Arrangements for Peace (Closed)

[ArcticAvenue]

The heavy doors swung outward to open up the grand parlor. Tomas took two steps forward to enter the room before dropping to his knee the first time. Adorned with a purple and silver tunic, ceremonial saber slung at his waist, his dress was that of when the Royal Court of Blackwood was in session. Since he was to meet with his King of Blackwood the attire was a necessity. Walking slowly across the parlor, Tomas moved with the dignity and strength from his life of military training. It seemed in contrast to the older, slouched man in front of him. The king, draped in purple robes himself, sat at a large table stooped over documents. He read and worked, ignoring the entrance of the young handsome man. Not until Tomas reached the front of the table and knelt again did the King suggest he was aware of any other man in the room.

“Arise,” the King said. “Soon enough, my son, you will kneel for none; they will kneel for you.”

Tomas did as he was commanded and stood at attention. “You asked for me, Your Majesty?”

The king finished writing one last item. “I did. I must speak to you about your assessention.”

Tomas nodded at the pleasantry. “Maybe someday, Father. You have a long life ahead of you to be our King, and many enemies to defeat. Until that day, I can only hope to learn how gain the respect of your people to deserve that they would kneel for me.”

“It comes sooner than you think,” he replied.

Tomas’s eyes grew. “You are ill, milord?”

“No, no. But the rest, all of ti comes sooner than you think. One of our greatest enemies has agreed to terms, and with it must come other changes as well.”

Toman’s eyebrow raised. “You do not mean, the Thrustra have given up? They are barbaric.”

“They are hungry. Barbaric, yes, but they had to choose between continuing a war against us or allowing their people to return to their farms & feed their children.”

Tomas considered this for a moment. As long as he can remember, the war against the tribe Thrustra ruled the consciousness of the people of Blackwood. They didn’t fight with dignity and protocol like a traditional army; they fought with brutality. Savages were they all. “I suspect trickery, your lordship. Do they just lay down arms to rise up when we don’t protect our borders.”

The King smirked, “would you think I did not suspect something myself? They are the hungry ones though, are they not? Do you remember that I told you a thief would never steal from his own home? ”

Tomas turned his head. “You intend to make their tribe dependant on our kingdom?”

“I intend to make their tribe part of our Kingdom, that is part of the agreement.” The King pulled forth a document and slid it across the table. “In the coming days, we will receive visitors from The Thrustra; one of which is Lady Zarathustra. At the next full moon, you will take her hand as your bride, at which time their land will become rightfully ours.”

Tomas read the document slowly, but the words were not registering. He was to be married. Not one that he has courted or chosen himself, but an arrangement. “They agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“Willingly?”

The king let out a long sigh, “I had to make one concession. Their King, Zimberthrustra, father of your bride, he is a petty and bitter man. This treaty, it will mean that he must give up his crown. He agreed only if it meant I gave up mine as well. So the day you are married will also be your coronation.”

Tomas lost himself in thought. Lost himself in that moment.

“I know this must be much for you,” the King said. “You enter this room nothing more than a boy, and when you leave your steps away from the throne and marriage.”

Tomas tried to snap himself into acceptance. “I serve you dutifully, your majesty. I will follow your wishes with all the grace and dignity that one should have.”

The king laughed, “Good. Let’s just hope your Queen will show half as much.”

 

[Opensesame54321]

The clang of steel against steel sounded loud in the courtyard. One lost ones edge without practice. Sweat ran down Zarathustra’s face, stinging her eye. Yet she continued to hack away.

“Time!” Braytle’s gruff voice called out and everyone put down their swords. Zara’s arm could feel the warmth of the workout. She looked around and was proud to see that the group of soldiers seemed in good shape, not at all winded. She looked at the Master-at-Arms and grinned. Braytle grinned back and gave a nod of his head towards the door leading into the castle. She understood and headed through the heavy oak door. Her boots sounded on the stone floors as she headed for her father’s study.

To most people, the door to the War Room was imposing. To Zara, it was somehow comforting. She ran her hand lovingly across the metal studs that formed the crown shape on the face of the door before knocking.

“COME!” Her father’s voice sounded tired. She entered and found him alone, and looking beaten. A worried frown flitted across her face.

Crossing to him, she bowed and kissed her father’s ring. The King looked down on the fair-haired head bowed over his hand, feeling proud at her strength.

“Arise my daughter.”

Zarathustra stood, flipping the long golden braid back so that it hung down her back. She noted the maps spread out across the chart table and felt her blood quicken. “Have you plotted where next we strike. The troops are in fine form and this next strike should hurt the Blackwood.” A smile curled around her lips at the thought of what could happen.

“I have plotted the next strike, though it is an unconventional one. It is one which I am sure that you may not understand, and most certainly will not favor.”

Zara grew still, the smile dying before it had time to reach fruition. She had learned to listen when things did not feel right - intuition ‘twas often true.

“There comes a time when one must think of one’s subjects, and not glory. Zara, this battle has cost us dearly. Our people die in campaign after campaign and leave the crops untended, the weak unprotected. It ends now.”

“Father, if we do that, the Blackwood would march right in, take our lands and our people. This has always been Thrustra.”

Thrustra and Blackwood shared a border. Yet, the two lands seemed to be total opposites.

Thrustra was a proud, warring land. When Zara’s brother had been killed in an accident in childhood, Zara in turn was raised to be a warrior and lead the troops into battle. Her father, Zimber, had always been proud of her. Yet now, could he be losing his faith in her abilities?

“Part of being king is making difficult decisions. This was difficult, but a necessity.” Her father looked angry yet defeated. He handed a document to her and she read as he talked. “I have signed a treaty. No more will we fight Blackwood. From this day forward, we join them. Blackwood and Thrustra shall be one.”

“No father! We can beat them. Give me time. I feel it!”

No one but his daughter dare speak to the king thusly and the man raised his hand to silence he daughter.

“Zara! Listen!” Zara’s lips pursed together in a thin line of anger, waiting for Zimber to continue. “I am being forced to relinquish my crown. But I am not completely addlepated. I have stipulated that the King of Blackwood must also give up his crown.” He noted the confused look on Zara’s face.

“You wonder who rules? The son. I believe that his name is Tomas. Tomas and his queen shall rule. And you, my dear, shall be his queen.”

Zimber’s words did not register at first. Not until she read them on the treaty did she understand. She was expected to marry this Tomas of Blackwood? To be sold like an ox to appease a contract.

“Shall I wait till he sleeps before I slit his throat?”

“No, my child. Even such contingency has been thought of. Should that happen, then every man, woman and child that was once Thrustrian is to be put to the sword. This must be a true peace.” He pat her cheek, a moment of father to daughter. “I had hoped that one day you would carry on our line by marrying one of our fine soldiers, making our race strong. I never wanted to use you as a bargaining tool. But I can see where we are headed. And I must consider our people.”

Zimber suddenly seemed older than his years. Zara bit her tongue, wanting to argue. And though he was her father, he was also her King. And as her King, she must obey, though deep down she felt betrayed. What had her father done? Thrustra to be no more? Her heart ached for the loss of so much.

“As of now, you must cease all battle preparations and pack. In two days time, we leave for Blackwood’s capital where your future awaits, as well as your future husband and king. With the two of you ruling our combined lands, our people will have a voice.”

“To leave Thrustra?”

“Yes. To leave Thrustra. It is spoken. It is final.”

She knew that she had been dismissed. With a heavy heart she headed for her rooms. This was not the way that she had foreseen the outcome of her life. A husband, and a Blackwood no less. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

*****
Zarathustra

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9c/b9/07/9cb907d38c72ca61326f0ad5fb3b2e09.jpg

 

[ArcticAvenue]

“A Thrustra? As a queen?”


“Aye,” Tomas replied.

Henry laughed. “Why not just marry a bear? Did your father at least offer that to the other woodland creatures? Or just the barbarians.” Henry slouched over a chair, slowly carving an apple with a knife.

A butler was helping adjust Tomas’s robes. “It is a treaty, and of course … my duty.”

“Aye,” Henry nodded. “Plus the bear turned you down.”

Tomas tugged the coat in place. Henry, his loyal man-at-arms, took some patience some days. “I’ll have you know, I am considered quite handsome in the bear circles.”

Henry bit his apple, “A guinea says she arrives barefoot.”

Tomas replied with some dignity. “I will never take a bet I am sure to lose.”

“Gone will be the days when the fine young women of our county will be dressed in their lowest cut bodices, more than willing to bow as low as they need to for you. Now you will have have to hope whatever animal carcass your wife skinned and turned into a dress covers the untamed forest between her legs.”

Tomas sighed. “Now you imagine what is between my betrothed’s legs.”

Henry popped up with a eyes wide. “I just thought. When you bed a girl like that, she’ll be a like a wild pony. You’ll have to break her, maybe even put a saddle on her.”

Tomas rolled his eyes. “She is not a beast.”

“Would she even know how to be a proper lady in the bed, or would she think you carry the devil in your pants.”

Tomas took a look at himself in the mirror. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the Thrusta’s are quite adept at procreation. I am sure they understanding something of laying with a man. Besides, even if there is a little fight in her, it would be a nice change from the handmaidens and ladys-in-waiting whom lift their skirts on a drop of the hat.”

Henry chewed on his apple. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t let her mouth near your willy. She may mistake it for carrot and bite it off.”

Tomas was about to reply but a knock came to his chamber door. A man stuck his head in and stated, “The delegation from Thrusta has arrived, sire.”

Tomas nodded to the messenger. “Well then, it is time to meet my future Queen.”

Henry got up and patted his friend and future King on the shoulder. “You are a good man Tomas, to take such a embarrassment with such good grace.”

“And you are a true friend,” Tomas replied.

“Just allow me to keep chasing those handmaidens in your stead.”

Tomas laughed, nodded, and proceeded to the receiving hall.

 

[Opensesame54321]

Paytron knew the Princess well enough that she was aware of the woman’s displeasure. Not that she blamed her. To be given to a Blackwood for marriage was considered a demeaning thing, though certainly she nor anyone would ever say such to anyone of the royal family. Especially now. After all, she would soon be living at the Blackwood Court, serving the Princess and soon to be Queen. And it would be suicide to be vocal about how untrustworthy the Blackwood were if one was surrounded by them.

Princess Zarathustra had never been one for the frivolity of femininity though such things were not new to her. As the sole surviving heir to her kingdom, she had been required to not only attend her fair share of formal functions, but to be properly dressed. Though she preferred her battle gear, she had plenty of dresses worthy of court in Blackwood.

*****

“I feel stupid.”

“I know, your Grace. But this will now be your life.” Paytron diligently clipped Zara’s pubic hair in a small design.

“What is it again?”

“It is the ancient Blackwood word for ‘love’. Everyday until your wedding night I shall trim it to keep its shape. By then, the shape shall be more defined.”

“Are you sure that the Blackwood heir is smart enough to read ancient Blackwood script?”

“I know not. Only you shall know that.”

Zara spoke to the top of her handmaiden head as the woman carefully worked. “Are you sure that you are writing the correct word?”

Paytron fought to keep the smile off her face and her eyes on her work. “Yes, your Highness.”

“I would hate to have my future husband and King take one look on our wedding night and ask why I had been marked as ‘contaminated’, or something like that.”

“I am positive of the word.”

*****

Zarathustra was touched at the honor. Her troops - the men that she trained with - had expected and were offered to be her honor guards for the journey to Blackwood. They had lined up around the Royal Entourage, their parade armor gleaming in the morning sun. For the first time known to any of those present, they would be entering Blackwood in peace, a strange thought indeed.

Zara would have preferred to be riding with her troops, strong in the saddle as she wore her chainmail. Instead, she rode in the carriage, basically shut away from view though her people knew that she was in the carriage, heading to Blackwood to fulfill the terms of the agreement. Zimber rode beside her, ramrod straight despite his advanced years. Her father’s raiment was regal, with the shades of scarlet and black looking sharp against his sandy hair and steely gaze. She knew that her father loathed to do this. Yet the contract was signed and the deal must be carried through.

Zarathustra had wanted to wear her grey dress but she had been assured that to do so would be a slap in the face. She would be allowed to wear white silk with dark pink accents - the closest to the Thrustra scarlet that she could wear until her marriage. Dark pink ribbons were woven through the neckline and around the hem of her skirt. Her travel dress, though not spartan, was a bit more utilitarian to accommodate the discomforts of the trip but still allowed her shapely figure to be noticed. Tonight when she was to be officially presented to the Blackwood court as the future Queen, her dress would be quite a bit more revealing. The Anticipated Queen. She was sure that all the anticipation was on the Thrustra side of this joining of two lands. There was no telling what the thought was on the Blackwood side.

The travel was relatively uneventful. At first there was very little difference between the two lands but as they got further from the border and deeper into Blackwood land, the lands appeared better. Crops grew in the countryside. Homes appeared better tended. The people that stopped to watch them pass looked better fed. These people seemed to have fared the war better than her own people.

Soon there was a voice outside the carriage. “Our destination is within sight, your Highness. We should obtain it in little more than an hour.”

Zara peeked out the window of the window, wishing that she was entering into the enemy’s camp on the back of her battlesteed. She had insisted that Dragonmere be brought along too despite her father’s doubts. No one dare ride the royal steed. Not only because he was the royal steed, but because the horse was wild and headstrong and Zara was the only one that could ride him.

The time passed all too quickly and they were soon weaving through streets towards her future home. And her first sight of her future husband. Probably short and humpback with crossed eyes and a drool. At least that was what the story among the troops.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Tomas walked briskly through the halls towards the main entrance. The procession behind him of men at arms and butlers kept pace quietly, but not without a hum of anticipation. He wore his dark riding pants and black shirt under the long purple coat one wears to such introductions . Respectful, if not fully formal. As they neared the entrance, an argument could be heard - one that he shortly intruded on.

“This is not what we agreed to,” a man in decent enough garb but clearly a Thrusturian in his mannerisms demanded.

Responding to him was the royal secretary. “It is precisely what we agreed to.”

“Bloody lies,” the Thrusturian replied. “You said she would be officially presented to the court tonight. Tonight. Yet we arrive, and there is all these fancy dress people lining the steps.”

“That would be the arrival greeting which we discussed as well. You surely misread our correspondence.”

“Are you calling me a liar or a fool?”

Tomas, assuming that soon enough the barbarian would pull a knife, stepped in. “Gentlemen, is there a problem?”

The Secretary lowered his head, “no sir.”

“Yes there is,” the Thrusturian blurted. “And who are you to get in our bloody way.”

“I am Prince Tomas Blackwood, your future King. And you are?”

The Thrusturian pinched his eyebrows, not quite ready to back down. “You’re man-slave here informed us that Zara wouldn’t be presented until tonight. Now, it seems you’re … future wife … she won’t have the luxury of washing the road from her before meeting you now? Is this some way to disgrace her? Is this how you treat people?”

Tomas gave a laugh to try to calm the tension. “Quite the contrary my good man. It would be rude if we allow her to arrive without a formal greeting.”

“Damn disrespectful if you ask me.”

“It would be disrespectful if we let her arrive unwelcome. Surely you see that there will be times our cultures and practices will be different, and what maybe objectionably for you wouldn’t be for us. Just realize that you are in Blackwood now, so it is our customs you must warm up to.”

The man glared back at Tomas as if he said something that the Thrusturian took offence to. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “I guess we should not argue here much longer and let us yield to your customs. She arrives shortly.”

Tomas smiled, and patted the man’s shoulder. “Yes yes, let is go meet my blushing bride.”

The Thrusturian gave a chuckle, as if the description of the bride was humorous, and led the way to the entrance. As they stood on the steps, the carriage pulled up.

What emerged from the carriage was far from what he expected. No furs. No blood soaked weapons. No barbarian. No brute of a woman. No. Far from that.

Henry at his shoulder leaned close and whispered. “She wears shoes, you should have taken the bet.”

 

[Opensesame54321]

Zara felt a nervous dread fill her stomach. This was new to her. Many times she had headed out to battle and a thrill of energy would fill her, the feeling that soon she would meet the enemy on the field of combat. The flush of pride when they would have a successful campaign. Even the disheartening feeling when the Blackwood had the upper hand.

This was a new feeling for her. The feeling that there was no going back. That there was no tomorrow where the tide would turn and this time she would have the upper hand and the Thrustrians would be the victor. Instead, this was the beginning of the end of Thrustra.

Zimber glanced out the window to take the first glance of their destination. “Good God, they have reached into the bowels of the castle and pulled out anyone with a title. Their first sight of you shall not be to your advantage.”

“Do you think that I care for all that show and pomp?”

“But now, you must. This shall now be your life.”

“How well I understand. I have read the contract numerous times over the past several days. It seems that every contingency was included.” She looked at her father and he had the decency to look uncomfortable, knowing that she referred to the portion about the production of an heir.

“My dear daughter...”. He trailed off as Zara raised her hand to shush him.

“Please, Father. I prefer not to discuss such things with you. Beside, I believe that we have arrived.”

As confirmation, the closed carriage stopped and the carriage door opened. Zimber quickly squeezed her hand before he stepped out of the carriage and turned to take his daughter’s hand.

She stepped into the sun and found all eyes on her. This was not new, though this time they were Blackwood eyes. Quickly she scanned the assembled to find what must surely be her future husband. No drool or hunchback by a long shot. Instead the man in purple and black stood tall, dark eyes apparently sizing her up.

Her father tucked her hand in the crook of his arm to escort her to the future king. She heard their Minister of Protocol announce them.

“I present to Your Majesty, King Zimberthrustra and Princess Zarathrustra.”

She felt her father bow to the young man and she cast her eyes downward as she gave her curtsy to her future husband. But there was no shy blush on her face. It was steel blue eyes that glanced up to look up into his.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

“Well, she isn’t missing an eye,” Henry whispered at his shoulder. “Yet to see those sharp teeth yet.”

Tomas through half a laugh, whispered back, “must you?”

“Double or nothing,” Henry replied. “She falls over when she bows.”

“I present to Your Majesty, King Zimberthrustra and Princess Zarathrustra.”{/I]

“Only if it makes us even,” Tomas replied as he took a couple steps forward to receive the guests. Henry’s constant humorous attacks on the Thrusta, weren’t unwelcome, but even Tomas had to admit the Princess wasn’t what he expected. He had seen them at war, and their undisciplined fighters seemed always to be rugged, dirty, and uncivil. She looked almost kept. Far from unattractive. As she leaned down in her bow, he couldn’t help to glare down in the gap formed at her breasts, and couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Rise, please,” Tomas stated. With practiced words he greeted the two. “King Zimberthrustra and Princess Zarathrustra; I am His Royal Highness Prince Tomas Blackwood, Prince of Blackwood, Earl of Anglar, Duke of Gustovia, Baron of Baniti, Lord and Great Steward of Balckwood & the Isles. On behalf of my father King Axel VII; I welcome you to our palace.

He continued, “When you are ready, you find in your rooms an assortment of soaps and perfumes. Consider them to be our gift to you on your arrival.” As welcome gifts are concerned, the soaps would be not as elegant as many they have given to foreign dignitaries. But of course, this was the Thrustas and all agreed they would be delighted to have such a luxury of removing the smell of their land from them.

“ I do hope the travels were not too harsh?”

 

[Opensesame54321]

Rise, please. King Zimberthrustra and Princess Zarathrustra; I am His Royal Highness Prince Tomas Blackwood, Prince of Blackwood, Earl of Anglar, Duke of Gustovia, Baron of Baniti, Lord and Great Steward of Balckwood & the Isles. On behalf of my father King Axel VII; I welcome you to our palace. When you are ready, you find in your rooms an assortment of soaps and perfumes. Consider them to be our gift to you on your arrival.

Zimber nodded his head in acceptance. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness Prince Tomas Blackwood. We thank you for your gracious welcome to Blackwood and to your home. We would certainly appreciate the chance to freshen up.”

Zara, on the other hand, remained noncommittal. Her expression did not change other than the raising of her right eyebrow as she stared at her future husband. So this was what she would be saddled with for the benefit of her people? She had noted the asides being made by the aide standing beside this Prince as they ascended the steps and though she knew not what was said, she was good at reading people. She had noted the attempt to hide the smile, no doubt at their expense.

I do hope the travels were not too harsh?

Zara, giving Prince Tomas a nod, finally spoke. Her words were honeyed even if the look in her eyes were not.

“No, not harsh at all. We had no problems finding your kingdom.”

Her father knew the warning signs and interjected, in an effort to avoid yet another war.

“If we might be shown to our suite so that we may unpack and prepare for tonight?”

Soon they were being led through the castle, Zimber and Zara leading their entourage. No words were spoken among the Thrustrians and the tension was thick enough as to almost be felt as they went down hall after hall until they were shown to a door behind which was the wing where the suites of rooms delegated to the Thrustrians were.

No sooner was the door to her sitting room closed than Zara stalked across the room, her hands clenched.

“How insultingly impertinent could he be! ‘I do hope the travels were not too harsh?’ The insinuation that we were unable to withstand a simple ride in a simple carriage. One look at the man tells me he has probably never been on the back of a horse. He is all show. Perhaps, Paytron, instead of the word ‘Love’, you should instead clip directions on where he is supposed to stick that Blackwood...”

“Your Grace,” Paytron quickly interjected, “your father, the King, is across the hall and may hear you.”

“I care not!”

There was a knock at the door and Paytron opened the door to allow the King into his daughter’s sitting room. Paytron curtsied and quickly excused herself to begin unpacking Zarathustra’s trunks.

Zara’s suite consisted of a sitting room which opened into a sumptuous bedroom. Off the bedroom was a dressing room which led into her own private bathing room. In the center of the bathing room was the large bathing tub and along one wall was a shelf which was adorned with numerous soaps and oils. Over against the wall was a locked door which led to a set of stairs to be used by servants in order to bring up buckets of hot water for the bath.

No sooner had Paytron left the room than Zimber turned to Zara.

“Need I remind you, daughter, just how much the welfare of our people depends upon this marriage?”

“The man intimated that we could not find our way out of a dark room. He himself has probably never fought in battle nor done anything without his aide being there to do it for him. He practically laughed at us as he spoke! How could you betroth me to the likes of him?”

“Enough! I expect you to be over this anger by the time that we are expected this evening. I will not have this treaty negated. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” She reigned in her anger and curtsied to her father, kissing the ring upon his outstretched hand. There was a brief hesitation before he laid a hand on the blonde head and spoke.

“Please forgive me, daughter.”

Then he turned and left the room to cross the hall to his own suite.

Zara went in search of her lady’s maid and found the woman in the dressing room unpacking. Paytron looked at her. “Your Grace, if you wish, you could rest a bit and I will wake you in time for a bath before dressing for tonight.”

“Good Lord! I am not a Blackwood. I am made of sterner stuff than that.” Paytron watched Zarathustra step into the bathing room while she continued to unpack. After a few minutes, Zara came back through the room and headed back into the bedroom. The lady’s maid helped Zara our of her dress and stripped her down. The princess relieved herself before donning her wrapper and climbing between the sheets on the bed.

Taking the chamber pot, Paytron headed through the dressing room and bathing room, looking for where to empty the pot. She noted the shelf where earlier had been the Blackwood bathing soaps and oils. The shelf was now empty. Curious, the maid crossed and looked in the waste bin beneath the shelf.

It was full of the soaps and oils.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Henry kept up with Tomas as they wound back to his chambers. “You see that little handmaid that came with your queen? Peyton was it? I’m going to break that pony.”

“Now you want to break in a Thustran?”

“I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?” Henry’s eyes were moving about sharply, like the primal needs of a woman were erupting in his loins. “See if you can request the queen to send additional ladies from her court here. I am sure they are looking to marry a high born, I am sure of it.”

Tomas almost spat. “And if you create some unwanted bastards along the way?”

“They would have a better life as bastards of mine, don’t you think?”

Tomas pulled open the doors to his chamber, stopped, turned to his friend, and held up a hand. “If you don’t mind, I think I want some rest. It maybe a long night.”

Henry sneared, “of course of course.”

“And tell the others I wish not to be disturbed.”

“Fine, just as soon as I hunt down that handmaiden.”

Tomas fronted a smile, and shut the chamber door. He latched it, threw a bolt … and then pulled a chair to block it further. He grabbed another chair, and tossed it at the first, hearing a snap of wood as it struck. He would have thrown a whole wardrobe at the door if he thought he could move it. He grabbed at the purple robe that marked his royal heritage, and yanked at it angrily, ripping the sleeves as it fought to free itself from his body.

Near the door, Tomas kept a wooden sword. A fool’s sword, used by children to teach fighting skills before they can be trusted with a blade. He brought the toy up against a pillar and swung it hard. The blade rattled and shook in his hand, but didn’t crack, didn’t break. It wouldn’t on this pillar -- it hadn’t in the past. He swug again, the hard crack of wood on wood as he struck that pillar. A slight dent was left where his toy had struck the support. It would have been larger, but it was hidden in the mass of thousands of other strikes he had left on that pillar.

Those who guard his chambers would hear the strikes, yet would not enter. Those who would see the damage to the pillar would not speak of it. If there was cuts or bruises on Tomas’s hands, they would be cleaned bandaged but not questioned.

Blackwoods are a stoic people. Blackwoods are stern, controlled, and strong in the face of difficulty. They do what is asked of them when duty calls. They do not waver, they do not flinch.

They do not hate their father for forcing the rule of a kingdom upon them.

They do not live in fear of being the cause of the downfall of their whole lively hood.

They do not question the choice of their queen; even when it would take a fool to see that she would not be the weak footed barbarian Tomas thought she would be.

They do not have a reason to push all of this deep down, until such time he could not help but let it burst through.

In a few hours, Tomas pulled the chair away, unlatched the door, threw away the blood soaked cloth that were wrapped around his hands, stepped aside as his stewards, butlers, and maids set about the task of preparing him for the evening … and hiding the destruction he caused when he was alone. Tomas took long deep breaths and regained the dignity he would need to carry with him throughout the night, and the rest of his life.

 

[Opensesame54321]

Several hours later, Paytron began preparing the bath for her Princess. She watched as young maid after young maid carried bucket after bucket of steaming hot water up the back staircase and filled the large bathing tub. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement and saw one of the maids make a circuitous route so that she could glance in the waste bin beneath the shelves where the soaps and oils had once sat. It was too late to remedy the bin full of the rejected gifts and though she knew that Princess Zara would not care if what she had done was announced from the parapets of the castle, she was well aware that King Zimberthrustra would not be pleased.

Once the tub was filled, she closed and locked the door, throwing the bolts to secure the Princess’ privacy.

From a small case in the dressing room, she took out a small vial and went back into the bathing room. Steam filled the room and she crossed to the tub, carefully dropping in 5 drops of the liquid within. The room was filled with the smell of the exotic flower, its scent almost hypnotic.

The Nimbia Flower was a rare bloom, its white delicate blossoms only found one place in the world. On the marshy edge of the Host Swamps, it was guarded by a variety of creatures that made their homes in and around where the flower grew wild. Most of those insects and animals were deadly in some form or another. Many had tried to transplant it but the flower never survived outside that area. Because of its rarity and remote and dangerous location, only royalty had access to this flower.

Once harvested near the end of summer, the alchemist at the castle would work his magik and create this incredible fragrance. What was unique was that while in the water it had a stronger scent, once Zara left the bath, the scent left upon her body was very light, almost fleeting. Some of the previous hopeful suitors of Princess Zara had found the scent almost addictive. It was the only scent that the Princess wore, other than when she chose for clean. One of the things that Princess Zara hated about war was the inability to take a bath, and usually the first thing that she demanded upon her return from any campaign was that a bath in the hottest water be prepared with her Nimbia soap so that she could remove all traces of war.

All it took was a light hand upon Zara’s shoulder for the woman to be awake. She spent several minutes working to clear up the trimming of the word clipped onto Zara’s pubic hair. She could tell by the set of her lady’s lips that the woman still was not happy. Then she followed her into the bathing room where her wrap slipped from her body and Zara climbed into the hot, fragrant water.

*****

The dress that was pulled over Zara’s head was beautiful. On a white silk background was a combination of red and purple flowers embroidered symbolically in scattered bouquets around her dress, tied together with white ribbons. The gown straps were off the shoulders and revealed her creamy shoulders and the gentle swells of her décolleté. As she was fastened into the fitted bodice and full skirt, she saw her reflection in the glass window.

“Well, I feel like the lamb being led to the slaughter.”

“I may be speaking out of turn, but I do not see your Highness meek as a lamb.”

Zara gave a wry smile. “I suppose that it has been a while since I was meek as a lamb.” She took a deep breath. “By all that is holy, this dress leaves very little to the imagination. Or my comfort.”

After a bit more time while her long blonde hair was artfully arranged and a collection of red and purple flowers were interspersed in her hair, she watched the woman’s fingers working magik.

“This may be a bit of a lie. Gives the impression that I am some soft female.”

“Perhaps the Princess is, but just has not had the chance to be soft.”

Zara closed her eyes remembering. The death of her brother when they were both so young forced Zara into the role of future Guardian of the Realm. Of the hours of battle training mixed with formal functions where she was presented at the Princess of the Crown. Perhaps if she had been raised as just a Princess, life would be different.

She opened her eyes and the woman that looked back at her was someone that she had never seen before. It scared her. Had she been dressed in her chain mail and perched astride Dragonmere, she would have known what to do.

The knock on her door told her that King Zimberthrustra was ready. The time was now, whether she was ready or not.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Tomas entered the hall unceremoniously. His arrival was to be downplayed, after all. It was the Princess that was to be presented to him, not the reverse. Still, he took a moment to survey the room before fully entering. The Royal Hall was decorated with grand white silks and cloths that seemed to brighten the room. Typically adorned with paintings, statues, and other flouishes from generations of war prizes without regard to subtly, the flowing vestments of otherwise unremarking cloth gave a thematic and warm feel to the place. His father’s throne still sat at the head of the room up on a platform where he could rule over all in the court; yet now a table dressed for a grand dinner sat below its steps. There where four chairs at the table. One one side a guarish purple chair, no doubt for his father, and a simple stool on the other, no doubt for the deposed king. Between them, two matching chairs, covered as well in white. All of these chairs set to face the remainder of the room, where the rest of the guests can watch the grand theatre take place at the front.

Tomas’s arrival did not go unnoticed, though unacknowledged. His shirt, vest, & pants were pure white with trimmings and edging in royal purple. His long coat was much same, but the lines around the hems and cuts were more pronounced with the purple allowed only for the royal family clothing. He stood out because of the white, not that it was as grand of the color, but it was in contrast to all else of the room. As protocol dictates this night, only the betrothed were to be in white. As traditionally, there isn’t much chance for the two to meet, this dressing is to ensure that all would know who they are.

Tomas took a few steps towards the head of the room. As he did, the Minister of Protocol stepped up to him quickly. “Just a reminder, your majesty, you are to remain a the front by the King’s right hand side until the Princess arrives with her father. At that time you are to move to her, and accept her.”

“Accept her,” Tomas replied. “Why do you mix your details so inconsistently, Minister. You think you need to tell me which side of my father to stand on, but then say ‘accept her’.”

“I only use the proper words, your majesty.”

With an edge of sarcasm Tomas replied. “Then in our little bit of privacy, then me ensure I have the details correct. I am going to stand in front of her, purposefully look over her body like a butcher exams a cow ready for slaughter, and then agree that she is good enough for me with a kiss on her cheek. Did I get that right?”

“Well … yes. Protocol does allow you to request her garments be removed as well, but that need not happen if you find her suitable.”

“If I find …” he stopped. With a huff he found his control. “I understand your need to mince words on decent language, but let us not mince words on the obvious - my opinion of her suitability is not part of the protocol, is it not?”

The minister paused, “no, your magisty.”

“Good then, let our games begin.”

Shortly, his father limped his way up to his throne, and Tomas took his spot as directed. There, they waited, as now the next step was in the Thrustan’s hands.

 

[Opensesame54321]

Zara stood beside her father in the private antechamber, Paytron behind her making last minute adjustment to her hair and dress. Meanwhile, Kraytin, their Minister of Protocol ran through exactly what would happen.

“At the calling of the hour, I shall rap three times loudly and the doors here shall be opened from inside. Then you, Sire, shall enter with your daughter on your arm. The way to the throne has been cleared. At the throne is...” Kraytin cleated his throat in obvious discomfort, “...the King, uh, King Axel VII and the future king Prince Tomas Blackwood.”

Zara was ready to get this over with and interrupted Kraytin’s instructions.

“Paytron, enough. Anything out of place will just have to be out of place.” Paytron curtsied and stepped back. “Kraytin, then father and I walk to the dais, father bows and I curtsy and we stay thus until the Prince comes down and decides whether to accept me or not. But since everything depends upon this contract and the contract says that neither he nor I have any say in this, then he accepts me and at that time father is no longer King Zimberthrustra but just Zimberthrustra. I think that we have read and reread all of this enough to understand the ramifications of failure to follow through. Take your cudgel and announce us.”

“Patience, daughter. How did you ever win the campaigns that you did win?”

She gave Zimber a quick smile. “By knowing when to cease talking and act, my Father.”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The sound of a door unlocking seemed almost as loud as the pounding that had preceded it. The double doors slowly opened towards Zara and her father and his gloved hand quickly pet her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow before they stepped inside the well lit room filled with people. Zara could hear trumpets sounding in the distance as every eye in the room was on them. She was proud of her father in his red and black formal uniform, his military bearing showing in his straight back and sure step. On both sides were the elite of Blackwood, all lined to get a look at the possible future Queen. Only a limited number of people in the room knew the full contents of the document that would soon bind the lands of Blackwood and Thrustra into one country called Blackwood. In her white silk dress, she stood out. Even with the tiny red and purple flowers embroidered across its surface, the whiteness of the silk seemed such a stark contrast to the various colored dresses worn by the women on either side of her.

The room was large and it took almost a minute to ceremoniously traverse from their entry to where the King and her future husband awaited for Zimber and Zara to arrive. Zara was just saying a prayer that she would remain patient. Not one of her greatest assets.

As they reached the throne, Zimber bowed and Zara made a deep curtsy and bowed her head, her eyes cast down to the floor. Protocol demanded that she remain in a deep curtsy until if and when the Prince decided to come and take her hand and kiss her cheek in acceptance. Meanwhile, she could hear them being officially introduced.

“...King Zimberthrustra and His daughter, the Princess Zarathrustra...”

She remained still and waited.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Whatever bloody fool thought that the girl had to remain in a curtsey was a cruel bastard. Tomas could see frail & hungry ladies of ages ago trembling and near exhaustion for such a pose; or worse, others practicing since out of nappies such a pose. Tomas wasted little stepping up to her to do his duty, just to get her past this. Or to get himself past it.

He stood in front of the princess and regarded her to protocol. At least that was his plan. This close now, this attention he gave her, finally gave him the opportunity to appreciate the girl. Her curtsy encouraged him to examine her bosom even if it was under hard wraps of her bodice. They still appeared to be full, and firm; something he would look forward to exploring in more detail. Yet now, her hair seemed fascinating. It was kept & brushed like one would expect for a proper woman of standing; but there was something wild about the golden locks; like a real battle was required to control it. Yet was the most intriguing was her exposed shoulders. Not that of a someone who spends her days eating teacakes and sewing. She was strong.

Tomas refocused, there was no time for this. He had a duty. Yes, she would do nicely.

He did not even make eye contact when he leaned down, and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Please,” he stated waving to the front of the room. “Join us. It is time to eat.”

He reached for her hand to hold it on their procession through the eyes of a satisfied audience. He tried to hide the wince of pain from the simple touch. Another oddness about this one; her own hands far from gentle. The rough skin rubbing uncomfortably at the fresh wounds from his earlier frustrations. This girl almost had hands of a laborer, not a princess.

All this, yet she seems willing to go along with this charade. A woman of physical strength, yet meek as a lamb. At least that is what she has show to him.

They found their seat at the table, and servants set to work. Tomas, quick to wave to the wine steward first.

And for the first time, he said the first thing to her that wasn’t mandated by protocol. He leaned slightly to the side where she sat and said under his voice, “I don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink.”

 

[Opensesame54321]

From her downcast eyes, she could see his shoes and his pant hems as he stopped in front of her. Not really much to go on about a man. At this time, she was thankful for her many hours of battle training that allowed her to maintain the deep curtsy with nary a bobble though she could see where in the past, some princess hopefuls might collapse from the stress of the uncomfortable position. At the curtsy she had broken contact with her father though he stood still beside her.

She felt his lips on her cheek, thankful that their first show of “affection” had been relatively impersonal, no matter whether it was contrived or not. She knew that eventually would come more personal signs - a kiss, a hug, and more. Though still a virgin she did know exactly what would be expected of her on the wedding night, and before. And she had been endowed with the occasional kiss from some hopeful suitor, only to find himself with a red slapped face and and a deflated ego. Now, though, she no longer had that privilege. Now, her father and his had signed a treaty, and she had to acquiesce or risk the fate of the Thrustrian civilization. She was but one, yet this one could guarantee the safety of her lands and her people.

Taking her hand, he bade her rise and she did so, for the first time close enough that she could get a good look at him. His dark eyes and dark hair gave him an almost brooding look, though he did not look mad nor angry. She did not know him that well and as such, it was impossible to read his thoughts. His figure was well built and thankfully he stood taller than her.

Please. Join us. It is time to eat.

Taking her by the hand, he led her to their table. Her own fingers were strong, and had spent many hours holding a sword, training in the courtyard, and fighting in battles with the people that now filled this room. And though her hands were a warriors hands, she could feel the fresh cuts on his hands. A warrior too? His grip was firm yet careful as if he were afraid of hurting her.

And, what should she call him, anyway? Her betrothed? Her intended? Your Highness? She felt her irritation rising up within her and she quickly sought to tamp it back down. It would not do for these people to see the future queen lose her temper.

Once seated, the remainder of the assembled found their seat and there was a flurry of servants as food was bought out. New tastes to learn to eat, though she would deeply miss her favorites and would demand once she was Queen that some Thrustrian delicacies would be introduce to the Blackwood court. Whether the King liked it or not. Things like Kroos, a plump bird roasted in fruit and herbs. Or Yalla, a thick pudding made from the Yalla fruit and flowers.

Tomas waved to a wine steward and a dark red wine was quickly poured into his goblet. He leaned slightly towards her and spoke where only she could hear.

I don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink.

She gave a polite but slight nod. She herself was not new to wine though she usually imbibed only on official occasions. A soldier needed to keep his or her head at all times. However, she had to admit that perhaps a glass of wine would make this whole thing more palatable.

“You may be correct, your Highness.” Inside she winced. She had not meant to, but there had been just the slightest hesitation between the words “your” and “Highness”. She had not meant that and she could only hope that he had not noticed her blunder so early in the proceedings. And if he had noticed, hopefully he would not hold it against her. She glanced at her Father, and found it hard to not show her displeasure at how he was reduced to selling his daughter to the enemy. Though he sat proud, she alone knew just how much this grieved him. All she could do would be to make him proud of her.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

He finished the first glass of wine quickly, but nearly didn’t finish another the rest of the meal. Nearly didn’t say a word the rest of the meal either. Tomas told himself it was the nature of this formal affair. There was a feast of course. Great birds, great puddings, great fruits and sauces and sweets. The discipline of his training also ensure his moderation, which could be why he convinced himself to not taste much more wine.

There the performance as well. Frolcing dancers, happy musicans, and serious actors portraying how the Blackwood kingdom began. The first king Regent, whom after his people were threatened by a bloodthirsty beast known as the Grifder. Head of a lion, body of a bear, wings of a bat; the Grifder attacked and ate the children who wandered away from their parents; until all the children were gone. Then the beast attacked the village. King Regent stood his ground under the grand oak, whose hulking trunk and branches still stand in the great Blackwood temple. King Regent pulled down the greatest of the branches, and swung it at the beast. The branch thrust through the heart, it’s wood turning black from the thick blood engulfing the weapon. That branch became the symbol of the people, the Blackwood that would save them from all danger. The weapon, lost to time, carries on in the crest of the people.

A compelling story … but one Tomas had heard a million times.

Yet the only distraction he could have, the strange princess seated beside him, remain quiet. It seemed odd to him now that he worried about this creature to be too wild to tame. Instead he has one too tame to be wild. The growing realization of this drew any enjoyment of this banquet from him. So he sat, wallowed, and waited for what will come next.

The Minister of Protocol arose, and spoke to the room. “His majesty thanks all who have attending this grand even and welcomes you to stay and continue the merriment. At this time, the future King & Queen will retire to his bedchamber so that they may consummate and fulfill the coupling duties.”

Tomas, of course, knew that this tradition would come. Including the expectation that the consummation would need to be on the white sheets his bed will be covered with - so the people can celebrate the evidence of such a task. Whether the quiet and shy girl next to him knew was no consequence to him. At this point he stood and offered his hand to her. As if he was asking her to do no more important thing than to brush a fly from his sleeve he said, “Shall we?”

 

[Opensesame54321]

The relative quietness of the meal was strange to her. At home in Thrustra, formal affairs were cause for much celebration. There would be plenty of laughing and joking, singing and shouts between the people there. It would be a time for joy and everyone would be happy. Even though formal, the Thrustrians would enjoy themselves.

Here, everything was stiff and hushed. As she looked out across the elite of Blackwood seated out before her, she could see the disdain and contempt for a foreign princess that would soon be their queen. Whispers were exchanged. And meanwhile in the center of the room performers danced and seemed to make the only merriment in the room. Save for the entertaining troupe, no one was really celebrating.

Least of all the future King and Queen.

Her Father sat uncomfortably on the small stool that they had supplied him though only she would notice it. His back remained straight and proud, his bearing regal. But they had him seated on a stool like an errant child that one might scold and shame. And though it made her angry, her Father bore it all like the soldier that he had once been. It angered her the way that the Blackwood seemed intent upon trying to embarrass him.

Yet, at this time, she had no say in this. But once she became Queen, then she would fight for some changes. These people may come to regret having chosen her as a Queen. Though, once the wedding had occurred, there would be no going back. Actually, once there had been the Consummation of the Coupling, there would be no going back. The bloody sheets were as good as the treaty that had been signed.

If pressed, she would have had to say that she had paid very little attention to the entertainment. She really did not care about children stories and to her, that was just what the stories of Blackwood were.

Other than the words that he had initially spoken, her future husband kept quiet beside her. Well, he may not have the drool or the humpback, but her future husband seemed to be dull and sullen. It would be interesting to see if he did know ancient Blackwood.

All too soon, their Minister of Protocol (if she remembered correctly from the official report) stood and announced to the assembled.

His majesty thanks all who have attending this grand even and welcomes you to stay and continue the merriment. At this time, the future King & Queen will retire to his bedchamber so that they may consummate and fulfill the coupling duties.

She fought hard not to blush. She had known that this was what was next. The losing of her virginity and the proof of her purity to those assembled. She was surprised that they didn’t go ahead and invite everyone to crowd around the coupling bed and watch the actual proceedings. Maybe even give pointers or rate their performance. And if she were not still a virgin, then the bright white sheet with its lack of her blood smeared upon it would mean that the treaty was broken and the slaughter would begin.

He stood and offered his hand to her. Shall we?

She took his hand and rose, looking briefly at Zimber. Her father looked proudly at her and she turned from him to walk away as regally as she could. With much pomp and circumstance the two were led away from the festivities. Her hand rested lightly upon the sleeve of his jacket as their Minister walked ahead of them, his staff of office thumping with each step as if announcing the arrival of the future King and Queen heading for the Coupling.

She feared not the pain of the first time. She had been injured before in battle and survived such so she was sure that the loss of her maidenhood would be pain that she could bear. She did wonder if this Tomas would recognize the word so carefully clipped in her pubic hair.

Finally, their guide stopped before a heavy wooden door, knocking 3 times before they slowly opened to admit them. Inside waited Paytron and a man that she could only assume was Tomas’ servant.

The door closed as she was led by Paytron to a small dressing room where Paytron was to undress her and slip a simple robe over her naked body. The two spoke in hushed tones.

“According to tradition, I must ask if this is your desire.”

Zara gave the woman a look that told volumes. “I have no say in this! You know that.”

“I know,” her maid bowed her head, understanding that the answer meant nothing. “Are you ready, my lady?”

Taking a deep breath, Zara nodded. “Yes, I am ready.” But this Blackwood may not be ready for me! she muttered under her breath.

She waited inside as Paytron stepped back out into the bedroom and closed the door, waiting for Tomas’ manservant to step out. Alone in the dressing room, when it was time Paytron would pound 3 times on Zara’s door at the same time that Tomas’ servant knocked 3 times on his door. Then both servants would leave and once the two came out the Coupling would begin.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

She waited until she heard the outer doors close before she opened her door.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Henry spoke in a voice that mccked the silly accent of the Minister of Protocol. “I thus greatly and deeply your highness. Dust thou desire this.”

“Do shut up, “Tomas replied. “And why does this blood thing need to be leather?” He wore want amounted to a loincloth, wrapped around his waist. Under, nothing else.

Henry half filled his wine goblet. “I assume for the oils.”

“Oils?”

Henry smirked and pointed to a the bottle next to them on the table. “Or do you think well will be primed for your pump?”

Tomas tilted his head back and tapped his toe impatiently. “Only a half cup for you, Henry?”

“I had a bit of a chat with that handmaiden over dinner. I mights be keeping her company while her lady is brought to ruin.”

“Well, you shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Henry stood up and put a hand on his friends bare shoulder. He mocked again and said, “do you desire this.”

“You? Bloody no.” Tomas teased. “But, the mute girl across the room, I must.”

Henry left. Tomas waited. In those moments that bottle of oil screamed at him. He knew better, knew that timid thing he would bed soon likely knew nothing about what they would do and how to prepare herself. He groan and went ahead pouring some of the oil in his hand and began working it onto his member. Of course, the actions had an effect on him. All the better he guessed. Would likely mean it will be over sooner.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

He stepped out of the dressing room, as he did, she opened her own door.

The room was lit by a mixture of a few candles and embers in the fireplace. At first she looked like a white shadow in the darkness emerging timidly across the room. The closer she got, the more the light illuminated her gown and the shadow of her body could be see through it. For a girl who spoke little and seemed without much will; she was not unsightly. Far from it. Her shape curved in ways to accent her most feminine strengths. Her breasts were full and firm; her hips flared, her torso slim. The gods may have punish her by sparing her a personality, but the rewards they gave her were as grand.

When he stood in front of her and took her hands in his; the light remain behind her, and he could not see her face, her front, her expressions. “I must admit, I am lucky that this treaty has presented me such a lovely wife-to-be. He glanced over at the bed, then back to her. “Shall we?”

 

[Opensesame54321]

He stood there dressed in some ridiculous leather loincloth, like a warrior off to go slay the dragon. She almost expected him to beat his chest, grunt and utter something like “me discover fire.” He really was not a bad looking man, and in a different situation, she might have accepted advances from him. But this whole thing irritated her. As they had already gone this far, the only thing that would stop the proceedings would be if he were to couple with her and there was no blood. She knew that her virginity was intact so that was no problem.

Meanwhile, he stood looking her over, as if able to see past the robe that she wore. Taking her hand, it irritated her that he treated her as if she were one of those addlepated girl scared of her own shadow that he had probably bedded in the past.

I must admit, I am lucky that this treaty has presented me such a lovely wife-to-be. Shall we?

She stopped and pulled her hand away from his. A quick glance of the bed showed the majority of it covered with the obligatory white sheet save the pillows.

“Let us be frank. You want me no more that I want you. Yet, because of our fathers, we are obliged to continue this farce. You probably have some handmaiden that you love. Or even another princess. And for me, marriage was not something that I wished for at this time. Yet, should I back out, or be found to be ‘tainted’, then all of my people die.” She crossed to the bed and turned back to him.

“My people are worth more than my maidenhood. And the shedding of a little blood does not scare or defeat me. But you should know that I will not kowtow to you. Despite you becoming the King, you remember this, that I will be the Queen, and as such, I also will have a say. You may not like it, but we both are having things forced upon us. If you were hoping for some meek and scared wife, then you will be disappointed.”

She stood beside the bed, the virginal white of it and the filmy robe that she wore a contrast to the fire that burned in her eyes.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

His eyes remained locked on hers.

Tomas’s face burned in heat, his chin stiffen. She hadn’t said more than two words to him since they met, now at the bedside she stood her ground. Her words were indignant, inflamitory, and uncalled for. Tomas listened to each word. Tomas heard every one. It left him irate.

It left him aroused.

He crossed the space to stand in front of her by the bed, the flame in his dark eyes matching the same in hers.

The bed was readied with a table that allowed for tools of the night. Candles that smelt of flowers. Perfumes with scents meant to relax. Port for the same purpose. Another bottle of oil. More flowers, warm wet cloths, napkins. More of these set-up for her discomfort. He had been shown them all, told how to use each, and was prepared to use them if he thought it prudent. He intended to use them all.

He didn’t.

His eyes remained locked on hers. His loincloth was at his feet when he reached for the robe and yanked it from her shoulders. He placed his hands on her hips, pulled her so that she was between him and the bed. When he lifted her onto it, he pulled her thighs apart and stepped between.

One hand wrapped around the small of her back ready to pull her hard against him. The other snaked between them positioning his ridgid member at the opening.

A harsh pull, and forward thrust, and it was done. He gave her only a second pause, then thrust again. Pause. Thrust.

He never said a word in response, only keeping his eyes locked onto hers.

 

[Opensesame54321]

She could see a change in his eyes but since she did not know him that well, she was not sure what to expect from him. Would her words make him angry? Upset? Indifferent? What?

He crossed the room to her, his strides long and purposeful and fire also burning in his eyes. It seemed to be all done in one step - the loincloth off and on the floor as he snatched the robe off of her body.

The cool air brushed against her bare skin but where his hands took hold of her by the hips, it was hot and threatened to burn her. At least, that was what it felt like.

Without a word, he lifted her into the bed, pulling her legs apart. His body was warm wherever it touched her between her thighs. No gentle words, no soft caresses. Just two people completing a mission. Ending a war and creating a new country with a single act.

Their gazes locked, as if searching for weakness in the other. But she saw something that she had not noticed before. There was now determination paired with that fire.

She felt the pain as he torn through her maidenhood, though if her face gave away anything, it may have been the flexing of her jaw as she gritted her teeth at the pain, or perhaps a slight wince. She had had worse pain in battle, yet it still hurt. He pulled back then thrust again, irritating the newly breached area. Then again. She could feel her blood running down from her sex to stain the white sheet beneath her. The deal was sealed. The sheets were a treaty that could be easily read by the Blackwood elite that waited in the hall below. Sealed and unbreakable.

She had not actually had time to even glance at his member or even take note of its size though to a virgin, all manhoods felt quite large. In fact, it was strange that such a personal thing should take on such an impersonal feeling. She had heard of various women that she had met or known talk about the magic of their first time. There was nothing magical about this. Instead, it was the sealing of the deal and she was in essence his Queen, he her King. Her people were safe.

With each additional thrust it hurt, but the pain was lessened. He had said nothing in answer to her announcement and she wondered if the deflowering of her was his answer. Or perhaps this was just his way. She would not know until their next Coupling. Coupling. Such an unromantic word. But then again, this was not a romantic moment.

His hands remained upon her hips, holding her steady and she rested her hands on his upper arms. Not because she was trying to put some personal contact to the entire proceedings, but rather because, sitting on the edge of the bed and being deflowered at the same time was a somewhat unbalancing procedure.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

She didn’t wince, she didn’t gasp, she didn’t even look away. Taken by the moment, he broke through the last of her physical dignity, and it didn’t even crack her emotional dignity in the least. He kept thrusting, short, determined thrusts, and she did nothing to relent.

She was not his first. She wasn’t even his first virgin. Yet she was nothing like the others.

If he had any control of his thoughts, Tomas likely would find nothing erotic, nothing romantic about this … this coupling. Yet never had a woman brought him to the brink of climax so quickly.

He stopped. He breathed. For the first time he looked away from her gaze; all in an effort to make this last longer.

Something in the way she gripped his arms gave him the idea. She fights balance. Reposition.

He lifted her by the hips. She was heavier than she looked; but she already proved herself to not be the frail feather that she appeared to be. He brought her down further onto the bed, where he could climb over her. Kneeling between her legs, looking down upon her naked form, he re-entered her, gripping her hips once more but not with the control to move her hands across her torso. Her stomach was taught, the muscles clear through her skin. Same with her arms, her chest. She was strong; built strong.

In this position, he could continually pump into the woman. The oils he put on his member before were clearly necessary, but the other fluids, including her own blood, now made the duty easier.

Once again, his climax moved quickly towards him. This time, however, he didn’t care to extend it any further. He freed himself from his limits. Plowed into her fertile ground, and planted his seed.

 

[Opensesame54321]

Strangely he stopped his thrusts. Was it over? With nothing to base it on, she waited as he looked away from her. Was she that repugnant? Unattractive? It must be something wrong as he pulled out.

Suddenly he was dragging her by her hips to reposition her on the bed. She was now on her back, looking up at him as he once again climbed between her legs, once again thrust his member into her sex, pumping hard. His eyes momentarily locked with hers before she saw his eyes rove over her nude body. There was a squelching sound as he seemed to speed up - she knew that to be her blood, and something else? She had been informed that both his body as well as her would produce a fluid to ease in sex. That must be it. She halfway expected him to say something about the Ancient Blackwood word clipped into her pubic hair, but he remained mute about it.

Then he grunted and then thrust deep into her. There was a feeling of warmth seeming to fill her insides. She knew it to be his seed. As far as anyone knew, she could be the vessel where his progeny now grew. That now was her job as his Queen. At least as far as the contract said.

He still had yet to say any word past those he had spoken to her initially. She had to be correct. This had not been his choice either. Like her, he had been force into the arrangement. And this was perhaps his way of showing his displeasure at her and his father.

Two people forced into a loveless marriage. One to save her people, and one...? What was his reason? Perhaps she would eventually find his reason.

She had been told that if she were fortunate, that she too would feel a climax, a feeling of flying. But there was nothing like that for her. This was all business. And they were expected to clean up themselves, retire back to their dressing rooms and call their servant, redress, and return to the people waiting below in the hall with the bloody sheet leading the way and eventually hanging in the great hall while the people celebrated their new king and Queen to be.

She lay beneath him, still speared upon his sword.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

Once the waves of it passed, he couldn’t look at her. His head turned, buried into his own shoulder. Whatever that was, it wasn’t him, it wasn’t the way he was with others. In the first few moments, he felt a shame growing and couldn’t look at the shame he brought.

He dismounted. Bent to the floor and picked up her robe.

They weren’t two persons whom were so much different. He from a long line of nobility, she from savagery. He from a position of power, she forced to subjugate. He a man, she his bride.

Yet so much alike.

He handed her the robe, still unable to look at her. “You are a warrior. A Soldier.” He said it like it was a question he knew the answer to. He said it like there was much more to say, like he meant something more by it all. Yet in this moment, he couldn’t.

Tomas moved back to the room where he readied himself just moments before, and now readied himself again for something that felt far more difficult.

Tomas was cleaned, dressed, and rested in a chair when Henry stepped back in the room beaming with wicked smile.

“Thank you my friend,” Henry said. “Here I was worried you would finish in seconds, but that was just long enough.”

“Long enough for what,” Tomas asked, already practicing the tone that reflect a man whose duty was all that mattered.

“Long enough for that little handmaiden. I stole her away to a water closet to get to know more about her. What I learned is if you get a good long taste of her sweet fruit under her skirt she makes this high pitch sound like a piglet. That’s right my boy, that Payton is a squealer.”

Tomas asked, “She liked it then.”

“She says she’s indebted to me, and must find her tonight to repay it.”

Tomas smiled.

“And yours? Is the future queen a squealer?”

Tomas stood and did his best to hide his emotions. “We had a duty to perform, and that is what we did. Please see if they are ready to return to the banquet, would you.”

Henry could see through some of what Tomas held back, but also knew his own duties. Before he left her raised a finger, then licked at his lips. “I can still taste her. I think she will ruin me.” With that, Henry was off.

Tomas stood at the ready for the what was to come next. Silently, steadfast, and once again in control.

 

[Opensesame54321]

The moment seemed awkward. It was strange. This moment of two people coupling seemed to have an entire army of people in the room with them, unseen but there nevertheless. The pain between her legs was there, certainly bearable but making her aware of the change in her. It seemed strange that there was certainly the possibility that she may have been impregnated, though if truth were known, she did not feel pregnant. She was not sure what she felt.

He climbed off of her and it was then that she noticed his manhood as it hung between his legs. Her blood was smeared upon it, making it glisten with a reddish tinge. He bent and retrieved her gown from the floor where he had thrown it when it was ripped from her body. Somehow it seemed strange that he would offer this flimsy bit of modesty after the act of coupling. Yet he stood there, naked too. Maybe this was his way of offering her empathy.

There had really been very little sound from the room past her opening words. Not words of war, but words of truth. For though she may obey, and follow the terms of the agreement between the two lands, she would still have to be true to herself, as she was sure would he too.

It was strange that he still could not look at her and it occurred to her that he may not find her pleasing to look at. But he still was civil and as he handed her robe to her, he asked, You are a warrior. A Soldier. at least she thought it a question, and he stood there as if to ask her more yet no more came. And she, she merely nodded though as his face was turned, her movements may have been for naught.

Standing, she slipped on the robe, feeling a stickiness between her thighs. Glancing back to the bed, she saw the proof of the deed on the once white sheet. Where he had first speared her was a bright splash of blood. You could clearly make out where he had drug her and made the second stab, the blood in that much fainter and less red.

As she entered the dressing room, she pulled the banner to ring for Paytron. Crossing to the bowl of water, she was cleaning the drying blood and other fluids from between her legs when Paytron entered.

“Your Grace, let me help you.”

“It is merely blood and I am not the first woman to bear such.” Nevertheless, there was a stinging and a slight ache as she pressed the wet cloth against her sex. She grit her teeth as Paytron took the cloth from her and cleaned where she could not see.

“Did he notice the word that we had trimmed into the hair of your sex?” Paytron seemed almost eager.

“No. Perhaps he does not know ancient Blackwood.” She wanted to say more, as in ‘this was a ritual, and nothing more’ or ‘I do not think that he was aware that he was coupling with me’ or even ‘love never entered into the act’. Instead, she kept all these things within her.

“What did you do while you waited?”

Paytron colored and glanced down. “I met one of ‘them’.”

“‘Them’? You mean a Blackwood?” She raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“He said that he is the future King’s Aide. And he had always wanted to taste a Thrustrian.”

She kept her face expressionless and her voice neutral, already preparing for what lay ahead. “And?”

“He has a strong tongue, your grace. We are to see each other later after everyone had retired. It is rather sweet, though.” The maid looked at her and spoke. “He mispronounces my name. Calls me Payton.”

Once she was redressed and presentable, Paytron opened the door and nodded to Tomas’ aide. She looked at him, assessing whether she trusted him with Paytron. The door to the hall was opened and two men rushed into the room to remove the white sheet from the bed, spreading it out between them. They carried it like a banner, to proclaim the loss of her purity, the completion of a contract. It was embarrassing, this proof to the assembled downstairs that the deed had been done. Her legs had been spread and her vessel speared by his sword. Thrustrians were now tied to the Blackwood from this day forward. She was now tied to Tomas. In a short time, they would rule these lands.

Tomorrow was the next coupling. Coupling. Such a passionless word for a passionless deed. Would it ever be anything else?

She stepped out as he did, two apparently passionless souls who would calmly march back into the throngs below, entering now as King and Queen, though the official ceremony would happen when the wedding and coronation took place.

Glancing over his way, she gave a nod to him. An acquiescence, an acknowledgement to him as they left the Coupling Chambers.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

They announced the cake’s name as the ‘New Kingdom’, unveiled on this day, created for this occasion. Yellow cake, fluffy and white, tasting of the herroah nut indigenous to the borderlands near Thrustra. The top of each layer crusted from a sugary liquor first painted then crystalized on the surface. Between each of the three layers, a thick jam made of wine soaked fruit - a plum like treat recently discovered near the northern sea. The whole of the confectionary frozen inside a hard shelled chocolate. Elements that are simple by themselves, difficult to execute, yet married in means stranger than the individual units. The cake presented how the people saw this day - the cake that of the princess, the bold fruit the prince, and the hard shell their beloved old king who was able to bring this all together.

There was no formal duties for any the rest of that night, as such all were given the chance to choose their next at will. Guests slowly went onward from the party, or partook more boldly. Musicians played, dancers danced. Despite his angry stomach, Tomas ate.

Tomas thought of the night the first of his bed minders came to visit. The name ‘bed minder’, a vague attempt to give dignity to the role. The woman, paid by the crown, to give Tomas experience he would need when he took a wife. Her actions were slow, methodical, and sensitive to his reactions. She was expected to prolong the event as much as possible, to show him the difference between quick satisfaction and the slow build. She was tall, her black hair straight and reaching her narrow hips. Her breasts were small, but showed age. Her eyes didn’t hide her years. Her name was Maguiette. Tomas never saw the woman again.

There would be more bed minders over the years since. Some to relieve the stresses of youth, others to train an educate. Two in particular, minding his bed on the same night. Their duty to show him the anatomy of a woman so she could understand how to elicit her satisfaction. They were sisters, Lantiote and Yalley; their red hair and freckles, both memorable on their head and on the nethers. By the end of that evening, he found he enjoyed using his mouth on a woman more than when they uses theirs on him. After that night, he never saw those women again.

Bed minders only could visit once, so that he would not be tricked into falling for one of them. He was the future King. Not the future husband to a prostitute. Not the father of a future bastard son of a harlot.

Of course once he was married and an heir was born, than he had no such limitations. Blackwood celebrated the men & women who could bear children. Their lands were fruitful and lush, and so were their people. Families were large and constantly growing. There was always more fields that could have more farmers, and more armies who could have more soldiers.

That is of course why they won the war with Thrustra. They were never the better army, only the bigger army.

He thought of these women now, not for what they could be in the future, because none had prepared him for what happened that night. He thought himself a gentle lover, a considerate one … yet he was neither to her. Her body against his felt amazing. From the firmness of her breasts, to the smooth thighs around his legs, to the strong muscles of her arms, to the tightness of her womanhood. She was as erotic as any of the bed minders he had; but he cared none for that. He was a different man in that moment.

She ignited that in him.

His cake had no more than three bites from it, his mind to far distracted to eat. His body starting to beg him to rest.

He spoke without turning away from his cake. “Zarathrusta,” he said, “you are welcome to breakfast with me in the morning. You may refuse if you wish, but if accept I will ensure that we will have our privacy.” He paused, and thought how to carefully approach his intention without making this sound like the demand was physical. “It maybe a good time to continue the discussion you started earlier while we were in the coupling chamber.”