"King Freirick, Ruler of the Free Lands, welcomes you, Captain Lancear!"
The majordomo stepped aside to let the king await the captain. The crowd applauded politely, watching as the two men clasped hands. The Captain's two sons, Serrick the elder, and Lucien the younger, stood behind him, waiting their turn.
Gwennalyn watched from the balcony as her father greeted Captain Lancear warmly. The two went back a long way; they had fought together many times in their youth. Lucien glanced up at her, smiling. She smiled back, but inwardly groaned.
It had been six months since her father had announced the marriage, to be between her and Lucien. She had not argued, as marrying him was her daughterly duty, but she found Lucien about as interesting as a sack of potatoes.
At least the potatoes are useful.
Lucien had come to court soon after, seeking to woo her, as if she would not marry him otherwise. He was a masterful lute player, with a wonderful voice, but even then, his songs were all dull courtly ballads. Other women might have swooned, but she always had to force herself to listen. In the bedroom he was dutiful at best, never quite seeming to want to go through with it.
I can't blame him; I never want to do it myself.
They had only made love a few times; Lucien had convinced her to do it, and Deiara, her handmaiden and confidant, had agreed with him, telling her that they should get to know each other before marriage. Their lovemaking had consistently underwhelmed her, however.
The two men continued to chat on the dais.
Gwennalyn walked into her sitting room, taking off her silk slippers, looking forward to a good night's rest. The feast thrown in Captain Lancear's favor had been long, and she was tired from politely chatting with everyone. Mingling with guests was one of her least favorite duties as a daughter of the king.
Although lots of things are my least favorite.
She went over to her bookshelf and selected a copy of
Sir Haverbrook's History of the Battles of the Red Wolf.
It was a tome her father had given her a few weeks back, at her nineteenth birthday, and she enjoyed it so much, enjoyed reading about the martial exploits of the legendary Orvell Marchwind. Her future would be filled with bearing and raising children, and keeping whatever castle Lucien ended up with; reading her books, such as this one, helped her imagine a more interesting future. She headed up the stairway to her bedroom, but the soft notes of a lute and the cool breeze of an open window made her groan.
Lucien was waiting for her, sitting on the sill, strumming his lute.
"My lady," he said, bowing.
"My lord," she responded, curtsying. She offered her hand as per custom, and he took it and kissed it, also as per custom.
"How is my fair wife-to-be feeling? I was not able to talk to you at the feast."
"I'm wonderful, my husband-to-be, delighted to be hosting your father and brother."
Lucien put down the lute and swept her into his arms, kissing her. She kissed back dutifully, breaking away after a few seconds. He led her to the bed and they climbed on.
Her hands moved over her clothing, unlacing her dress, pulling off her shift underneath. Her naked body was quickly on full display; one would think a young man in good health would be gagging to take her, but Lucien simply undressed himself, revealing his own fit form. Gwennalyn had heard rumors that he had a lady love back home, a daughter of one of his father's advisors. Like her, Lucien was duty-bound to marry whoever his father selected.
She lay back on the bed, spreading her legs for him. Lucien entered her with little fanfare, making her wince. Her quim was dry, as usual, and as usual, he moved inside her with a lack of passion. Gwennalyn closed her legs around his waist, thrusting a hand between them to rub at her clit. The friction soothed her, making her relax, her quim beginning to moisten.
It was over quickly, Lucien spilling his seed inside her. Luckily, Deiara had provided her with white blossom tea, something she swore would prevent Gwennalyn from becoming pregnant. Once the two of them were married, they could have as many children as they wanted. If she were to be honest, Gwennalyn did not want any. Babies were cute, but she found the idea of taking care of one every day to be drab and loathsome. She had held and played with Treyar, her infant nephew; he was adorable, but the constant squalling and shitting of a baby seemed like it would be some sort of torture.
Lucien pulled out carefully, and sang her a song he thought was romantic, before leaving. She headed into the washroom, to clean up her quim, before dressing and settling into bed.
Gwennalyn sighed, frustrated. She had not come close to cumming; in fact she had never cum with Lucien. The only times she had ever orgasmed were when Deiara attended to her, and that had only happened a few times. After she had lost her maidenhood to Lucien, she had rushed to Deiara, talking about how uncomfortable and unsatisfactory it had been. Deiara had assured her that it would get better, and had proceeded to lay Gwennalyn on her back and use her fingers to make her feel good. But as much as Gwennalyn had enjoyed it, and as good as Deiara was at it, her handmaiden was hesitant to do it too much.
Sleep eluded her as she tossed and turned. Finally, she rose in a huff and headed downstairs. A door in the corner of her sitting room led to a corridor, which led to Deiara's own room, smaller than Gwennalyn's and without the anteroom. She pushed the door open, slipping inside, expecting Deiara to be fast asleep.
Instead, she heard voices. She peeked around the corner, and bit back a gasp at seeing her handmaiden kneeling before one of the guardsmen who had arrived with Captain Lancear. The man was naked, his erect cock in Deiara's grasp. Deiara was dressed in a shift, her bountiful cleavage on display, her nipples indenting the silk shift.
"Get a move on, wench," the guardsman said. "Suck my cock."
Deiara smiled politely, and leaned forward to take it into her mouth. She began to suck softly, the guardsman groaning, running his hand through her hair. Gwennalyn had heard of a woman pleasing a man this way, but Lucien had never mentioned it, and she was not going to suggest it. The idea had always seemed to whorish to consider, using her mouth instead of her quim, but the way Deiara was enjoying it, purring in satisfaction, sliding a hand up her shift, made her wonder about that.
"Fuck, I've heard you girls in the capital are all whores," the guardsman grunted. "Guess it was true."
