Page 8 of Bride of the Black Dragon
After another ten minutes of blessings—with the priest blessing everything from my womb, that it might bear a male heir, to my mouth, so that I will only say good things about my husband—the ceremony finally finishes. The priest bids us turn around and Xaren steps away while Dorian takes my arm.
“May I now present to you the Crown Prince Dorian and his new wife, Princess Elaina!” he cries in his high, cracked old man’s voice.
The crown cheers and at last, we are allowed to file out of the chapel.
Afterwards there is feasting and wine and a special wedding punch which tastes like it’s been spiked with brandy. I take a little to calm my nerves—it’s good. Prince Dorian and I have to feed each other the delicate little true-love cakes—small enough to fit in the palm of your hand—which are only served at Royal weddings.
The Crown Prince pushes the buttery little cake into my mouth with little ceremony and then turns immediately back to Henri, who sits on his right. I don’t like to complain, but I’m beginning to think it’s rather rude of him to spend most of our wedding day talking to his best friend and ignoring his bride.
However, I’m not too upset. I’m mostly nervous when I think about what’s going to happen tonight.
Tonight I’ll be moving into Prince Dorian’s rooms, which are far grander than mine. I’ll share a bed with him until the Court Physician is certain I’m pregnant. After that, I may be allowed to come back to my own rooms…I hope, anyway.
I don’t much like the idea of letting Prince Dorian get me pregnant—not that he’s ugly. On the contrary, his golden beauty outshines most of the women at Court. But he doesn’t seem to care for me and I know I don’t care for him. It’s going to be an awkward and possibly painful process, letting him “plow my furrow” as I’ve heard the crude boys back home in the Northlands put it.
Still, it’s the sole reason my father sold me to the Royal Family so it’s not like I can refuse. I have one job—get pregnant with an heir—preferably a male with a good strong Drake inside him. There aren’t many with my bloodlines left so I must do my part to protect the kingdom by giving my new husband a son.
I just hope it won’t be too painful. I’ve heard a girl’s first time hurts a lot.
I try to push the worries out of my head. I nod and smile at the wedding guests as they come to the Royal table to congratulate us. I do my best to look like a dutiful wife, though it’s still hard to believe I’m married. Still, everyone is calling me “Princess Elaina” now, and the new title seems to be sticking. I guess it’s really real. I’m a princess now and hopefully, once I settle into the roll, my life will become more normal.
I have no idea how wrong I am.
5
ELAINA
That night I’m so tired I wish I could go directly to bed—but even if I could, there’s no way I would be able to sleep. I’m too keyed up—to nervous about what’s going to happen to me when Prince Dorian takes me for the first time. Not that I’ve seen my new husband for some time. He disappeared after the wedding feast, leaving me to my own devices. I spent as long as I could in my own rooms with Tanzy—who will remain my maid, thank goodness. She’s the only person I really like here in the Citadel.
Finally, I have to admit it’s time to go to the Crown Prince’s rooms. The sun has set and the evening is creeping in through the windows, cool and dark. I must go do my wifely duty for the first time.
Tanzy has bathed me and brushed my long silver-blonde hair until it shines like a river of silk. Under my robe, I’m wearing the special gown Queen Virelda sent for this occasion. It’s made of virginal white lace that covers me completely, yet clearly shows my breasts and pink-tipped nipples. Down around the crotch level there is a vertical slit sewn into the fabric—a place for the prince’s shaft to slip through into my pussy.
I find the gown to be a bizarre mixture of modesty and brazenness but I understand the point of it—it is to entice my new husband and allow him to have me without too much of our flesh touching. I guess that’s how they do things here in the Royal Citadel. Back home, people just take off all their clothes and get into bed together—or so I’ve heard my married sisters say.
Either one of them might have been a Royal bride—we share the same blood, after all. But neither has the silver hair or the triple-ringed irises that I do. Which is why I am now a princess, I remind myself. Which is a fine thing to be—right?
That’s what I tell myself as I make my way to my new husband’s rooms. I knock timidly, but there is no answer. I try again with the same result. At last I decide I can’t wait out here all night wearing nothing but the lace gown and my thin silk robe and push my way in.
“Hello?” I call. “Your Majesty? Er…Dorian?” What is the proper way to address him now? Must I still be formal? We are married, after all.
But as I wander around calling, I realize something—there’s no one here.
I look around, noting that the Crown Prince seems to have excellent taste—I like his decorations which seem to include a lot of light blue fabrics, maybe as a nod to the color of his Drake. He also has several lovely statues on pedestals around the large bedchamber. Most are of nude men in various poses.
I stare at them with interest. I’ve never seen a man wholly naked before. I mean, I saw our stable boy half-unclothed once, but he didn’t look anything like this. All the hard muscles so lovingly defined—each ridge and bulge sculpted to perfection. I wonder if men really look like this with their clothes off. I rather doubt it.
The vast marble bathing chamber—three times as big as mine—is empty too. I come back to the bedchamber and contemplate the huge bed with its flouncy, light blue comforter. I suppose the best thing to do is just to wait for my new husband.
I climb on the bed and take off my robe. I arrange myself in the center of the wide, plush mattress and look up at the canopy overhead. It’s light blue also, decorated with flying drakes of all different colors. The weaver did an excellent job depicting the details. I pass the time examining their vast wings and long tails…their spines and scales…their?—
“…thought it would never end! Such a dull affair.”
The voice is coming from the doorway. I look up and see Dorian entering with his best friend, Henri. The two of them are talking and laughing, just as if this was any other night.
But Dorian stops abruptly when he sees me lying on his bed. A look of shock and then disgust comes over his handsome face.
“What are you doing here?” he demands, glaring at me. “How dare you invade my rooms, you little guttersnipe?”
