To Be a Ing

King Aaron was in heaven. He looked down at the flaxen-haired beauty beneath him and cursed the fact that she was not his wife. If only Queen Elaina possessed an ounce of the liveliness and spirit that coursed through the veins of this vixen, he would not have to look for pleasures outside of their marriage. It was only her that could keep his bed alight with passion whilst Elaina went about her wifely duties as if they were only that – duties. What his emerald-eyed lover lacked in noble blood, she made up for in devotion, love and attentiveness – things Aaron could never ask for from his wife of two years. They had been married young, purely as a means of creating an alliance between two great kingdoms. "Kings do not know love for themselves, but know love for their people." Aaron could hear his father's voice in his head at this very moment as he looked down at the woman that would have been his wife, his Queen, his love, had he not been forced to buckle under the obligations of his crown. He felt her cup his face in her soft hands as a kiss from her full, rose coloured lips brought him back from his reverie.

"Ron," she addressed him by his pet name that only she called him, "I'm waiting."

She grinded her pelvis against his hardened length, letting it rub against her moist opening, teasing him. Aaron could not believe he had allowed his mind to wonder from the delicious task at hand. He connected his lips with hers, his tongue prying her willing lips apart as his manhood slowly, almost painfully, entered its favourite place. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her fingers feel the hardness of his muscles under his pale skin. Aaron moaned into his lover's sweet mouth as her moist, warm sheath enveloped him for the second time that evening as his hardened manhood bottomed out inside of her. He was convinced they were made for each other as he stayed still for a moment, revelling in the feel of her soft breasts crushed against his hard chest, her body joined so perfectly to his in the way nature intended.

"Oh Ron," she moaned.

Instinctively, she wrapped her lengthy ivory legs around the young king's hips, allowing him even further access to her divine body, if that was even possible. He pulled out of her a few inches before entering again, slowly at first and gradually let his speed increase. Soft whimpers escaped her lips as he continued, her hips moving to eagerly meet his thrusts. She could feel the familiar feeling building up in the pit of her belly as Aaron feverishly moved in and out of his lover's body as a light sheen of sweat covered both their bodies. His hand was on her hip, anchoring her down onto the large bed and he persisted his assault of her body, ramming in and out of her tight warm sheath as the large bedchamber was filled with the wet sound of their bodies meeting. As he looked down at her beautiful face, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as she emitted soft feminine groans of pleasure and wisps of golden hair stuck onto her forehead with sweat, Aaron knew it was only about time before he lost it, but he wanted her to climax with him. Like a man who knew his lover well, he placed his lips around her pink, hardened nipple and was rewarded with a husky scream. Isolde could feel herself become undone as Aaron's teeth nipped at her most sensitive area. Her body seem to ignite as her tight tunnel contracted around Aaron's length, squeezing his engorged member until he could no longer control himself either. An almost animalistic grunt escaped his lips as he reached his climax, letting his warmth coat her womb.

For a few seconds the room was silent apart from their heavy panting and Aaron reluctantly pulled out of her as his manhood resumed its normal size, though he knew it would take only a few tricks from Isolde's skilful mouth to bring it back to life if needed. The King rolled onto his back besides her, loving the way her cheeks were still flushed from their recent activity. Her full, milky breasts were heaving as she tried to catch her breath and Aaron could feel a familiar twitching sensation in his nether regions. Oh Hera, he thought, is it normal to crave a woman so much, to never tire of her? Aaron could swear that Isolde had bewitched him somehow because already he missed being inside her, having her moan his name, feeling her nails along his back. It could not be alright to be this way.

"Ron, we must talk," she said suddenly as she propped herself up against the ebony headboard of the bed.

"Mh-hm," Aaron murmured, hardly acknowledging her words, but instead tracing a line on her flat belly to her breasts.

"Aaron!" she said quite sternly, crossing her arms across her chest, "I am very serious. There is something I must tell you."

"I am listening, my love," he said playfully, loving the pout on her beautiful face, "what is it?"

The peasant girl squirmed a bit, trying to find the right arrangement of words in which to portray her message. She found that none would be more effective than just saying what she had to say without any verbal embellishments, but just coming out with it. She knew Aaron would understand. He loved her. She loved him. She smiled slightly. Not only would he understand, but he would be happy. Maybe it was this news that would finally allow them to be together as they were meant to be.

"Ron," she said softly, but boldly, "I am with child."

Silence.

"Congratulations," was Aaron's response, "the father must be proud."

Isolde blinked. What was he saying? She laughed it off. It was like Aaron to jest like so.

"You are the father, Ron."

Aaron looked away from her.

"Ron?"

"Please do not address me so informally miss," he said coolly, "I am the King of Falasia and you will address me accordingly."

Isolde was speechless. She felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her. She was suddenly painfully aware of her nakedness and pulled the furs up to her neck, covering her breasts. She looked into his eyes, looking for any smidge of a prank. His usually playful cerulean eyes were a stormy cobalt blue – a picture of detachment. Why was Aaron being this way? She did not understand. He was supposed to be happy that she was carrying his heir. Was it not he that constantly moaned about the pressures he was receiving from the High Council to produce an heir for Falasia but it seemed like an impossible task since Elaina was repulsed by the idea of making love to him. She was carrying an heir for him and now he shunned her like some worthless street whore. Isolde cursed herself for being so naïve, so stupid. He was the King, and that would come above all things in his life – and this included their unborn child. To him, she might as well have been a whore. How could she think that sharing the bed of a married – a king – would ever end up in something remotely good?

"I understand, Your Majesty," her voice was barely audible as she climbed out of the bed that had once been their haven but was now cold to her.

Aaron watched her as she slipped back into her yellow day dress. He wanted so desperately to say something. To tell her that this was not the real him, that he constantly dreamt of them having their own family. But that was all it could be: a dream. He was the King of Falasia. He controlled armies and dukes, lived in the largest palace in the Western Realm and was in charge of the rolling mountains and lush forests as far as the eye could see. He could order another kingdom to ruins or send a man to execution for whichever reason he wished – but he was not allowed to order his own heart.

He was a married King. Any heir of his was meant to come from his wife, the Queen Elaina, the Princess of Canasta. Not the daughter of a farmer. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much she made him smile, they could never be. The royal household would be a laughing stock. What would his father say? Maybe it was better for this child of his to grow up oblivious of the heartache its lineage would surely bring upon it. It was in this way that Aaron was trying to convince himself that he was making the right decision by watching the love of his life, the woman who owned his heart, gather her belongings and prepare to leave his life for good.

"Isolde," he called after her, "I shall send a clerk from the treasury with funds to help you raise the child. Tell me how much you need – "

"I am not your welfare case, Your Majesty," Isolde spat out bitterly.

She gingerly grabbed the cloak that Aaron had so eagerly ripped off her body just a few hours ago and tied it around her neck, the entire time making sure that her green eyes did not meet his blue ones. She could not bear to let him see the tears that had formed and were threatening to spill out. She reached the double door that served as an entrance to his bedchambers and opened it. Turning around, she drank in the image of him still lying in his bed, he eyes focussed on the ceiling and waited for some sort of apology or explanation from him – but none came. Isolde looked down at her feet dejectedly.

"Goodbye, Ron."