Love Diaries of a Princess

One of the many duties as the princess of Knowles was to do as you are told. Marin was to be married to a duke arranged by her mother, the Queen, when she was 18. The Duke was a scruffy, slightly balding man of 34, with hardly a hint of a smile.

On the morning of the wedding, Marin's ladies in waiting brushed her long auburn hair, applied rouge to her cheeks and lips, and powder under her eyes. With a small heated rod, they curled her lashes and applied dark powder around her lash line with a light hand. Oil was massaged into her skin for moisture, and her hair was braided, twisted, and pinned up with pearl-studded pins. Alas, she was fitted into her wedding gown, with its long white velvet and lace sleeves, fitting tightly underneath her bust with gold trim, and fell loosely, stopping just an inch before the ground. Finally, looking regal, Marin was ready. Physically, at least. The Queen gave her a stiff nod of approval. The ladies-in-waiting darted away when dismissed so that she could have a moment of peace before the festivities began.

On the way to the ceremony, Marin stopped by the suite in which her husband-to-be, Duke Fowred, was staying. She heard muffled noises and cracked open the heavy wooden door.

There was the Duke, atop some maiden in his bed, and they were making odd noises as they wrestled together. The maiden's skirt was hitched up, and he was thrusting his pelvis into her. At once, he grunted and sighed, removed himself from her, and she sat up to kiss him. He tenderly cupped her face to return it.

Heat bloomed in Marin's chest, of jealousy, distress, and other complex feelings. She watched as the duke stood, his manhood still hard, and scurried off before she could be discovered. Her face was bright red and flushed, breathing heavily. She knew very little about intercourse, and she mostly felt overwhelmed for what tasks she would have to endure as part of her wifely duties.

At the wedding ceremony, she stood before the duke as he peered at her with an unreadable expression. She tuned out the voice of the priest and of the giddy guests. They shared one suffocating kiss at their wedding, and the celebrations ensued. She had never kissed anyone before, and did not enjoy it. His breath was too warm and he pressed his lips against hers too roughly, his hands on her waist. Marin noticed that the maiden he had been with was enjoying herself at the festivities. The maiden never met her gaze. She wondered if she loved the duke or if their affair was just a one time thing.

The dining table, from one end of the banquet hall to the other, was filled with dishes in honor of the royal union. Marin sat across from the duke, adjacent to her mother. The spread before them was a sight to behold, consisting of roasted wild boar, quails, pigeons, golden potatoes, cakes dripping in honey and small purple flowers, wine, beer, hard cider, dumplings, beans and ham, sturgeon, and about a dozen other steaming dishes.

The Duke was a man of little words. She studied him shyly as she nibbled the meat off of a wing, wondering why he had very little to say ever since their first and only meeting before their marriage. He did not meet her gaze. Marin concluded that he had little interest in her, and, feeling self-conscious, she looked down at her lap. How humiliating it was to be treated as if she was invisible on her wedding day. She'd read about true love and weddings, and this couldn't have been further from it. Suddenly she felt self conscious of her looks. The maiden, who the duke was clearly attracted to, was voluptuous and vibrant, laughed loudly, and everything Marin wasn't.

After the feast, followed by dancing and music, it was time to consummate the marriage. Following tradition, an audience huddled around the bedroom. Even with the canopy curtains closed, their presence could be felt. She could feel their eyes boring into her through the velvet material. Marin lay on the bed as instructed as her husband climbed on top of her, kissed her neck, then her lips, cupping her breast as he pressed his hips against hers, entering her body. She breathed sharply in pain, her whole body tensing in panic. Fowred held still briefly so that her body could acclimate, then he started moving in and out, causing the oddest sensation of pressure in her loins. She made no noise and grimaced instead, shutting her eyes tightly. In about a minute it was over, with a groan, his body tensed, then relaxed, and he fell on his side slumped over. Marin pulled the quilt over herself and bit her lip, willing for sleep to find her.