Page 8 of Bloody Black

O ur bridal chamber is a cathedral in miniature, eaves draped with flowers and organza, perfumed by the whispers of onlookers.

Flickering candles line the mantle, illuminating a bed draped in white silk.

Red rose petals litter the floors, their fragrance sweet and cloying.

Perfectly staged and carefully arranged, the room is crafted for optimal romance.

I suppose the complete lack of privacy is but a minor, inconvenient detail.

This is the life of a royal. The future queen. That’s what my father would say if he were standing here for me to complain to. Thank the gods he isn’t. My father declined to witness my deflowering, even though it was within his rights as king to demand it.

From this moment, every action we take—every kiss, every touch—will be seen. Overheard. Witnessed. If I’m going to embarrass myself, if my maidenhead bursts like a balloon and I bleed all over the marital bed, it’ll be with an audience .

The entire ordeal is horrifying. Three stern-faced noblewomen stand like sentinels, ready to verify me. It’s a barbaric tradition, disguised as sacred duty. They arrange fresh linen on the bed, ready for the crimson proof of my purity.

Get out. Leave us in peace. Can’t I, for just one night, have a reprieve from duty? A single hour away from your prying, beady eyes?

“My lady, you must turn around. We have to undo the buttons.”

Thirty eight damnable buttons, running down the entire length of my spine, the defining feature of my wedding gown.

There was no way I could undo them myself.

Irritated, I stare stonily at the arched windows.

I’d imagined William slowly tracing those buttons with his fingers, kissing my shoulder as he undressed me.

One of the maids touched my arm, and I jerk away as if I’d been burned. “May I take your hairpins, Your Highness?”

I long to scream at her, but I am gracious. “Of course.”

My eyes meet with William’s, and it’s almost as if I can hear him thinking. Anne has defeated a hundred Celestian soldiers, certainly she is capable of removing hairpins.

But he, too, says nothing. He, too, must learn to bear the weight of others’ expectations.

My groom stands by the hearth, his hand resting on a high-backed chair.

He’d stripped off his ceremonial coat, casting it aside like used armor.

For now at least, he was allowed to remove his own clothes.

Tomorrow, however, would be another story.

I couldn’t help but wonder how he would adjust…

if he’d hate the court as much as I did .

The wedding gown slides down to the ground with a whisper. Underneath, I have white lace undergarments, and William’s gaze drifts over me, his expression tense but composed.

When one of the maids steps around to my front, intending to unlace me, I snap. “For gods’ sake, go away! Let my husband do that.”

“Anne.” William’s tone is full of reproach. “They’re only trying to help.” He gives the flustered girl an encouraging smile.

To help and to gawk at our naked bodies.

But it’s just this once. For the rest of our lives, it will only be the two of us.

Thankfully, he approaches. “You’re lovely, even when you’re frowning,” he says, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles one by one. He traces the wedding band on my finger. Heavy gold, engraved with forget-me-nots.

Remorse floods me. It’s his wedding night also, and I haven’t made any effort whatsoever to make it romantic.

I don’t even know what would make it romantic for him.

Despite the time he’d courted me, it often felt like I barely knew him.

He was always so damnably appropriate, fearing that he’d lose ground if we rushed things, or that my father suspected him of bad motives.

I’ve worked too hard for his respect to gamble it away.

William was unlike anyone I’d ever known.

Any other soldier–hell, even princes and kings–would have bedded me at first opportunity.

Or perhaps paid people to gossip, just so that my father would insist upon marriage to restore my honor.

The fact that William cared for my father’s respect and my reputation said exactly what sort of person he was, and made me all the more sure that he was the right choice.

With a sigh, I raise my face to his. “I’m sorry.”

“Come now.” He leans closer, his lips at the shell of my ear. “Forget them. We’ll give them their show, and then they’ll leave us alone.” His fingers trace the lace on the front of my shirt, then tug at them. Tug again.

Eyes narrowed, he glances down. “Someone knotted these.”

I try to help. With shaking fingers, I pull and pick, though in the dim light it’s hard to see how to undo them. The delicate silk strands are tangled; even with both our hands, we make no progress.

“Do you want–” he takes a shallow breath. “Me to tear it off?”

The husky tone of William’s voice is like velvet on my skin. There’s heat in his hazel eyes, danger and desire in his expression. He likes this idea.

Something in me shivers in response, but I nod.

This is all the encouragement he requires. William grasps the fabric in both hands and yanks, renting my lace and silk fabric with a loud rriiiiip. Intent, he strips away the ivory undergarments, seeing me uncovered for the first time.

Warmth fans across my shoulders and collarbone as he studies me. Wordless, William presses his hand flat against my chest, then drags it downward, across my breast and over my right nipple.

I suck in a breath. In my fantasies, when I’d imagined this moment, we wouldn’t even make it to the bed. William did exactly like the romantic novels I’d stolen from the library: he was so overcome by longing, he’d ravish me on the floor, saying my name reverently. Confessing his love repeatedly.

One of the onlookers titters, smothers a laugh.

This breaks the spell over both of us. I shift awkwardly, then glance awkwardly away. William glares at the ornate screen.

Outside, there’s a loud boom, making both of us flinch as violet sparkles fill the sky. Fireworks. They were setting off fireworks in celebration of our nuptials.

“Come to bed,” he says.

I accept, placing my fingers within his own, and in a moment, we are cocooned by sheer curtains.

Alone. Or rather, as alone as two monarchs could possibly be with an audience of gawking maids, two scribes, a priest, and several historians.

William undresses quickly, stripping down until he is naked. Golden-haired and blue-eyed. His bare chest and abdomen has numerous scars from combat, where overzealous soldiers took their points from his skin.

“Now you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

With a steadying breath, I lay still as he pulls the last of my silk undergarments away. Looming over me like a god summoned from heaven, William’s gaze slides over my skin. My thighs, my pale stomach, my bare breasts, the browned nipples… the dark thatch of hair between my legs.

The air between us hums with anticipation.

Even though I have little knowledge of men outside of books, I can see the need in his eyes—raw, animalistic desire.

He wants to take what no one else has ever touched .

“William?” I whisper, momentarily forgetting the audience in the corner.

He lowers his mouth, and it closes over my nipple. As he sucks, a strange heat blooms in my chest. Raw, startling… almost lovely. I gasp, more from surprise than pleasure, and desire stirs, albeit dragging its feet.

It will be like the stories. Tender and beautiful.

William’s tongue circles again, slower this time, more deliberate. One hand slides along my ribs, finding the curve of my waist, then my hip. He presses a kiss just below my breast, then another lower.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my skin. “Are you afraid of me, Anne?”

He seems excited about that. I suppose it’s a welcome change from the brash, willful, stubborn woman he’s fallen in love with.

I nod, because I am a little. Not of him, but of this.

They say that you never forget the man who takes your maidenhead, and that they forever own a piece of you.

Which is as it should be. He’s my husband.

My prince. He’ll rule as king at my side.

I’ll give him all that I am, and he will love me equally.

I tug on his golden hair, forcing his gaze to mine.

He takes in the expression on my face–longing, fear, indecision. William’s answering smile is slow, sultry.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” William murmurs. His voice is rough.

I smile shakily. “So have I.”

He chuckles. The laughter doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to make love to you, Anne. Like no man ever has, nor ever will again. You will never have anyone but me.” He slides his hand up, around my throat, and gives it a squeeze.

My heart pounds as we stare at each other. Five seconds. Ten seconds.

Do it. Show me. My eyes challenge him, even as my mouth stays clamped shut.

A polite cough comes from the corner, and he seems to remember himself.

He shifts, and I feel the tip of him pressing against my opening. He begins to push. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing, or because I’ve never done it before, but it’s not exactly comfortable. It is most certainly not romantic, so I squirm beneath him.

“William–”

“Damn, that’s tight.” Situating himself again, he grits his teeth. “Be still.”

Without understanding why, but not wanting to disappoint him, I obey. Trying to relax my body, to will myself to accept his entry.

There’s no time to figure out if this approach would succeed, though, because a moment later William shoves past my maidenhead with a vicious thrust. The walls of my interior are completely dry.

Startled, I give a shout, my thighs clamping closed. Trying to force him away.

William began to thrust into me in earnest, and rasping sounds filled the chamber. I blink back tears and bite my fist, smothering the whimpers that came from my mouth. It feels like lemon juice has been sprayed inside me. Burning, searing.

It will subside. The maids warned me. But… It ’ s terrible. Unbearable.

“William,” I cried out. “Oh gods, William, please!”

This only makes him thrust faster, determined to be done with it.

I shift, trying something… anything… to get out from under him. Just to make the pain cease, to give me a moment to breathe. But he interprets my writhing as a good sign, turned on by the plaintive cries that I can’t quiet.

His head tilts back, lost in the moment. A vein threads along his neck and I stare at it, begging time to pass faster. My hand snakes through the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto.

Let it end. Please let it end.

I do not want anything except for it to be over. But I don’t dare to ask him to stop, because that would cause an undeniable scandal.

Thus I grit my teeth and bear it as best I can. Finally, I grab his hip, holding him steady, stilling him. Anything to stop this terrible thrusting. William acts as if this is me wanting him to be as deep inside me as possible, and he closes his eyes and moves once. Twice.

Deep.

He shudders, his body clenching in an awkward shiver, then comes with a low grunt. Filling my womb with his seed. I flinch as he slumps on top of me, his weight pressing me into the sheets .

He kisses my throat where the pulse beats wildly, and another spray of fireworks explodes outside the window, lighting the room in a wash of violet.

Vaguely, I heard the onlookers file out of the room, and William rolls over onto his back, a satisfied expression on his face.

Then he falls asleep.

Begins to snore.

I chew my lip and stare at the ceiling.

It was that damn group of strangers, ogling. If they wouldn’t have been here, he would have been different. I would have been different. These aren’t our real selves. He couldn’t know how badly it hurt, and I couldn’t tell him.

Whether it was his body or the leering crowd, William and I hadn’t connected. Not how I thought we would. Our lovemaking held no romance, no sweet words, no… soul. Though perhaps I shouldn’t have expected it.

Outside, the moon is full and white over the sea. Its light pours into the chamber, pale and sterile, casting the posts of the canopy bed in skeletal shadow.

I long to be in my bed, alone. Or stowaway on whatever boat would carry me far, far from here—I glance at William again, wishing he would wake up and talk to me.

He doesn’t. His chest rising and falling in a lazy rhythm, one hand on his chiseled abs. As if nothing had touched him, nothing disturbed him. All is right in the world.

To my shame, silent tears began to leak from my eyes. And it was strange because even though this had been my plan and I’d gotten exactly what I wanted… It feels wrong.

Like a mistake.

Tomorrow, he’d begin joining my father and me in royal council meetings.

As the newly crowned prince, he would immediately begin living as we did, making decisions alongside the two of us.

He’d get firsthand experience in court politics, negotiations, and battle tactics.

In just a few hours, the crown’s relentless yoke would weigh upon him, and he’d be as much a slave to it as my father and me.

I can’t imagine what our married life will even be. Almost all my hours are consumed by functions, balls, duties, and accounting. Managing the fleet of maids who are forever following me.

Frowning, I study William again. So… it hadn’t been soft. Not caring, not romantic. He hadn’t taken the time to cherish me. It would have been good to feel something. Now that it’s over, I am strangely displeased.

Still, the next time would be better; I am, after all, still learning.

Perhaps the reason it was so disappointing was because of me.

After all, all I’d done was lie there...

it wasn’t the way it should have been, but with an audience, with my inexperience, it made sense that it would be unsatisfying.

If only I could talk to someone I trust, someone who would tell me I am being ridiculous.

That sex always starts out like this. Someone who can calm me and tell me it would all work out fine.

But the only friend I truly have is Ben, and I most certainly could not ask him.

Not on my wedding night.Even if he were directly outside my door, even if he would respond immediately to my summons, it simply wasn’t the sort of thing a princess would do.

Sighing, I stare at the ceiling, blinking hard, tasting salt. Married. A wife. A future queen. It is all a bit too much for me. My whole life has changed, and yet I feel smaller, not larger.

The next time will be better. We just have to get to know each other.

The words are reassuring, even if they are not exactly convincing.