Her husband liked to fuck men. Only men. Rarely could she even get him hard. She knew that, had grown to accept it, even.
She had known it since she was eleven years old and she'd met her distant Attrian cousins for the first time. At age thirteen Laramis had teased her, declaring he'd already had more cock in his mouth than she had, wasn't that funny? But they had been betrothed then, regardless of his preference and predilection. Considering he had been fourth and last son in line for the throne, it had never really mattered.
At least, not until the funerals of his two oldest brothers, the pair of them slain within days of each other.
The entire kingdom had been horrified, mourning so strongly that it seemed the shade of death lingered over everything, darkening them down. Music was flat and food ashen, faces dreary. Their deaths had occurred so near in time but distant from each other, both dying on separate battlefields across Attria's borders. Her own parents still stalwartly guarded the north border, her home of Endris seeming excruciatingly far away from the southern Attrian capitol. She felt especially alone as the funeral procession gathered, unable to even see her husband at first. She had been folded into the crowd until the long fingers of her sister in law's hand had grasped onto hers and tugged.
"I can't find Laramis."
"He's with Jascin," she waved toward the king and his remaining twin sons. Jascin, the other woman's husband, was next in line now. He'd been born near an hour before Laramis, both of them difficult births.
Both the finely dressed young men had their heads bowed to their father's whispering, though, and Alya watched them as she got pulled closer to the front, her sister's fingers tight on hers. It seemed as though the nearer the procession got to the dais, the more animated and angry the conversation between the three men became. She noted that Laramis looked up suddenly to the ceiling, his features seeming nearly as devastated as they had been upon hearing of his brothers' deaths. She stood straighter as his eyes lowered again, searching her out. She saw chagrin tint the usually bright blue of his eyes as he caught sight of her face. Then someone shifted, she lost sight of him to the swaying crowd. He was gone.
By the time she found him once again he was storming off, both his older brother and his father staring at her, jaws tensed. They looked over Talisa as well and she felt her skin prickle and tighten in concern. Their faces were mirrors of discomfort even as they watched both women. Her back felt suddenly hot, her throat nearly as flushed under their scrutiny.
"This can't be good," Alya murmured.
"Tend to Laramis," Talisa told her strongly, pushing them apart. The other woman's features pale and tight. "This isn't the time for them to be apart."
*
"What is it?" she implored, brushing back the gilded silk of his hair. "Tell me?"
"Jascin and I leave by next moonrise," he responded, eyes shut as he relaxed into her touch. His despondency was finally starting to fade with her familiarity, her affectionate closeness. They were still husband and wife, still best friends. "We replace our brothers at the borders."
"But you're the only heirs of Attria. You can't both go. What if..."
"Yes, that's..." his stutter soured her stomach, worried her fraying edges, "that's what bed sharing is for, Alya."
She met his eyes, saw the worry and apology in the way he was desperately watching her face. "You mean Jascin."
"My father. And Deremon." His fine soft features were pained as he looked at her. He couldn't imagine how pained she felt in regards to the situation. His sympathetic looks didn't do much to make her feel any better.
His uncle was in his late sixties, poor in both health and demeanor. She was appalled by the very idea. "Deremon isn't even in line to - "
"His blood is sacrosanct, Alya. Just as mine. It's a royal cock between his legs, regardless." His concern for her waned slightly, replaced by obvious guilt. "He can plant more of Attria's seed in your belly than I can and my father knows it."
"Can't we just try first? You and I? Your men can join us if -"
"It wasn't my choice, darling. I'm sorry," he told her, exasperated. He seemed desperate as he stepped away from her, getting more agitated and upset as reality set in on both of them. She watched his hands swipe at his blonde hair, shoving it off his face. "It begins tonight. There are only twelve days til moonrise and both of you need to be full with child, just in case."
"And if we aren't?" she asked pointedly, voice culled and quiet.
His shoulders sank as his chin lowered to his chest. "My father and Deremon will still bed you both in our stead. Or the lesser cousins will try. At least until you carry an heir."
"This is barbaric," Alya exhaled, her hand against her stomach as she swayed with mild nausea.
He looked up at her, pretty and fair, eyes bright blue. "It's Attrian."
*
She hadn't realized that he had meant so soon, before supper was even called.
It had only been an hour or so since Laramis had left to report to the king's generals. Suddenly Deremon, the king's own uncle, was in their chambers with her. The smile on his face was both lascivious and eerie, his movements exaggerated by how lanky he was.
His presence was always unsettling but this was undoubtedly far worse than any other evening she had been forced to entertain the wizened older man. She and Laramis had often joked that he was the least desirable member of the royal family left and now she was to willingly open her thighs for him? Let him rut her like a common whore?
Could he even still sire children?
"Just bred a weak pup of a boy into my maid not year ago," he told her as he shut the door behind her own abruptly dismissed servant. "May not be strong as it once was but I've still got plenty enough spunk to fill your womb, my dear."
It was as though he had read her mind, plucked her thoughts right from her head. She suddenly felt extraordinarily nauseous, her body swaying slightly as he stepped nearer. Alya tightened the dressing gown she had stripped down into closer to her body, arms curling around herself as he studied her. His glance was greedy, eyes brown with a tint of jaundice in the whites of them. One eye was much milkier than the other, constantly weeping down the left of his face. She tried to ignore it.
"Yes, my Lord." He was officially a duke, named so by her father-in-law. But even the smell of him was sour and aged, his clothing supposedly opulent - at least until inspected closely. The fabric was worn and soiled, sweated thicker in some places, darker. At least his form was slight, thin. He wouldn't smother her petite frame like some men might.
"Too bad my nephew can't manage to get a little whelp in that belly of yours. You've got lovely fertile hips and heavy tits," he said, as though offering her a sweet compliment. "Might fare better if he wasn't so busy sucking cock."
"Yes, my Lord. That is true."
"Best get started then." He stepped into her space quickly, pawed at her with long knob knuckled fingers. He was fast and spry, tangling her into his arms and up the front of him, his breath hot and moist on her cheek. Alya struggled slightly, mewling out a whimper of surprised disgust when he covered her mouth with his own. His tongue shoved into her mouth and he grunted, slicking it against hers while his hands pulled her into his groin. He tasted fetid, like rotted teeth and old fruit.
The bulge between his thighs was obvious, though, lumped hard against her belly as he shoved it farther against her. Both his broad palms caught on her upper arms as he continued kissing her, using his hips to lever her back to the bed. She stepped with him to keep from falling, the kiss jostling apart as the mattress lodged up against the backs of her knees.
"Let's see these tits then," he demanded, voice slagging into a low hiss. Alya's fingers shook and he was too impatient to wait, slapping them away from the ties at her front. His arthritic fingers still worked well enough to snap the fabric open, ripping some of the thin satin ribbon apart. His grunt of appreciation made her flush hot all down her bared front. Her breasts over-flowed the torn fabric, round and heavy, their curves pressing into some inviting cleavage.
It was his wrinkled hands roughly groping all over them that brought rage and revulsion over her, suddenly and flashed white hot. Alya yelped angrily at his mean fisted squeezing and tried to shove him back.
The sudden full weight slap of his palm across her face brought her sharply back to reality, tossing her dark hair aside. There was more strength still in the sinewy arm than she had expected. Alya licked at the blood that already bloomed on the inside of her upper lip, a hand pressed to her inflamed cheek as her head hung toward her shoulder.
A snort of derision preceded his low graveley tone, "Do you need another?"
"No, my Lord. I'm sorry," she whispered, her jaw lifting as he lowered his mouth down the side of her neck. He sucked and licked on the soft skin there, fingers pinching and pulling on her nipples. There was a feeling of punishment in his movements, a purposeful meanness in each twist and tug. Soon it gave way to full palmed squeezing and groping, though. She could feel her breasts beginning to enjoy it then, her nipples stiffening and swelling at his attentiveness.
"Wonderful little tits, wasted," Deremon murmured up her cheek, reaching for her hand and dragging it down between them. She didn't fight him, instead letting him guide her palm around his hardened cock as he pulled it from his black breeches. "Shame a child should suckle them sooner than your own husband."
Alya didn't answer, though a fraction of her agreed.
It was just as much Laramis' fault that this was happening. Maybe moreso.
"Stroke it, Alya," he muttered, breath sour, spitting into his palm and slicking it up his shaft as she complied. He did it twice more, eyes fluttering shut as he groaned over her breasts. His hands rose and grasped onto her slim shoulders as he watched her, now using both her smaller palms to curl around the long cock that strained between them. "Yes, my sweet. That's nice. That's better."
