.” She feared she would collapse. “You...you cannot...”

  “I need not,” he said, “if you behave yourself. But you’ve given me no indication that you possess either couth or self-control, and so I imagine such disciplinary humiliations may be necessary.” His fingers moved within hers, pulling her closer when she tried to back away. “I don’t mean to frighten you, or bully you. I’m only telling you the techniques at my disposal, so you’ll understand what is to go on if you cannot reform your behavior. It is simply a matter of learning by consequence. Negative conditioning, so to speak. I’ve made some study of the practice, for just such a case.”

  “You’re evil and sick,” she said. “My father brought me here that you might torture me. I hate him, and I shall never forgive him for this.”

  “You must not speak of your father with disrespect. That’s what has brought you to this pass in the first place.”

  He let go of her hands and looked about the room as she stood trembling before him. “Do you find this chamber comfortable?” he asked, as if he had not just said such horrifying and grotesque things to her. “Is there anything else you require?”

  “To go home.” She bit her lip against a stammer. “I require passage home.”

  “Besides that,” he said, and then smiled like this was all a great lark. It was too much for her, and she hit out at him, and tried to run away, run from the room, screaming for someone, anyone to rescue her. He caught her from behind, and still she struggled, shouting for all she was worth.

  “Please, help me. Please! If you can hear me, please help me. Go to my father the king. You shall have a reward!”

  The more she screamed and struggled, the harder he held her. At last, she ran out of energy and slumped in the cage of his arms.

  “There now,” he said, calm and cool as ever. “Do you feel better, now that you’ve gotten that out?”

  “I hate you. I hate you!”

  She screamed again, a shrill, helpless protest at her situation. No matter how she twisted and fought him, he would not free her. He would not let her go.

  “That’s quite enough,” he said, after she exhausted herself with the second bout of begging and struggling. His lips brushed her ear, delivering a low, quiet message of finality. “No one here will help you or release you, especially not your father. You’re here at his command.”

  She began to sob, frantic, keening sobs that hurt her throat.

  “Well,” he said, drawing her to the chair near the fire. “I thought to spank you before you began to cry, but if you are already feeling regretful of your behavior, it’s the perfect time for chastisement.”

  “But...” She resisted as he attempted to draw her down over his lap. “I haven’t done anything. I am only...only upset.”

  “Of course you’re upset. It’s been a difficult day for you.” As he spoke, he forced her down despite all her efforts to keep her feet. “During our time together, you’ll be spanked every evening, generally just before bed, whether you need it or not.”

  “What? Why?” she cried, kicking her legs.

  He corralled them with effortless strength, trapping them between his legs so she was bent over his left thigh. “A nightly spanking has a cumulative effect of increasing docility in the recipient,” he explained. “In some sense, I suppose, it helps you learn to surrender. To submit. Your nightly spanking is a fine time for you to think about your behavior throughout the day, whether or not actual punishment is deserved.”

  He lifted her skirts, baring her tensing bottom. She burned with mortification. “That’s not fair,” she said. “It’s not fair to spank someone every night whether they deserve it or not.”

 
“And yet there are those who swear by the practice. When I wed, I’ll certainly subject my wife to nightly spankings. What better way to underline the husband and wife’s complementary roles? The husband is able to assert his dominance, and the wife is able to show her submission to his will.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Violet said, kicking again, for all the good it did her. “When I’m wed, I shall be the dominant one, the head of our relationship. I shall be the queen.”

  “You won’t be the queen until your father dies,” the duke retorted. “And he is in impressive health.” His hand stroked over her bottom, in a way that both discomfited and shocked her. “I daresay your husband will give you any number of spankings despite your royal title. Men tend to fancy themselves head of the household, even if their wife is a princess or queen.”

  “Not the man I marry.”

  “Very well. You may work that out with him in the future. For now, I imagine you are owed a lifetime’s worth of spankings, so we might as well begin.”

  The lazy caresses stopped, and his great hand fell upon her bottom with shocking, stinging force.

  “Oh,” she cried, panicking in earnest. “You mustn’t—”

  But the monster did. He spanked her again and again in that sharp, stinging way, delivering blows that resonated with heat. When she tried to squirm away, he merely held her harder—and spanked her harder—until she decided it best to desist.

  But oh, to lie there under that barrage of endless spanks! Until now, it had been the idea of punishment that horrified her. Now it was the actual pain, the violent sounds and sensations, yes, and the exposure, but mostly the pain. She had not believed even a severe punishment could hurt this badly. And he planned to spank her like this every night?

  She began to cry again, choking, miserable sobs between each squeal of protest. He did not have to spank her that hard. He did not have to spank her at all! Just when she thought she couldn’t bear another moment of the torment, his busy hand came to rest. He smoothed it over her burning bottom cheeks.