It was like a fairytale.
She had dreamt of this for so long. Since she was a little girl, surely. Her beautiful dress, the people watching, everyone taken by her beauty, her handsome husband. Sure, maybe it wasn't quite as she'd dreamt of, maybe she had never met her husband before, maybe in her dreams he had been a dashing knight instead of some sort of distant king, but the skies were clear and the day beautiful and she was okay with being the bargaining chip in this alliance. Besides, her parents had no sons, and after her father died and the kingdom was left kingless this was the most happy alternative for them. Wasn't this what good princesses did? Help their Kingdom and their families?
Her parents had told her that king Bolton was brave, and strong, and capable, exactly what a ruler should be, exactly what a
husband
should be. Clara had no doubt he'd love her from the moment he met her. And when she saw him at the altar, in his royal outfit? Oh, her heart soared. He was no dashing knight, but he was
handsome,
with ink black hair and a thick mustache, his eyes shiny and blue just a shade darker than her own. She'd instantly wanted to give him a million little blue-eyed children to run around their feet.
He was handsome, and he was
huge.
Tall enough that it made her feel like a tiny mouse standing next to him as the priest wed them, and when he put his hands around her waist for the sealing kiss she instantly felt somehow
owned
by the touch alone. He would probably pick her up with one hand, she was sure of it. But then the crowd cheered, and she smiled, and all of it was forgotten in a flurry of food and dance and laughter.
He'd taken home in a carriage, after. Clara wasn't sure how they had managed it so quickly, but when she'd tried to head to her rooms, Bolton had stopped her with a hand on her wrist. He'd smiled, though it hadn't eased her confusion, and asked one of the staff to guide them to
their
rooms. The confusion had only turned to apprehension when she was finally standing in front of the doors,
the
doors, big and dark mahogany, to what once had been her father's rooms. Bolton had opened them and entered as if it were nothing. He'd only stopped when she didn't follow.
"I am your king now," he'd said, "so it is only natural that I am given the king's room. Come."
So there she was now, standing uncomfortably next to a drawer and gently touching a wooden horse model there, while Bolton removed the heavy cloak from his shoulders. Well, he was probably right, wasn't he? He
was
the king now. But Clara couldn't stop thinking about how her parents slept in here, once, how she remembered them on this bed when she was a child, though the covers and the beddings and the curtains were clearly new. She felt way out of place in this too-familiar room with its dark walls, standing there in her pristine white dress, a lily amidst the rocks.
Her new husband seemed none the wiser. He'd undone the top buttons of his vest when Clara looked at him again, and had taken off his boots, too, stretching with all the comfort in the world. She wasn't sure what to do. Slowly, she stepped out of her shoes too.
"Do you know what happens now, Clara?"
She did. Well, a little. Her mother had told her some things, but vaguely, and Clara had pretended to understand them. Still, she nodded.
"We-- Today we will have to consummate the marriage." She sounded more uncertain than she would have liked. "And then I will be your wife and give you children." A pause. "Your grace."
She wasn't sure what the consummating meant, but she liked the children. Little sons and daughters with blue eyes and chocolate or ink hair, if God would bless them so. Her mother had said she'd know when one would be preparing to come.
Bolton smiled at her, his eyes kind. He gave her a nod. Then, his tone almost curious, "You sound uncertain. Do you want to be my wife and give me children, princess?"
"Yes." This time she didn't hesitate. His smile widened.
"Many?"
"Yes." Many so they would not be lonely like she had, little heirs to the throne with adorable pink cheeks and hair that she could brush. "As many as the good Lord would bless us with."
He liked that, she could tell. Liked
her.
She'd just become his wife and she was already doing things right;
like a fairytale.
He nodded at her.
"Come." And she did, her bare feet cold on the stone floor as she made his way to him, the tail of her dress trailing. He gently turned her around once she was close, until her back was to him, and though confused she let him without hesitation. Her confusion deepened when she felt a tug at the closing of her dress- and then it began to loosen dangerously, the front began to slip. Clara gasped and flinched away, a hand going to her chest to hold her dress up, confusion and embarrassment fighting in her chest.
"Your grace!" Surely he knew better than to pull a lady's dress! What was he doing?
But her new husband seemed unbothered. He cocked his head at her. "Would it please you more to take it off yourself?"
"Would I-- this is most improper! You're a lord and I'm a lady."
Men were not supposed to see her unclothed, she knew this, and doubtlessly so did he! Maybe these things were of no concern when she had been a child, but she was a woman grown now, with a woman's bosom and hair between her legs, and those were things that were kept to oneself. Bolton's eyebrows went only the slightest bit higher.
"I'm your lord
husband."
He stressed the word in a way that made her feel guilty even though she could not pinpoint why. "And I shall see my wife. Only I."
He stepped towards her and she tensed a little, not understanding, as he reached out and took her wrist in his hand. It didn't matter if she tried to keep it there or not; she was powerless against his strength. He pulled it away from her dress, and slowly it began to slip-- she let out a small, unbecoming squeal of shame when it slipped free of her chest and pooled around her hips where her skirts were wide. Her face burned. But there was pleasure in Bolton's eyes. He trailed his free hand up her side and she shivered; her body was shock still when, gently, he cupped one of her breasts in his big big palm.
"Only I," he repeated. "These sweet little morsels beneath your undergarments belong to me." Sometime while she was distracted his other hand had snaked behind her back and undone her skirts, too. They clattered as they fell on the floor, but Clara had no time to react to that or to the sudden chill on her legs before Bolton cupped the mound between her thighs as well. She startled. "And so does this pristine treasure right here."
Clara was lost. She stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, lips parted in a question that wasn't coming, and then Bolton gently pressed one of her nipples between his fingers. She gasped, but it did something weird. It sent a hot jolt all the way down across her tummy.
He stepped away from her, then, and she took a step back too, bringing her hands up to cover her nudity. He barely seemed to notice as he removed his vest and shirt.
"Take off your undergarments and get on the bed." He turned away from her and began to fiddle with his trousers. She was prepared to object, but when he lowered his underpants every thought in her brain left her. The--
thing
between his legs. The
monster
between his legs. She had never seen a man's privates before, and this beast was terrifying, long as a poker and easily the width of her arm, perhaps wider. It almost floated, not quite dangling and not quite standing, in some sort of strange middle stage that confused and terrified her.
"Princess." His voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "I'm waiting."
Face on fire, Clara stepped out of her undergarments, made her way to the bed quickly to avoid her exposed state. She half sat, half laid on it, her knees close to her stomach, a hand over her breasts. When he was done with his clothes he joined her too, the plush mattress dipping with his weight, the sight of his heavy, hair-covered body almost enough to distract her completely.
"Attagirl." He sat in front of her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "Open up your legs for me."
Her confusion was threatening to tip over into fear. "What for?"
"So I can claim my treasure."
She didn't understand. This never happened in the books. But she'd never been married before, and maybe it was... normal. Maybe this was what the consummation was. Sharing with each other all the things they could never share with someone else. It was kind of romantic, if she thought about it.
