The Chevalier de Guise mourned while others celebrated. He regretted not devising a ruse to absence himself from the Prince de Cleves' wedding. What pained him most was Mlle. de Chartes who smiled at all those around her, but did not shine as a bride should. While she felt great esteem and affection for the Prince de Cleves, in was clear she did not love him.
The Prince was the happiest man in Paris.
Unlike the Chevalier who sulked in the corners, the Marechal de St. Andre embraced the new bride and kissed her cheek. The groom frowned at him, but he paid no mind. The Marechal was not a man to be crossed, secure as the King's favorite. Nor were his affections for Rosalind, now the Princess de Cleves, untoward in a court full of gallants. Any mark of distinction he bestowed upon the young woman, he gave to her husband as well, seeing they received invitations to the most exclusive parties.
That night, the court followed the young couple to the nuptial chamber while the Princess de Cleves turned pink from ear to ear. They saw newlyweds undressed, put in bed, and when the curtains were drawn they cheered. The riotous crowd left to continue their libations.
The Prince held his trembling bride until they were gone. He soothed her with gentle caresses, all the while his loins burned. Thinking of the men who watched her, who tried to hide their grief at her wedding, only heated his blood further. As he passed his fingers through her hair, stirring the scent of roses, he thought of the Marechal touching her; as he looked at her with swooning blue eyes, he pictured the Chevalier holding her. It excited him to think of her being enjoyed by other men. The only thing he was jealous of was her heart, and that belonged to no one.
Rosalind lay in her husband's arms and her heart pounded. Her mother told her she must be agreeable to him, but said nothing of the delicate pleasures of Venus.
When the footsteps of the courtiers had faded away, the Prince bent down to seal his lips over her's. He had not touched her since that day in the library, and she thought of it often. Not his anger, but the feel of his hands and tongue. She eagerly embraced him, and the Prince hoped that there was more to this gesture than simple desire. He pulled her chemise down her shoulders to fondle her breasts. They were small and fit perfectly in his hands. Her nipples hardened with his teasing and her tongue flicked out from between her lips. He moaned to feel her exploring the inside of his mouth, the tip of her tongue running over his teeth, his bottom lip between her white incisors. He wanted to throw her down upon the bed and take her with the fury of a satyr, but that was for another night.
He broke away from her lips to gasp. Her delicate fingers were on his face, and he took off his nightshirt. Taking her hands and placing them on his chest, he let her feel his skin for moment before he moved them down to his waist, and finally closed her fingers over his sex. Even in the dark he could see her wide eyes, her mouth open in wonder.
The Princess had only ever seen village boys relieving themselves by the road. What she held now was solid, hot, with skin that felt like silk. She was unsure of what to do, so the Prince wrapped his hands around her's, and guided them up and down his shaft. He started to moan.
"Stop, you must stop," he said, taking her wrists. He had been on the brink of spilling his seed all over his belly, and that was not how his wedding night should end. He remembered how he had touched her in the library, and how natural her response had been. "Show me Rosalind," he whispered to her, "show me how you touched yourself when you were a maiden and not a wife."
"I do not know what you mean," she said, reluctant to admit her flirtations with sin.
"Yes you do," the Prince said, cupping her pubic mound in his hand. "Was it like this?" he asked rubbing her.
She nodded. "Only, I would not use my hands."
"No? Then how, show me."
Rosalind recalled she should be obedient to her husband, so she took a pillow and placed it between her legs. She turned to look at the Prince and he was smiling. Embarrassed, she began to move against the pillow.
The Prince pulled her chemise down further exposing her back, and covered her pale skin in kisses. She quickly came to a gentle climax, and the Prince felt he could no longer restrain himself. He slipped his fingers inside of her, working each one in slowly. There was always pain on a wedding night, but he wanted her to remember the pleasure.
As he touched her, she begged, "Please, please, my dear Prince, my dear husband."
"What is it you want?" he asked. He saw she did not know anything of love. He rubbed his sex against her belly. "Is it this Princess?" He moved on top of her, and parted her legs with his knees. He placed the tip of his phallus against her moist sex, and began to rub it up and down her . She arched her back, and his phallus caught just inside her womb.
He did not move until the Princess arched her hips to take more of him inside her. Gently, he pressed himself into her, pausing when he felt her tense in pain. He murmured his love into her hair, stroking her face, kissing her throat. Soon, his whole shaft rested in her quivering sex, and he began to move in and out of her. When she moaned, he made love to her with greater vigor.
Rosalind's womb tensed, and when it released in ripples of pleasure, her Prince spilt his seed. She felt it, slick and hot, leaking from their joined bodies. The Prince lay on top of her for a moment, catching his breath. His sex remained hard though.
He took the Princess again, and again they climaxed together. The next day they slept late, nestled in each other's arms. The Princess de Cleves thought that this voluptuous satiety must be love. The Prince de Cleves tried to find signs of love in her, but there was only the ruddy flush that his kisses left on her cheek. He found that changing her name had yet to change her heart. Still, she was not unhappy, nor did he see her eyes flash at any gallant while they were in court.
Mme. de Chartes could not help but puzzle at her daughter's lack of love for the Prince de Cleves.
The Chevalier de Guise kept a small flame of hope in his heart, though the Princess de Cleves marriage gave him much anxiety. There was something in the way she moved that spoke of a loss of innocence.
The only person who did not fret about this marriage was the Marechal de St. Andre. He resumed his walks with Rosalind: on Tuesdays and Thursdays they strolled the grounds. The remaining gallants gave the stooped Marechal a wide berth, as his eyes were always on Rosalind and those who spoke with her.
* * * *
The Duke de Nemours felt sharply his separation from both the court and his favorite Lignerol. Visiting in Brussels, he may as well been in exile, though he had found plenty with which to amuse himself. The ladies were lively, and the valets sweet lipped.
He spent his days in sport and hunting, and his nights were for gambling and debauchery. In his boredom he began to dream of being King of England. Lignerol's missives were positive, and what he once thought to be a chimerical undertaking became feasible to him, even wise. He started to spend some nights alone at home, either reading of that island kingdom, or simply staring into the fire.
When Lignerol's next letter arrived, he shut himself into his study.
My Dearest Duke,
I find my bed grows colder and damper as your prospects grow brighter. Many times have I enumerated your great qualities to the Queen, and regaled her with tales to both amuse and sway her tender heart. There is nothing more I can do for you here. Sometimes I think that it is I she loves, her eyes (a lemon yellow splatter)mer when she greets me, but then I see she wears the diamond ear pendants you sent her.
Your portrait pleased greatly. I hear she keeps it in her closet, where she may look upon it unobserved. Of course, this is only a rumor. The Queen has not taken me into her confidences, nor do I desire it. There is only one master I wish to serve, and it gives me great joy to say that all is prepared for your arrival, so come my love, come and praise me for how well I have served you.
Your faithful servant,
Lignerol
The Duke sighed, and pressed the letter to his heart. Lignerol would be necessary in preparing both the Duke and his retinue for traveling to England. Again he would feel his slender limbs around his body. He dreamed of giving himself to Lignerol's caresses, to his manhood. While the Duke may take other men to bed, he only yielded to Lignerol.
He strained his breeches as he thought of his lover. Retired to his bed chamber, he locked the door. Stripping, he lay his side, and wrenched himself so he could caress his phallus while he thrust one finger into his anus. He thought of Lignerol, how tender he was when he took the Duke, his slender fingers moving all over his body. Sometimes, he would kneel in front of the Duke and take him in his mouth so deeply the saliva dripped all down his chin and he sputtered as though he could not breath. The Duke would try to push him away for fear of hurting him, but Lignerol would only grasp the Duke's thighs and move with such frenzy that the Duke lost all thought. With a soft cry, the Duke spilt his seed into his bed. Before he fell asleep, he penned a missive telling Lignerol to meet him in Paris.
* * * *
With the crown on his mind, the Duke de Nemours traveled to Paris to prepare a grand equipage for England. A grand wedding was underway at the capitol. He arrived the night before the espousals, and greeted the King and Queen. It was then he first heard rumors of Rosalind, the Princess de Cleves, her dark silken tresses, rosy cheeks and fleeting scent. He took care in choosing his garments for the next day, thinking he may wish to know this woman.
Rosalind did not go to the church to see the vows, instead dressing herself with great care for the ball. She wore a gown of the same vivid blue as her aquamarine ring. That morning the Prince presented her with a matching bracelet, necklace, and ear pendants. She turned in front of the glass, inspecting every detail of her toilet. Her hair had been curled and gathered with a simple white ribbon. The plainness of her gauzy dress only made her, and her glittering jewelry, shine more.
