Princess Aria had done everything right.
She had brushed her long, golden hair every night. One hundred strokes. She had massaged oils and poultices into her honey-hued skin until it was as soft and supple as the petals thrown at her feet as she walked down the aisle. She had obeyed her mother and father, and had been rewarded with a betrothal to Prince Edmund of the Aiscill Kingdom, next in line to the throne.
The wedding had been exquisite. She had fluttered her eyelashes demurely at her new husband from beneath her gossamer veil as the priest droned on before them. She had ensured to engage in the most ladylike conversation with him at their wedding feast, blushing astutely at his comments on her ravishing beauty.
So why, then, had she opened the door to her new bedroom that night to find her husband bent over the bed, being throughly fucked from behind by his best man?
She had bathed in a hurry after the feast, brushing aside the servant who dilly dallied and insisted she must be scrubbed from head to toe, bursting through the connecting door into the bedroom to find -- well, the servant had not let her dwell on it for long, pulling her back into the bathing room swiftly with a tactical bath robe thrust in Aria's face.
"My lady, you are not
nearly
squeaky clean enough," the servant yelped, rubbing aimlessly at Aria's elbow with a rough cloth. Aria pushed her away with a mighty shove and made for the door again, but stopped herself. She remembered that she must be a lady of poise and grace. Ladies of poise and grace did not burst through doors to yell obscenities at their new husband.
With a grunt, she spun on her heel and snatched the cloth from the servant's shaking hand. She stalked back to the bath, sliding into the hot water and rubbing at her skin with the vigor of a warrior.
The servant, who before had chattered idly about how grand the ceremony had been, how excited the young bride must be to be in her new home, now silently passed Aria the soap, her face an alarming shade of scarlet. In the new silence, Aria noted that she could hear a muffled grunting from the bedroom, and a faint slapping that increased gradually in intensity before suddenly ceasing.
She was
so sure
that she had done everything right.
* * *
That night, Aria lay beside the snoring form of Prince Edmund and wept quietly.
She imagined many women her age found themselves weeping in the bed of their new husband -- uprooted from their homes, married to a man often much older, introduced to the unspoken world of sexual intercourse in a sudden way.
Aria was not like them. She did not mind being uprooted from her home; her mother had encouraged her constantly on adventures, had arranged a marriage to a handsome young man her own age of twenty-one, and had regaled to her in graphic detail the pleasures that she and Aria's father indulged in regularly.
This had the unfortunate side effect of instilling in Aria the highest of standards when it came to her suitors. She had ensured that she was a top-tier catch for any suitor, and was sure she had played her cards right when she caught the eye of Edmund, next in line for the throne of the wealthiest kingdom on the continent. The way that his doe-brown eyes met hers with a sultry wink from across the room set her heart fluttering at the promise of an enthusiastic courtship.
But after fifteen minutes of half-hearted thrusting followed by some excuses about too much ale, Edmund had shown that he was
not
providing the enthusiastic courtship quite the way she had imagined.
Well
, she reminded herself,
he certainly had enthusiastic for SOMEone... just... not me.
Aria sighed and sat up, slipping from the bed and padding quietly to the door to her dressing room. She shut the oak door quietly behind her and picked up the pale blue dressing gown that she had earlier tossed onto her slipper chair in fury. She pulled it on over her sheer nightgown and pulled on her silk slippers. She could not spend another moment lying quietly in that bed.
It was not the right footwear for marching out into the chilly night, but, Aria figured, she was clearly not the right Princess for the life she had envisioned for herself, and so the slippers would do.
A small pang of regret did hit her as she stepped out onto the grass of the lawns, the night dew immediately soaking through her slippers. With a
hmph,
Aria lifted her chin and marched on.
The moon was a perfect half, so Aria could not tell whether it was waxing or waning. She cared not. She was grumpy and dejected and wanted nothing more than to enjoy a wander through the woods. They weren't far -- she had eyed them from the window that morning as her attendants had fussed with her hair, her blush, her corset. Already she was stepping beyond the manicured lawns of the manor grounds and into the natural haphazardness of the woods.
Aria walked faster, enjoying the caress of the cool air despite the occasional tangling branch or bulging root system. Before long she reached a thinning of the trees, a clearing with a pond in its centre, the half-moon reflected with stunning stillness on its surface. Aria approached it and flopped down at its edge, sighing. She leant forward to catch sight of herself in the still water. The darkness meant she could only make out the rough shape of her head, her hanging hair, her drooping shoulders.
What am I to do?
She thought forlornly, picking up a leaf and letting it fall from her fingertips onto the surface of the water, breaking the spell of its stillness and sending growing ripples across it. The moment the leaf hit the water a chill wind picked up, sending a rustling flurry of leaves from their branches to land around Aria and on the pond, each one sending its own concentric ripples to collide and overlap, creating a mesmerising pattern of criss-crossed curves.
Aria stared, her lids beginning to droop as if in hypnosis.
What am I doing out here?
She asked herself, shaking her head softly and making to turn from the pond.
Something stopped her.
