The Dove and the Haw

Many thanks to my advance readers, including Not_E and happyyy_, as well as to my editor LaRascasse.

Content warning

: references to sexual assault

***

Litheian heard heavy boots coming up the stairs from where she sat reading the latest news at the prince's desk. Anxiously she replaced the papers as she had found them, scurrying up the steps and sliding through the open door. She shut it behind her just as she heard loud thumping noises come from beyond the main door. Was it another soldier, come to assault her? Softly she slithered along the wall, reaching for the door latch behind her, but not finding it before the main door banged open and --

The prince stood there, breathing heavily, and she froze. He was sweating as though he'd come straight from sparring with the soldiers he commanded. His eyes were bright and narrowed, and she swallowed. Had he discovered she was peeking at his work?

Quickly he moved forward and she scrabbled for the latch, not daring to turn her back and expose herself further. Her hand closed around it, but before she could open it he flung himself toward her -- at her feet.

He was kneeling before her like a pilgrim supplicating the gods. A single breathy laugh escaped her mouth. What the hell was wrong with him?

"A thousand apologies," he said to the carpet beneath him, for surely he couldn't be speaking to her. "But I have just discovered... what my father plans for you this spring festival. Plans for us," he amended.

She stared at him in confusion, a tight feeling circling her stomach ominously. What did he mean, his father's plans for her -- for them -- at the spring festival? She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"My father..." he began, then shuddered, sitting up. He was facing her now but looking down at her feet. "My father has decreed that you and I... shall reenact the Conception of Beings, as in the old days."

It took her a moment to understand his meaning. It had been too long since she last heard the story, recounted every spring, of how Yealar, the first god, and Hamin, the first goddess, had lain together and created the beings of heaven and earth. That was what the priests and priestesses called the Conception of Beings. To reenact that....

She whimpered and pressed herself back against the wall.

"I am so sorry to bring you this news,

il-susashai

," he said, trying to meet her eyes, but she stared past him, out past the door and into the horizon beyond. "But my father," he continued, "has threatened to give you to someone else if I refuse my part in this. The rite shall happen as he wills it, and I would be sent to the battlefront."

Litheian closed her eyes against his words, pushing back her tears. She hadn't cried since that first night with Igandrion, for it had excited him as much as her screams. She'd vowed to never cry again, and to never let a man inside her without a fight. Not even this man, who prostrated himself before her, begging her forgiveness.

He was waiting for her to say something, do something, she realized. Opening her eyes, she went into her room, grabbed her writing tools and brought them out, scribbling furiously on the table as he stayed on the floor. Angrily she shoved the paper in his face, watching as he read her words:

I will fight you

.

He slumped down, the paper shaking in his hand. "If you do that... I do not know if I can --" He looked away, flushing.

Hissing, she tore the paper from his hands and wrote another line:

Then get me out

.

He looked even more crestfallen this time, shaking his head. "I cannot. We will be caught.

You

will be caught."

Again she took the paper.

Then find another way

.

"There is none," he said helplessly, pleading with his eyes. "Just once," he begged her, "just this one time, will you not --" He stopped as she shook her head fiercely.

She watched him as he crumpled up the paper dejectedly, bringing his fist to his forehead in defeat. She spared a moment's pity for him, a good man born of an evil father. If only... if only....

Outside the clouds shifted, and the bright sun shone through the shutters, making the room glow. A strange feeling welled up in her, a faint sliver of something she hadn't tasted in so long, she'd almost forgotten its name. Hesitantly she wet her lips, as it bloomed from memory to thought to words.

***

"Marry me."

Bethaer stared, dumbfounded. She had spoken.

She frowned, then cleared her throat. "Marry me," she said again.

"What do you mean?" he asked, dazed.

She sighed at his slowness. "If you become my husband... I will not fight you."

"Oh," he said, blinking. It was such a simple solution. Except.... "Do you mean... officially,

il-susashai

?"

She frowned again. "Of course."

He swallowed hard. "Then we will need a witness at the very least."

"And a contract," she corrected him.

"Yes," he agreed. "But as for the witness...."

"Is there no one you can call here?"

"It is not so simple," he replied. "But I suppose I can start with the apothecary's assistant... so long as the man himself is not there. I only have one excuse for him, and it is wearing thin," he explained.

"Then should I ask one of the maidservants?"

He shook his head. "It is too dangerous for you,

il-susashai

. All the servants here are Anderthan."

She sighed. "Then you must try the apothecary's assistant."

"I will," he promised, though inwardly he doubted it would be of help. Nevertheless, he departed shortly.

After a morning of drills with his men, a bath, and a meal, he wandered over to the apothecary's, praying as he opened the door. The woman stood there at the counter and looked up, her bruising long healed. She smiled hesitantly and beckoned him inside. Quietly he looked about the place for signs of the apothecary.

"He has gone out for a few minutes," she said softly.

He nodded and spoke equally low. "I have a message: what did you mean, to go north under the gatehouse?"

She shook her head. "I do not know, I was told only to pass it on."

"I see," he said, pushing down his disappointment. "But who gave it to you?"

"A maid," she answered quickly. "She works in the laundry, her name is --"

She stopped short as the door behind her swung open and traced the final word on the countertop:

Barion

.

He nodded at her and turned to greet the apothecary. "Have you heard?" he asked cheerfully. "I'm to participate in the sacred ritual this year."

"Yes, my lord prince," the man answered as the woman disappeared into the back. "Have you come for more of the poultice?"

"Have you anything stronger?" he requested.

The apothecary laughed. "Been using it too often, eh? As it happens, I do have something else -- one-time use only, you understand -- and it will warm her up nice and good as well." He took a stool and searched the high shelves, returning with a tiny bottle of liquid. "Here, my lord prince," he said, setting in down.

Bethaer took it and cautiously uncorked the bottle. The scent was surprisingly warm and sweet, and he raised his brows in approval.

"Smells good, does it not?" chuckled the other man. "But the stuff is quite potent, so the less the better."

Bethaer nodded. "I must pay you this time," he insisted, and the apothecary bowed his head in thanks, accepting the coins from his prince's purse with ready hands.

He left, slipping the small bottle into his uniform. This time he really would need what the vile man had sold him. The thought of taking the princess in front of all of Jashil made his stomach turn.

Setting aside that matter, he turned to a more pressing concern: finding Barion. As was his wont, he sauntered off to the kitchens for something sweet, which he brought to the laundry room, where a gaggle of young women fawned over him.

"Easy, easy," he laughed, tearing off pieces to drop into their palms. "I'm looking for someone today," he said, winking, and a few of them giggled.

"Who is the lucky lass, my lord prince?" asked one.

"Barion," he said, heart pounding. "I was told she's quite comely."

An older woman snorted in laughter. "It must have been a jest, my lord prince. She is very plain, you see."

"Still," he said, "I would see for myself."

The woman shrugged and turned, putting a hand to her mouth as she hollered. "Barion, you lackwit, the prince wants to see your face!"

A leggy young woman with big blue eyes scampered into sight breathlessly. Her eyes widened even more upon seeing him, and she bowed low.

"She is not so plain as you said," he observed with a grin. "Come, girl, to the stables with me."

She wiped her red hands nervously on her apron, then removed it, smoothing down her hair as the other women teased her. Bethaer hoped her willingness was a sign of her bravery and not just the daydreams of a simple laundry maid. He strode out toward the stables as she trotted behind him to keep up. She seemed to grow nervous as they entered, eyeing the giant hot-blooded chargers. He pointed to the ladder leading to the hayloft and gave her a hand, following her guardedly. If she really were a spy, he would have to be sure she didn't meet him with a knife in hand.

As he rose up past the floor, he saw her turned away from him, moving her hands suspiciously. He rushed her and pinned her standing form to the nearest wall of hay.

"My lord prince!" she exclaimed, giggling nervously.

He put his mouth to her ear as his hands roamed her body, searching for weapons. "You'd better not be thinking of fighting me," he whispered.

"I would never, my lord prince!" she said, affronted. "It is an honor to be chosen by you."

"You truly think so?" he asked, turning her around. Her bodice was unlaced, revealing her underdress and her breasts beneath. He cupped them in his hands, then continued feeling about her slender body.

"Of course, my lord prince," she murmured, blushing.

"Good," he replied, finding no trace of a knife. Taking her hands, he raised her arms and pinned them above her head, lifting her skirt and feeling about the inside of her legs.

"Oh, my prince," she crooned, raising goosebumps along his arms. "Make me yours," she continued, and he stopped her with a finger to her lips.

"Say nothing else," he hissed, "unless you can answer me one thing." Staring into her enormous unblinking eyes, he asked in a low voice, "Why should I go north under the gatehouse?"

"My prince?" she whimpered.

"Answer me," he growled, once more whispering in her ear. "Your princess wishes to know."

She didn't move for a long moment, then wiggled her hips, baring her teeth at him. "Take me first," she challenged, jutting her pelvis out to meet his.

He hissed again and shoved her against the hay, pushing his groin against hers. "You'll get no more than this," he murmured.

She rolled her eyes and cried out. "Oh, my prince, it is too much! I cannot take any more of you!"

"Oh, but you will," he said, loudly playing along. Grunting, he thrust against her rhythmically, and she gasped and moaned in time.

He could feel himself growing hard, his precum seeping into his trousers. "Tell me, Barion, if that's truly your name," he grunted in her ear.

"Oh, my prince," she nearly wailed, "yes, yes, take all of me! Oh!" This she followed with a great moan, which deepened into a hum, and then she sighed.

"Are you done?" he murmured, impatient.

"Hold me close, my prince," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around him as he released her. "Ask for the sempster who sleeps there," she whispered, clutching his neck. "Tell him I sent you."

With another great sigh, she flopped down on the wooden floor, looking as spent as if they had truly done the deed. He turned around, dropping his trousers before lifting them again and buckling them in place. Turning back to her, he spread his arms. "Good enough?" he asked.

"Oh, my prince," she said, "how could anyone ever be dissatisfied with your great manhood?" Standing up, she mussed his hair and rumpled his shirt. "Will you call on me again, my lord prince?" she said hopefully, stepping back to appraise him.

"I'd like to," he answered honestly, "but I must save my vigor for the spring festival."

She nodded, satisfied, then asked, "What do you mean, my lord prince?"

"You'll hear soon enough," he replied. "Now cover yourself, woman."

She did so quickly, then flounced down the ladder, leaving him alone. He sat down on a hay bale and leaned against the wall and shut his eyes as though dozing, but his mind was racing.

He could easily make an excuse that the princess needed her measurements taken for a new gown, for the day of the festivities. The temple would surely dress her in their own garb when the time came, but he could appeal to his father's vanity, that dressing her up would show their wealth and retain their dignity. It might even please him for her to be assisted by a Berelthian captive, who would only do the work under threat once he knew what it was for.

Yes, it was a solid plan, he decided. He would speak to his father tomorrow.

***

Litheian paced across the bedchamber, biting her lip until it bled. Hearing the chambermaids arriving, she slipped into her room and listened at the door. There was a surplus of giggling today, and she strained to make out their words. One of the maids spoke loudly as she passed the door, and she listened, stunned, to hear that the prince had dallied with a laundry maid that very afternoon. Bile rose in her throat, but she cooled her anger with the thought that this was likely the only way he could meet one of her people without arousing suspicion.

When the servants left, she exited once more, bringing her current scroll to the table to read. But the words blurred under her eyes as her thoughts wandered back to the prince. Had he truly taken the woman, she wondered, or was it a trick? She shook off the thought, chiding herself. She was in no position to question the actions he took on her behalf, to find a way for them to complete the ritual without resorting to rape.

Because that is what it would be, if he couldn't find a witness for their wedding. She was determined on this point, desperate even. Her stepmother's words still echoed in her ears, the lessons she had taught of proper conduct for women making her blush even now. The union of a man and woman was a sacred act, and as a princess, her dignity demanded that only her husband take her in that way.

Her heart beat furiously in her chest, her face flushing as she thought of allowing the prince inside of her. It would be strange, lying still or even opening the way for a man, even if he were her husband. How would it feel? Would it be any different than all those other times? Would she like it, even? Her face was hot now, and she went to pour some water for herself. None of it mattered, she decided, so long as he was her husband. It would be humiliating enough submitting to him while others watched, for she knew that was how it was done, in the old days. She would simply follow her stepmother's advice, to relax and breathe and hold him tight as he moved inside her.

It was hard to turn her thoughts back to reading, harder still when he made his appearance, disheveled. She tried not to stare and waited for him to speak.

"I think I have found a way," he said, and relief flooded through her. She didn't want to fight this man. "I must speak with my father first, but there is a sempster among the prisoners kept at the north gatehouse, so --"

He stopped abruptly, and she looked at him, confused.

"Are you well,

il-susashai

?" he asked, voice full of concern.

She blinked and felt a tear running down her cheek. Embarrassed, she turned away, wiping at it. When had she started crying? She felt a smile broaden across her face and realized this strange feeling must be joy.

"I am well,

il-susashaian

," she said softly. "I am simply... so relieved."

"As am I," he replied, shoulders relaxing. "If all goes well, tomorrow I shall bring here a man under the guise of measuring you for a gown to wear on the day of... the ritual."

She nodded, brushing at her cheeks, her mind turning to the marriage contract that would need to be drafted. "Do you have a contract I can read? To write our own, I mean."

"Yes,

il-susashai

. There are a few records in my study; let me bring them for you now."

She listened as he walked off, down the steps and moving the strange ladder that he used for reaching the highest of shelves. No wonder she hadn't seen them; she never dared to use the contraption. Presently he returned with a handful of scrolls, placing them carefully on the table where she sat.

"Here, this is a record of Muagthi documents, though they are dated. Another of Hisian documents. And this one, Sander describes common points for legal clerks to consider when drafting marriage contracts." One by one he tapped each tome, and she nodded, realizing the work ahead of her.

"I do not know if I can have a draft ready by tomorrow," she said, biting her lip again. It was a great deal to read on the matter.

"Do not worry,

il-susashai

," he replied. "With a sempster, several visits can be arranged. We need not even sign the contract until the day before."

"Two days," she said, "to be careful."

"As you wish," he deferred, retreating to the library once more.

She had read only half of the Muagthi records before it was time for supper to be delivered, and she carefully moved the scrolls and her writing equipment to her room. She ate little, her stomach too tense for food, knowing she would sleep badly that night.

The next morning dawned clear and cold, and she picked at her breakfast, anxious for the day to proceed. Time passed like honey once more as she pored over the rest of the Muagthi records, then hid everything for the midday meal, then replaced them again to move on to the Hisian records. She was absorbed in these, noting down common elements, when she heard footsteps approaching. She stood to hide her reading yet again, when she heard a soft knock. She went to stand by the main door, alert for danger, but it was the prince's voice she heard.

"I have brought the sempster,

il-susashai

. May we enter?"

"Yes," she croaked, wondering how she must look. It had been months since she'd even seen another person besides the prince.

The door opened, and in stepped a thin man wearing once-robust clothes, hands clasped before him deferentially.

"Shall I stay,

il-susashai

?" the prince asked her, waiting in the doorway.

Litheian glanced at the prisoner, weak and pale, and shook her head. "Please leave us,

il-susashaian

."

He nodded and turned back, shutting the door.

She wiped her palms on her hands, trying to remember her manners. "Please, sit," she said, indicating the chair across from hers.

Mutedly the man walked forward, sitting hesitantly.

"Excuse the mess," she said, rolling up the scrolls and covering the ink.

"I am glad to see you well, my princess." The man spoke softly, eyes casting about the room and landing on the large bed.

"Did his highness explain the... situation?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "I heard, your highness, that it was decreed you two would participate in the ancient rites come the spring festival."

"Yes," she affirmed, and he winced. "He brought you here under the guise of measuring me for a gown," she continued, "but truthfully we need a different kind of help."

"Anything for you, my princess," the sempster replied, bowing his head.

"Then would you serve as witness to our wedding?"

Startled, the man raised his head and looked her in the eyes. "Is that truly as you wish?"

"Yes," she replied firmly. "It is my condition for... agreeing to the ritual."