Loathe to Love

In the weeks following the picnic, neither of us brought up the 'hand-feeding incident.'

I could hardly think of anything else—something about the combination of Natalia's tenderness and iron control in that moment was intoxicating—but I knew better than to bring it up. Natalia had probably forgotten all about it. For her, it was probably a spontaneous, one-time thing, a silly little flirt to be toyed with and then moved on from. She'd think I was strange or obsessive if I mentioned it again.

Besides, I had plenty else to think about: New home, new routines, new responsibilities, and a new...something with Natalia.

First came settling into the manor. With my marriage far less cold and hostile than originally anticipated, I had to rethink a number of my initial assumptions. Priorities had shifted—I didn't

need

to make caches for stolen items or learn how to sabotage the plumbing anymore (although I did do a little of the former just in case). Instead of making the manor a battlefield, I had to make it a home.

And so I spent my first week going room by room rearranging the furniture to my—and occasionally, Natalia's—liking. Dull, stodgy arrangements were abandoned to ensure every room had ample light and space, while Natalia and my personal items and touches were added for a much-needed sense of familiarity. I hadn't expected how novel it would feel to be in a space that felt safe—even as I became used to the new environment, I kept glancing back over my shoulder expecting to see a disapproving face. Without the need to project defiance or brooding melancholy, I was unsure of how to carry myself through the halls.

Natalia, on the other hand, carried herself with the same measured confidence as usual. She was quite busy—she'd apparently received a 'promotion' upon marrying me, going from an officer in the field to a purely logistical role. Swapping danger for paperwork and meetings, so to speak. That suited me just fine. She also offered to take a greater role in managing our estate, and while I didn't understand why—there were burghers and advisors for such things—I was happy to agree.

Gradually, our life settled into a rhythm. We'd spend the majority of the day apart, dine together, occasionally share a chaste kiss or two, and then retire to our separate rooms. Natalia never took things further than that, clearly worried about pushing too far or too fast.

It was starting to drive me mad.

For the majority of my life, I'd managed just fine on my own. Books and my own imagination were sufficient companions; any desire for softness or caresses could be satisfied with a fluffy pillow or my own hands. I hadn't exactly been happy, but at least I'd been independent. And most crucially, I hadn't realized what I was missing.

Natalia had changed that.

Her and her big stupid strong arms had awoken a powerful craving within me, a longing for the safety and comfort of her embrace. My days were frequently interrupted by daydreams of sitting on her lap and phantom sensations of her warmth. While I had plenty to do—designing and planting our garden for the year, setting up my small study and library, getting to know our staff—I still grew antsy for lack of affection.

Yet I could not for the life of me bring myself to ask Natalia for it. I had a thousand different excuses: I'd look too weak, too needy. She wasn't interested in babysitting me. It wouldn't be appropriate, whatever

that

meant. Once the full extent of my desires became clear, she'd surely be overwhelmed and pull away. Because for all the affection I desired, I had no real idea of what I could offer her in return.

More than any rational reason, though, I was held back by fear. I'd stumbled into the previous milestones in our relationship—purposefully taking the initiative was still foreign to me, still a risky unknown. Any time I even considered it, my mouth grew too dry to speak, my hands too sweaty to clasp hers. How on earth did one go about seduction?

One day, pining for touch and annoyed by my own incompetence, I went to the scholarship to find an answer.

I'd been trained in methods of proper courtship, obviously, but I'd interrupted a fair number of those lessons by screaming the foulest language I could think of or by splattering my teachers with the contents of my inkwell. Besides, nothing they'd taught had prepared me for all of the

things

I'd feel in the heat of the moment. Courtship was public performance, and my dilemma was decidedly private.

No, what I really needed was access to the dirtiest, lewdest collection of literature the kingdom had to offer. And lucky for me, I knew

exactly

where to find it.

***

"Absolutely not." Bethany scowled at me from across her oversized desk. "I don't have anything like that, and even if I did I wouldn't share it with you."

Natalia was away for the week on some official business or other, giving me the opportunity to visit my crankiest sister in secret. The trip from my manor to hers had been far shorter than I would have preferred—the more distance between us, the better. Still, I had to admit it was convenient. I'd left only a short while after breakfast, and Arnold had delivered me to my sister's gaudy, awful home before the morning's end.

"Come

on

, Beth. Do we really have to go through this

again

?" One hand on my temple propped my head up at optimal glaring height. Bethany was short enough that even her absurdly high chair barely put her at eye level with me.

"I've no clue what you're talking about." She made a show of returning to the ledgers on her desk, her tightly wound bun wiggling from the sudden motion.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you still keep them behind the false back panel of your wardrobe?"

Beth froze mid-scribble.

I'd stumbled on my sister's hoard of lascivious texts and pictures years ago, back when both of us were still living in the palace. While the depictions had fascinated my adolescent mind, I'd found a much better use for them than a sexual awakening: blackmail. Chances were good the collection had only grown since then. Beth was nothing if not indulgent.

She puffed up her chest to better look down her nose at me. "You little sneak. Always sticking your head where it doesn't belong. What, are you going to try and steal from me now that you can't tattle to Selene?"

I raised my right hand, palm facing toward her. "I only want to look. Honest. You can check before and after to make sure I didn't take anything."

My sister's irritated huff was a sign of progress—she tended to play up her indignation right before she folded. "Why do you even need such a thing? You're married to a common soldier. Spend some time with your wife's friends; I'm sure they'll gladly share their raunchiest tales."

I grit my teeth. I'd prepared for this exact question on the way over, crafting a lie that Bethany would be receptive to. And while I was confident it would work, it was also the most wretched thing I'd ever had to say.

"I...can't satisfy my wife. I don't know how."

Beth lowered her fake spectacles, peered at me while she processed my words, then threw her head back and howled with laughter.

"Too much for you, eh?" She folded her hands behind her head. "Can't say I'm surprised. Pissiness is inversely proportional to skill in bed, and you, Penelope, are pissier than vinegar."

"The expression is piss

and

vinegar, not...oh whatever," I grumbled, blushing fiercely.

"Ah, chin up. I'm sure she was expecting as much." Beth shook her head, grinning. "My advice? Let her get a mistress. Then you won't have to worry about it anymore."

My frown deepened at the suggestion, but I made no effort to respond in kind. The barbs were the price I had to pay to get what I wanted—if she felt superior to me, she'd be far more likely to grant my request. Bethany saw hierarchy and competition where none existed; it made her both the most infuriating and the most reliable member of my family.

"Frankly, I'm amazed she ever got close enough for you to make an attempt," she continued, her mockery interspersed with chuckles and shakes of her head. "But it must have gone pretty horribly for you to come crawling, hm? Come on, tell me what happened. A hint, at least."

I blinked. I hadn't thought that far ahead in my story, lacking the experience to offer any descriptive account of...the act. Something vague would have to do, then. Let her jump to her own conclusions.

"I...I bit her."

Bethany looked at me expectantly. "You bit her...?"

"Down there."

Another torrent of cackles erupted from my sister, her palm slamming against the desktop in delight with a solid

thwack

. Before even regaining her breath, she retrieved a key from her shirt pocket and slid it across to me.

"This...this counts as philanthropy, I think." She snorted. "Back panel, wardrobe upstairs. Take your time. You

clearly

need it! Biting her...

Goddess

, that's hilarious."

I didn't need to fabricate my sour expression as I plucked the key from her and pivoted to leave the room, chased out by even more cruel laughter. She'd struck a nerve. Sure, what I'd told her technically wasn't true, but...wasn't it? I had no clue how to entice my wife, how to get her to want me—and, I supposed, no idea how to please her. The absence of that knowledge set me on edge, made things between us feel precarious. Bethany's comment about a mistress certainly hadn't helped, either.

As a little bit of payback, I jammed an extra hairpin into the lock of a parlor door until it was nice and stuck. It didn't make me feel better, annoyingly enough. Perhaps the space itself was contributing to my malaise, what with its overuse of massive, gaudy artwork and bulky furniture. If the manor belonged to anyone else, I'd assume they'd simply bought whatever was most expensive and shoved it in regardless of style. Based on her frequent palace trips to beg for money, though, I knew Bethany lacked the funds necessary for that. More likely she'd bought whatever looked the most expensive and shoved

that

in regardless of style. By the time I found her bedroom and locked myself inside, I'd very nearly developed a headache from it all.

Bethany's old, dusty, dark wood wardrobe stood in the corner, promising far more than business attire. Old anxieties fluttered in my stomach; a sense memory of peeking at something forbidden. The wardrobe swung open without so much as a creak, while the false back panel popped off with little effort to reveal the bounty behind. A blush automatically rose to my cheeks as I scanned the sizable pile of erotic sketchings, pamphlets, novellas, illustrations, and diagrams. Phalloi seemed to poke out at me from between pages, while quims upon creased paper promised more should I choose to delve in. And delve in I did—having no real clue of where to start, I settled for grabbing whatever was nearest and laying it out on the floor to examine.

The Many Affairs of Nubile Leah

, while anatomically quite descriptive, didn't provide any useful insight into the art of seduction. Nor did

A Nun Uncloistered

or

Fraternal Frolicks

.

Barbaro the Bastard's Erotic Escapades

was similarly light on information, although some of its descriptions caught my eye and quickened my heartbeat:

"He trayled His tongue upwards until the Baker's Daughter Squeel'd and trap'd His head 'tween her thighs and squeezed so Hard He thought t'would Pop off and He would be Killt."

But while individual works rarely offered what I wanted, the erotica collectively revealed certain patterns: Lovemaking seemed to be sudden and spontaneous, even interrupting chores or other mundane tasks. Revealing outfits or creative wardrobe "accidents" often caught the attention of potential partners, while witty, suggestive banter reeled them in. Bawdy, strapping partners were good—meek, pure maidens better. And that was all preamble to the act itself.

I tried not to read descriptions of coitus itself, finding them very...distracting. But despite my precautions, every page had me leaning further and further in, a tense anticipatory warmth building in my groin. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, but it was making unreasonable demands of me; I didn't know how to satisfy it, and even if I did, I certainly wouldn't do so in my sister's bedroom. The best I could manage was squirming and biting my lower lip as my research proceeded.

But what made me squirm most of all was something of a surprise. At the bottom of a stack of pamphlets, I came across a simple carving no larger than my hand. It bore an image of two women, one standing with her hand resting on the head of another kneeling demurely. That was it. Both were fully clothed and

definitely

not engaged in lovemaking. Yet the expression of pride on the standing woman's face, or the gratitude and slight blush of her counterpart's, made my chest tighter and my breaths shorter than any depiction of copulation. The simple, direct closeness of it made me think of being hand-fed by Natalia. Did the kneeling woman feel as I'd felt then? Did her buzzing worries and concerns also go quiet the moment she felt her partner's steady hand? Was she able to turn off her deviant urges and return to a normal life, or did she throw convention to the wind and fully embrace them?

Was the latter even an option?

I decided to steal the carving. Then, I decided it wasn't worth taking. Then I decided to steal it again, figuring it'd be nice to revisit it and the intense feelings it awoke in me. Then I decided those feelings were maybe a little

too

intense, and that I was a little scared of where they might lead. Then I finally settled on stealing it for no other reason than my earlier promise not to. Just a way to get yet another one over on Bethany. That was all.

***

Natalia returned from her trip the next day, showing up mid-afternoon without any fanfare. Her monosyllabic responses indicated she was 'fine' and that things had gone 'well,' which I figured granted me the go-ahead to attempt my seduction that night.

After a bit of internal debate, I settled on presenting myself to Natalia as a blushing maiden to be deflowered—it was based in truth, and didn't require knowledge of suggestive innuendos or lewd puns like many of the other methods I'd read about.

I donned a frilly dress of pure white to dinner that evening, pairing it with pale pink stockings, flats, and gloves. When it came time to dine, Selene herself would have been amazed at my manners—I giggled, blushed, and covered my mouth at all the appropriate moments, spoke with impeccable diction, and offered plenty of longing gazes between bouts of conversation. A distant part of me protested the indignity of it all, but far more of my mind was otherwise occupied with wanting desperately to be wanted.

At one point during our aperitif, I managed to find an opportunity to convey that directly. Natalia had slouched back into her chair and loosened the collar of her tunic, hinting at a powerful chest beneath. The shadows of a few errant curls fell across her face as she watched me closely. "And how is Bethany doing these days?"

As annoying as ever, and perhaps a bit more full of herself too. Head stuck just a tiny bit further up her own ass. Those were the first responses that came to mind—but they were too crass by far for what I was attempting. A bit of edge-softening was in order.

I chuckled lightly, fluttering my eyelashes. "Her head remains as occupied as ever with her numbers and accounting books! It's all beyond me, frankly, and I've little interest in changing that." Leaning forward conspiratorially, I went in to drop a major hint. "Though she did ask some things about us that were rather...well...lewd!" I covered my mouth, a cute giggle escaping regardless.

Natalia blinked. "...Right."

While I didn't succeed immediately, my tactics seemed to be working overall. Natalia was shifting in her seat and glancing around the room much more than usual, which I assumed indicated her growing lust. More encouraging was her consumption of wine, which quickly surpassed her usual single glass to become nearly a whole bottle. Anticipation built within me as the meal went on—would Natalia interrupt dessert to pin me against the wall and claim my mouth? Or perhaps would she take me outdoors to see the stars before softly guiding me into a romantic kiss?

By the end of our entree (roast quail with baby mushrooms and broccolini), I couldn't wait to find out any longer. It was time for my seduction—reverse seduction?—to begin in earnest.

"You know," I ventured, mustering my courage, "I really am proud to have such a brave military officer as a wife. A hero in my home."

I glanced up at Natalia to gauge her reaction. She was slouched partway down in her chair, one eyebrow raised high.

Flustered but not entirely deterred, I tried to recover. "And, uh. Well, I suppose I wanted to thank you? Um. Is there...anything you could think of? For...that?"

There was an agonizingly long pause as I waited for Natalia to respond. And then, much to my horror and chagrin, she burst out laughing.

"Is

that

what this was about?" she cackled, slurring her words slightly from the wine. "Oh my Goddess. I've got to admit, for a moment there I had no idea

what

had gotten into you. Possessed by a faerie with a goofy fashion sense, maybe."

I was a joke to her. A novelty. The sister who was not to be taken seriously. I'd gone against my instincts, shown her a moment of vulnerability, and she'd naturally taken the opportunity to stab me in the gut.

I really was a fool.

Seeing my frozen expression of shock and the bright blush ranging from my neck to the tips of my ears, Natalia pushed herself up to a normal seated position quickly. "Hey, hey. I'm only teasing, Penelope." She coughed over one last chortle. "I'd quite like to spend some time with you, if that's what you meant. You don't have to go through all this silly spectacle just for

that

. Only, not tonight—I'm exhausted. These past few days have been a real slog."

I wiped the corners of my mouth with my napkin, placed it on the table, and stood.

"I hate you."

Natalia gaped up at me with her stupid cruel drunken face, trying to figure out how to respond with her wicked deceitful mouth. But I was ready this time. She wasn't going to hurt me again so easily. "Wait, Penelope. Hang on a minute. Let me explain."

"I understand perfectly. I'm not

stupid

." A deep, shaky breath held back any potential tears as I stood tall and spoke with vicious calm. "You've been silently judging me all along; this was just the first time you accidentally let something slip."

"Come on," Natalia chided, crossing her arms—a tone and gesture I'd become

intimately

familiar with from

years

of snipes, chastisements, and criticisms. How naive I'd been to think I had escaped that. "You're overreacting."

"

I am not!

" Red filled the corners of my vision, and I began to shake with anger. She had

no

idea how I felt;

no

idea how hard I'd tried.

Nobody

did. And nobody even

cared

. "

That's not true!

"

Natalia said something, but her words were swept up in a roiling sea of hurt and rage along with any coherent thoughts.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "You said...I thought...I

trusted

you! And then you...you...you..."

Tears and hiccups overcame me, and I fled for the safety of my bedroom.

Nobody followed.

I cradled my pillow and sobbed, running over Natalia's betrayal over and over again in my head. The images made me curl up tighter and tighter into a tiny little ball: How she'd allowed me to fully open myself up to her, only to tear me down with her cruel mockery. The viciousness behind her laughter as she delighted in my misery. The untroubled ease with which she'd tossed aside my feelings and concerns as meaningless.