Topic: The Making of A Woman

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:47 EST

((Contains references to adult activities.))

November 13th, 1613

The marriage of a Crown Prince of Pomerania was a day to be celebrated, and celebrated it was, with customs dictating every hour from the moment the marriage was declared to the people. The feasts had gone on for many hours, into the darkening night, each one kept separate from the other - Stephan with the men of the court, and Marianne with the women. Yet the time came all too soon for Marianne to be swept away to Stephan's chamber; to be undressed and perfumed and garbed in a soft shift, her hair left unbound over her shoulders. She could hear the approach of the highest ranking members of the court, unable to keep herself from shaking as Lady Bryant helped her into the curtained bed to await the arrival of her husband ....and the chosen witnesses.

Stephan was already waiting in his own chambers, pacing the floor, seemingly as nervous as she was. He had changed out of the formal wear he'd been wearing earlier and was dressed in more comfortable clothing - a simple tunic, breeches, and pair of boots, which would all be doffed before long if the witnesses had their way. Indeed, he intended to take his bride's virginity this very night, if she would allow it, but it would be done in private, not in front of witnesses, tradition or not. He smelled faintly of wine, but thankfully, he did not reek of it, much to the disappointment of his brothers.

As the Dalai himself blessed the wide bed in which Stephan's very nervous bride lay, the High King entered the chambers without an announcement - a warning of a sort, to prepare at least the prince for the imminent arrival of the highest ranked of the court. Catherine, the queen, had chosen not to attend, remembering her own discomfort at the awful tradition still clung to by this particular monarchy. "Stephan," his father said quietly. "It's time."

The moment that so many seemed so interested in, even more than the wedding. Stephan thought it was a rather crude tradition, believing that a wedding bed should be something sacred and private between a man and a woman, but tradition could not be argued with and he had come to wondering if this, too, was not some kind of test. If that were the case, he planned on cheating, just a little. "So, it is," he replied, yanking off his boots and handing them to his father for safe-keeping. "How long must this go on?" he whispered quietly as he drew close.

"Until you find release," Philippe assured him, aware that this was not the most pleasant of tasks for anyone. "It is only the consummation that must be witnessed and blessed, and even then, the curtains will be closed. Once you have done, we will leave." He glanced down at the boots in his hand as the courtiers began to file in, surrounding the bed and the rather frightened girl who lay there, not entirely sure how he had ended up holding them in the first place.

How he was supposed to find release and pleasure in that release with a roomful of onlookers Stephan wasn't quite sure. In fact, he was sure it was likely impossible, and he was sure his father already knew that, but if craftiness was called for, then craftiness it would be. "Very well," he said, turning to the group of people who were crowding his chambers. "I expect you all find this entertaining, but for my lady's sake, I ask that you leave as soon as the marriage is consummated and not a moment later," he told them all in a tone of voice that left little room for argument.

The older men and women who had witnessed such events before simply nodded in agreement, though there was a murmur of dissent from the younger ones who had not been witness before. Such murmurs, however, were easily silenced by the realization that the High King and his unmarried sons had come armed into the marriage chamber, and all three were looking stern. Necessary the ritual might be, but that did not mean it was to be performed with anything but perfunctory haste. Indeed, some of those there even looked away from the bed entirely out of deference to the Crown Prince's wishes.

Stephan looked grateful and a little surprised when his brothers came to his defense, the King and princes all armed to discourage anything from getting out of hand. Marriage or no, Stephan was still the Crown Prince, and his wishes had to be respected, even in this. The expression on his face remained stern for the sake of the onlookers, until he turned aside to toss a sly wink to his brothers. "Let's get this over, shall we?" he said, pulling the curtains aside just enough to allow himself entry before pulling them closed shut again, preventing the witnesses from actually viewing the consummation, as it were.

Felipe scowled deeper at the wink from his eldest brother, but Maksim nodded, just the barest flicker in his eyes betraying the grin that wasn't making an appearance on his face. The curtains were drawn securely closed by the servants who stood by, leaving Stephan enclosed in a dark space. A dark space in which, somewhere, Marianne was lying as still and as quiet as she could, temporarily wishing she had never left Francia.

Stephan set a finger against his lips to silence Marianne before she made a sound, making sure the curtains were closed behind them. He pulled the covers back and tugged what appeared to be a woman's chemise from somewhere beneath the blankets, holding it up with a smirk on his face. "Now, wife," he said with enough volume in his voice that his words easily carried to those waiting in witness. "You have vowed to submit to your husband, as is your wifely duty. I shall try to be as gentle as I can, but I cannot promise it will not hurt a little." He raised his hand to his mouth to make suckling noises like he was kissing her wetly and noisily, waving a hand at her to go along with the ruse.

In the dim light, they were only just visible to one another. Marianne watched him with wide eyes, not at all sure what he was up to, but no doubt the gasp that escaped her as he produced a woman's chemise from under the covers helped with the pretense. Unfortunately, the sight and sound of him enthusiastically kissing his own hand made her giggle, one hand swiftly thrown over her mouth to muffle the sound as she stared at him. What was she supposed to do?

"You needn't be shy, my lovely," he continued, though he was clear across the other side of the bed, close enough that she could see and hear him, close enough even to touch if either wanted to, but far enough away that it was clear he was not going to force himself on her in front of witnesses. "There is nothing to fear," he said, egging her on to say something, and when she didn't, he reached over and pinched her bare leg, just hard enough to make her yelp, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:49 EST

She jumped violently as he pinched her, her yelp more of a surprised gasping squeak than anything, and more for his audacity than for any pain it might have inflicted. "Your highness, what are you doing?" she asked, loud enough to be heard as she stared into his eyes, caught between horror and deep amusement at his silly display.

"I am taking you for my wife, wife," he replied, with a silly smirk on his face she would be able to see even in the dim light. He purposely ripped the sleeve from the chemise that lay in his lap and stuck his arm out of the curtains to drop it on the floor. Let them think what they wanted about that. "Now, kiss me, wench!" Thankfully, he was not an actor and never had to worry about his life depending on his acting ability. Anyone that knew him well would know this was a ruse, and it was amazing his brothers weren't breaking into full-out laughter by now.

This time, there was no way to repress the giggle that erupted from her lips - it was such an inappropriate sound for a bride to be making at this point in the proceedings that there was a ripple of laughter from outside the bed curtains as well, hastily shushed by those who were expecting the deed to be done quickly.

He would have kissed her himself, but when he did at last decide to do that, he wanted to do it in private. Instead, he was making that silly sound with his mouth against his own hand again, and bouncing lightly on the bed to make it look like they were doing something they weren't.

In that, at least, Marianne was inadvertently helping the charade. Each bounce made her squeak a little as she was rocked against the carved panels of the headboard, suggesting to the witnesses who weren't in on the charade that the prince was definitely doing his duty by his new bride. She didn't have the first idea what was going on, but she had a feeling this wasn't what was meant by consummating a marriage.

His goal was not to break the bed but to convince the people listening that he was indeed deflowering his wife. To these little bounces he added a few fake moans and groans, the bouncing of the bed slowing until he finally let out a final very loud, very audible groan and collapsed on the bed to lay beside her.

As Marianne stared at him in the low light within the curtains, utterly dumbstruck by that little display, they both heard his father speak quite clearly. "That sounds like a successful meeting," Philippe declared, the curtain beside Stephan moving as though it had been tapped in some kind of warning. "Open the curtains."

Marianne's gasp was shocked at that; she had not expected that the custom dictated a need for the newly deflowered bride to be seen. As deft hands undid the ties, there was a scramble to get underneath the sheets, to stuff the torn chemise away before it was seen. The torn chemise ... Blushing deeply, she pulled the lace at her breast undone, dragging her arms from the sleeve and pulling the sheets high as the curtains drew back to reveal the applauding court looking in at them.

Stephan uttered a low curse under his breath, just loud enough for his father to hear it if he was, indeed, standing just outside the curtains. He quickly fumbled to get his shirt over his head and off with a mumbled, "Just a minute!" Tossing his tunic to the bottom of the bed, he scrambled beneath the blankets and slid an arm around his newly wed wife to pull her up against his bare chest, the blankets high enough to cover the fact that they were both still mostly dressed. He just barely got under the covers in time before the curtains were rudely pulled back and Stephan glared back at the intruders. "The deed is done. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to go to sleep without the entire court watching me snore."

Pulled against him, painfully aware that the chemise she was wearing was very close to slipping straight down to her waist with that change of position, Marianne hid her face against Stephan's shoulder, her eyes closed against the curious eyes looking in at them. There was a clink of chain as the bed was incensed once again, the low murmur of the last blessing offered over them before the High King spoke again.

"We can fore-go the checking of the sheets until the morning," Philippe announced, having noticed that only one apparently torn sleeve had been removed from the bride, despite the display of bare shoulders, and the lack of breeches in evidence beside the prince's shirt. "The ceremony is over. Leave. Now."

Personally, the Crown Prince found this little tradition barbaric, and though he understood the necessity of it, he thought the coupling between a man and woman should be something private and sacred, not to be put on display for anyone - not even the church. The Goddess was witness enough, he thought. He was all too aware of his blushing bride's body pressed close to his, her heart fluttering against his bare chest. What kind of man would he be if he allowed her to be embarrassed in such a crude display as this"

Under the combined glare of the High King and all his sons - even the one who had apparently just done his duty - the court filed out of Stephan's chambers, some reluctantly, most with a certain amount of relief. The Dalai smiled at the couple before taking his leave, his own acolytes moving with him without objection. Finally, the only people who remained were Stephan's personal valet, and Lady Bryant, who was looking understandably concerned.

"My lady?" the older woman ventured, daring Stephan's displeasure to approach. "Will you be taking to your own bed now?"

Deeply, excruciatingly embarrassed, Marianne forced herself to look up, meeting Stephan's eyes, uncertain what her answer should be. Did he want her to stay, or was that little performance enough"

Stephan's glare was enough to wither a rose as he watched the entourage file from the room, only relaxing once they were gone. He frowned up at Lady Bryant for her question, having assumed Marianne would stay the night, but perhaps he had assumed too much. He looked back to his bride, gentling his expression and his voice for her sake. "I would like you to stay, but I will not force you."

To be fair, Lady Bryant was of the opinion that her young charge had just been deflowered, and none too gently at that. Was it any wonder she wanted to be certain Marianne was well" For herself, the young princess had also assumed that she would remain, her cheeks flushing a soft touch of rose as she looked into Stephan's eyes. "I ....I would like to stay," she nodded shyly. She had missed him during the festivities that had kept them apart, unwilling to sacrifice the one stretch of time she knew could belong to only them.

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:49 EST

Nodding, Lady Bryant curtsied, casting one last concerned look at the young bride before taking Stephan's valet firmly by the arm and walking him out through the door, leaving the newly-weds finally, blissfully, alone.

"Goddess, that was dreadful. I'm so sorry about that," he apologized softly, not quite realizing that he hadn't let her out of his arms just yet. "My first edict as King should be abolishing that ridiculous tradition," he told her now that they were alone, letting her know he found the whole thing appalling, in not so many words. He knew there were those who might found it amusing, but he was not one of those people, especially when it came to his own beloved bride. "They'll expect to see blood on the sheets come morning, but that's easily rectified," he said, assuming she was still a virgin come morning, though that was yet to be seen.

Thankfully, Marianne was not so horrified as to have been frightened by the ridiculous ordeal. As soon as she was certain they were truly alone, she burst into giggles, her slender form shaking in the curve of his embrace as she groped to tug the neck of her chemise higher before it could display anything but her shoulders and arms. "Oh, please do get rid of it," she laughed, brushing her chestnut hair from her face as she looked up at him. "What were you doing?" She made no mention of the blood they would expect to find, either on the sheets or on her chemise, a part of her hoping there would be no need for elaborate deceptions when it came to that.

He arched a brow, a little surprised to find his blushing bride actually giggling at his antics, which only just barely fooled the Dalai, but did not fool his father at all. He let go of her as she wiggled back into her chemise, forcing his eyes to stay focused on her face, for the time being anyway. "What was I doing?" he asked. Heavens, the girl couldn't be that naive, could she"

With her chemise tucked secure beneath her arms, one hand on the laces to keep a little modesty, she was still smiling as she moved up onto her knees beside him. "The noises and kissing your hand," she laughed, shaking her head in amused disbelief. "Surely it is not so very energetic as that?"

"It can be, I suppose," he replied, furrowing his brows in thought as he looked up at her from where he was still lying, propped up against a pile of goose-down pillows. With his tunic shed, his torso was bare exhibiting a slim but athletic build that was accustomed to sword and bow. There were a few faint scars scattered here and there, but mostly from practice and not battle. "I suppose it depends on the couple and the moment. There are times that call for tenderness and times that call for something a little more lively."

Now the curtains were open, there was light to see him by, from sconces and the fire flickering in the hearth. Marianne couldn't help the way her eyes wandered, shy of being caught as she admired his form, wanting to touch the faint scars that marked his skin. "Have I said something awfully wrong again?"

"No, of course not," he said, with a puzzled frown, unsure just how much she actually knew about the act of lovemaking. He thought she must know what went where and why, but maybe nothing more than that. "It's just that I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or to feel like you have to do anything you don't want to do."

She hesitated, biting her lip as she looked into his eyes. "I do know what is supposed to happen," she assured him, cheeks crimson as she tried to reassure her ....her husband that his bride wasn't as innocent as she seemed. "Lady Bryant did explain. You-you must put your member inside me and stir it to completion, and I am to lie still so as not to disturb you."

He couldn't help but smirk just a little at Lady Bryant's explanation of what was supposed to go on in the bridal bed. She was more or less correct, though he thought there was a lot more to it than that. "Stir?" he echoed with a chuckle. "I'm not sure what the men she's slept with were up to, but there's a little more to it than stirring."

His bride smiled shyly, that smile brightening to a laugh as she looked down at her knees, shaking her head. "She said that ....that if my husband cared for me, it would not hurt," she added, one hand holding her chemise to her chest as the other tugged shyly on her hair. "Though my mother insisted that it should hurt."

He gazed up at her, looking so young, so innocent, so adorable, and yet so ridiculously desirable. There was no mistaking her for a child; she was definitely a woman beneath that chemise, but one who had been so sheltered, she had never even shared a kiss with anyone of the opposite sex until she'd met him. "Sweet Marianne," he said, reaching out to touch her hair, to rub it between his fingers, savoring the softness of it. "It will hurt at first, but there will be pleasure, too. If there is not, you must tell me."

She bit her lip, surprised by how intimate a simple touch of his fingers to her hair seemed. "Then my mother was right?" Her pale face creased in concern at that thought, recalling any number of horrifying things her mother had said to her in the days before she had left Francia, under the guise of preparing her for marriage. "She-she said I should give you sons and then I should encourage you to take a mistress, or volunteer myself to enter a nunnery."

He shifted, turning to face her and propping himself up onto an elbow. "Clearly, your mother and father share no affection for one another," he observed. She had obviously grown up in a very different environment from himself, where his parents were still openly affectionate with one another. His free hand reached out to tangle his fingers with hers. "I do not want a mistress. I only want you."

She laughed a little as her fingers tangled with his. "My mother and father cannot stand to be in one another's presence for very long," she admitted ruefully. "Nor can my uncle and aunt, or even my cousin William and his wife. My mother says that men are not made to be loving and faithful, though I do not want to believe it." She hesitated, looking down at their entwined hands. "I want only to please you."

He was frowning again, partly at what she was telling him, realizing she had more than likely never witnessed a loving relationship between a husband and wife and thought it the norm for a man and woman only to tolerate each other for the sake of bearing children. "Your mother is wrong. My parents have remained faithful all the years of their marriage, even before they professed love for each other." He shifted again so that he was sitting beside her and tipped her chin toward him with a gentle touch of fingers. "You do please me, love. I do not foresee a time when you will not please me."

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:51 EST

She sighed softly, hating to see the frown on his face and yet knowing that he wore it because of her ignorance. "I should like, very much, to know how to please you," she said softly, hesitating just a moment before daring to raise her hand. Her fingertips touched lightly against his chest, skin to skin, as she looked into his eyes. "Please, do not be angry with me. I will learn, as fast as I may."

He curled his fingers around hers as she touched his chest, holding her hand close to his heart. "I'm not angry. I could never be angry at you," he told her. Never was a long time, but in that moment, he truly believed she could never do anything that would ever displease him or make him angry. "There is nothing to learn, but each other," he told her, leaning closer until he was close enough to touch his lips to her, hesitating a moment to breathe her in before kissing her with warm, tender lips.

Her palm held flat over his heart, she trembled just a little at feeling herself touching him so boldly, even if it was with his encouragement. "I - you must learn -?" Her stammered query was lost as he kissed her, a quiet mew of sound muffled as his lips claimed hers again. Unlike other kisses they had shared, there was no sense of decorum to modify her response, brought warm to his tenderness by the understanding that they were alone. By the sweet rush of aching warmth from her heart that urged her on to dare drawing her fingers from beneath his and into his hair, twisting through the tousled curls she was growing to adore so much.

His kiss was the only answer he gave her, teaching her how to love him a little at a time. The kiss was slow and unrushed, warm with the promise of passion but undemanding, allowing her to lead the way and to set the pace. They had the rest of their lives, after all. What mattered to him was that she knew gentleness and tenderness from him, and eventually love.

Hesitant, uncertain quite what she was supposed to do, his little princess inched closer as he kissed her, following instincts she could not have known she possessed. Her lips parted, breathless already with the rising thump of her heart as she drew ever nearer to him, forgetting the precarious hang of her chemise to allow her arms to loop about his shoulders. No one had ever taught her of love, or of passion, filling her mind with warnings and uncertainties that it seemed Stephan could sweep aside with barely a modicum of effort.

He continued to ply her with kisses, at first soft and tender but slowly growing deeper, more passionate, teaching her little by little that the chaste kisses of childhood were very different than that shared between a man and a woman. His arms circled her waist as she looped hers about his shoulders, drawing her closer into his embrace. He didn't want to just take her and claim her, but let her experience the pleasures of lovemaking and know that she would always be safe in his arms.

She slid against him over the sheets as he drew her into his arms, the movement dislodging what little traction her chemise had to send it tumbling to her waist, yet she didn't seem to notice, caught up in kisses that were new and stirring, warming her to her toes as she began to learn just how to respond to him. Her fingers were restless, pouring into his hair, over his shoulders, an agitated sense of needing something more driving her on as she tasted him on her lips.

Encouraged by her response, he let his own hands wander a little, not only because he wanted to touch her but because he wanted her to know what it felt like to be touched, caressed, loved in such a way she had never known before. He laid her very gently back against the pillows, so that he could return her caresses with those of his own. His fingers traced the soft curve of a breast, teasing her flesh with a tantalizing touch. He felt her hands touch him, stirring his own desire, stoking that fire that was already burning inside him.

She hadn't known that a marriage bed could be like this, so warm and tender, so intimate, so unhurried. Yet, equally, it was that innocence that kept her from shying away from his touch, the gentle arch of her body pressing the soft curve of her breast into his fingers as she felt fire ignite beneath her skin. Laid back, she heard herself moan, so startled by the sound that she stifled it quickly, certain she had done something wrong in allowing such an expression of pleasure to rise from her throat.

He seemed to sense her hesitation, her indecision about how she should react, but there was no right or wrong - only an acceptance of what she was feeling. He drew his lips away from hers, if only for a moment to whisper, "Just relax, love, and do what you feel. Don't be afraid. You can do nothing wrong," he assured her.

She couldn't help the nervous giggle that erupted from her lips at his reassurance. "Oh, I am quite certain I can do any number of things wrong," she countered, her soft voice tremulous with the desire that coursed through her, confusing her senses wonderfully. Her fingers traced over his cheek, over his lips, finally daring to venture down to smooth her tentative touch over his side to curl at his hip. "I love you, Stephan," she whispered in the dimness, half-afraid that it was too soon to confess such a feeling when she had not been able to do so in daylight.

Perhaps that was true, but making mistakes was all part of the learning process, and he was willing to learn with her. He wanted to learn all about her - he wanted to know how to make her smile and sigh and moan with pleasure. Most of all he wanted to know how to win her heart, but it seemed that battle was already won, as she spoke those three little words that meant so much, that set his heart on fire. "Oh, my sweet, you do not know how I've longed to hear you say it."

He had made her smile, albeit something far softer, far more vulnerable than he had seen before, her heart laid open for him to do with as he pleased. "No, I do not," she agreed softly, watching him in the half-light with wide, almost wary eyes. "Am I wrong, to love you so soon' Should I not have said it this night?"

"No, you are not wrong," he assured her quietly, touching her cheek, his fingers straying to touch her hair, her bare shoulder, even as he struggled to keep his gaze on hers. "How can you be wrong when I am feeling it, too' I have loved you nearly since the first time I saw you. Oh, it took a little time to know you, to realize it was not just your face than enchanted me, but I have longed to hear you say it, and now that you have, I can tell you how I feel, how I love you, just the same."

Marianne's fingers tightened on him gently as she rose to him, just a little, lovingly warm beneath the lean of his form over hers. "Then ....we will be happy?" she asked softly, needing to hear him say so, to assure her that this was more than she could ever have hoped for when she had first set out from Francia.

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:52 EST

"We will, so long as our hearts remain open to each other, and we always tell each other what we are feeling. We must never go to sleep angry with each other, and we must never keep secrets from each other. We must treat each other always with kindness and love, and we must share our problems and our worries, our joys and our sorrows." He smiled, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. "And I talk too much."

She giggled once again at his smile, at how easy he found it to poke a little fun at himself, even when they were so intimately close. "I could listen to you for hours," she confessed softly, drawing her thumb over his lips. "I may not always understand what you say, but I will always listen. Your voice is a siren song to me. I do not think there has been a moment since we first met when I have not longed to be in your presence."

He smiled at her compliment, his face flushing just a little, but it was unclear whether it was from embarrassment or desire. He had never heard such lovely words from anyone before, not from any of his former lovers, certainly not from Lady Margaret. "What I am trying to say, my sweet Marianne, is that I love you."

Her smile deepened, growing into a bright smile as she surged up to curl her arms about his neck, peppering his cheek with laughing kisses as her slender form curled to his. "I am glad," she laughed joyously. "So very glad. I did not dare to dream that you might." her lips brushed his cheek once more, fingertips daring to trail down along the groove of his spine.

"You are very easy to love," he told her softly, leaning in to kiss her again, softer this time, sweeter. The fire that was burning between them had mellowed just a little, but it was easily stoked again with just a few soft kisses and caresses. "Would you like me to make love to you?" he asked, as his lips parted from hers, close enough to taste her breathe, his own warm against her neck.

They were close enough that he could feel the heated flush as it covered her skin, the gentle tremble of anticipation in her limbs as she sighed softly against his cheek. "Please," she heard herself whisper, wanting his love more than anything, however he chose to give it to her. All thought of honor and duty was gone, swept aside by a wish to learn how to love him. "Please, I would ....yes, I would like to learn how to make love to you."

He frowned a little, not out of sadness but concern and a need for her to know that it would not all be pleasant. "It will hurt at first, but I will do my best to be gentle," he promised gravely.

"You will not mean to hurt me," she whispered softly, drawing her lips against his skin. She was inexperienced, true, but she longed to please him, as he pleased her. She was not afraid of a little pain, not when its passing promised a lifetime of love she had only dreamt of.

"And we might make a child," he warned further, before answering her kisses with those of his own. He had held back long enough, and he could no longer deny that he wanted her, but he was gentle in the offering of his attention. He touched her with gentle fingers, even as they traced the soft curves and valleys of her body, followed by lips, exploring her, learning her. He drew the chemise away, revealing all the secrets of her body that the cloth had concealed, desire flaring until the pleasure of it was almost pain.

She gasped softly under the tenderness of his ministrations, seemingly unable to keep herself lying still as she had been instructed, rising to meet each touch, each kiss, with sounds she had always been told were wanton falling from her lips with every breath. His warning of a child brought a husky laugh from her lips as he drew the thin chemise from her body, her fingers winding through his hair. "Is that not the purpose of love, my heart?"

"Only in part," he replied, too busy now to be diverted by more conversation. There would be plenty of time for explanations later. As the Crown Prince, it was his duty to produce an heir, but he wanted his heir to come from her and no one else. Of course, he wasn't going to be producing much of an heir so long as his breeches remained in place, but he felt oddly shy about taking them off in her presence, like he never had before.

Of course, he had not truly counted on the advantages that came with innocence. Marianne had no fear of love, and now that they had shared those words, her fear of this moment was well abated. As he stilled, she rose up, pushing him back until he was sat with her in his arms, plying his lips with hungry, inexpert kisses, ignoring her sense of shyness at being so bare in his arms.

She surprised him with that sudden surge of motion, unexpected as it was. He smiled in amusement against her lips, finding she was not quite so shy and timid as he had thought. He let her play the part for a while, exploring him as he'd explored her, as much as she wished. Strangely, he found her inexperienced touch more enticing than he might have a more experienced once. It was obvious he was her first, and he hoped he'd be her only.

She had no intention of being in anyone's arms but his, of giving her love to anyone but him. Encouraged by his patience with her, she took her time, daring to touch as she wanted, to offer her unspoken adoration to each scar that marked his skin with hands and lips, skirting the edge of his breeches. She did not quite dare to remove them from him, utterly unaware of what awaited her there.

Each touch, each caress, however soft and tender, stoked the fire that was already raging inside him. He thought if he didn't have her soon, he would go mad with desire, but still he held himself back, letting her explore as she would, letting her take her time to find her own passions and fuel her own fire. It was only when her hand skirted his breeches that he caught hold of her, blue eyes smoldering with a kind of longing she had never seen in those eyes before. "Do you trust me, Marianne?" he asked, not for the first time.

She gasped as he took hold of her again, her restless hands finding purchase against his skin as she gazed into his eyes, in the grip of a longing she could not find a name for. It burned through her, clouding her thoughts, narrowing her world until there was only him. Yet she did not need coherent thought to know her answer to his question. "I trust you, Stephan," she promised him, his name barely more than a husky whisper in the darkness. "I love you."

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:52 EST

"There is going to be pain, sweetling, but it is only temporary. Are you ready to bear it, or shall I pleasure you in other ways?" he asked, putting her needs and desires first, though he thought if he did not have her soon, he would burst with desire. He stroked her cheek gently as he asked this question, almost as if to assure her without words that he would be as gentle as he could.

If he thought he might burst, she was convinced that some part of her would break irreparably if something was not done soon. "Please, my love," she heard herself whisper, unashamed to hear herself beg, however, sweetly, for what he clearly intended to share anyway. "I can bear it. Please ..." Her voice was a tender whimper as she nestled closer to him, lips seeking his, longing for his closeness.

How could he deny such an entreaty from the woman he so adored, overjoyed that she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her; that she loved him, as he loved her. It was more than he could have ever hoped for. In that moment, he wanted her to know what it was to belong to one man and one man only. No longer would she be a shy, innocent girl, for he would make her a woman. He did not answer her except with more kisses, pulling away momentarily as his hands went to his own breeches to draw them away and reveal himself to her in his entirety, just as she had to him. He did not wait for her to take in the view or make any comment, but kissed her again, one hand sliding between her legs to test her readiness.

Perhaps it was just as well he didn't let her absorb him, so ready to take her, diverting her mind with fresh kisses even as his touch grew more intimate still. She jerked in his embrace, the sound that fell from her half-protest, half-eagerness, her hands clutching to his shoulders as she shuddered against him. There would be other times, when they would have the leisure and the knowledge of one another to savor such intimacies, yet now impatience seemed to rule everything. She wanted to know what it was to be a wife, to be a lover, to be everything she could be for his pleasure, his comfort. He was everything in her mind, everything she could have wished for, and she was his, tenderly drawing back to lie, still and ready, as she had been told, breathless and shy, and aching for him.

The tension he felt in himself and her was a different kind of tension now - a needful ache that could not be denied. Even if he tried to relax now, he could not, but he needed her to relax as much as she could to bear the pain of their first coupling. His fingers probed her gently, while leaving a trail of kisses against her throat. He knew he was touching her in ways she had never been touched before, and he reveled in being the first and only man she would ever know or love. Perhaps because of that very reason, he meant to show her that he could be a tender lover, not merely interested in fulfilling his own needs or getting her with child. He wanted her to want him, to enjoy this moment as much as he did; to come back to his bed a willing, eager lover who enjoyed his every touch. It was with this in mind that he held himself back still, until he was certain she was as ready as she could be.

For her part, she could not grasp what magic he was working on her, whether it be natural or some spell cast to make the wedding night pass easily. She was certain he was some sorcerer, to know how to touch her, how to draw this strange, wonderful wildness from so very deep inside her. There was no sense of stillness about the girl in his arms as he touched and teased her, drawing pleasure with every breath, an eager willingness to learn and be learned that she knew would have been beyond any of her ladies to describe to her had they known. His name tumbled from her lips, first soft, then louder, loving and pleading, at his mercy without any thought of escape.

She did not have to wait very long. As soon as he deemed her ready, lost in a spell that held no magic, distracted by his kisses and caresses, he took her and claimed her for his own. He smothered her lips at the sound of his name, distracting her with kisses deep and passionate, even as he moved over her and pushed himself inside her, breaking past the barrier that proved her a virgin.

She cried out just once, shocked more by that sweet sense of joining than by any pain that might have flashed through her in an instant. Indeed, if there had been any pain, it was forgotten in moments, her hands smoothing over his back as she answered his kisses with her own, learning to share the passion he had awoken in her with little thought of restraint. She felt sure Lady Bryant had never known love in her marriage bed, for this was so very different from the quiet explanations that had been given in the days before the wedding. No one had ever told her that she would want to move with him, to soothe and tease him as he soothed and teased her, to pepper his skin with her kisses as he claimed her as his own.

He was no inexperienced lover, but in those first intimate moments shared with her, it was as if no other woman had ever existed or shared his bed before this. She had wiped the memory of every woman he'd ever been with thoroughly from his mind. She was unlike anyone he had ever met or been with, and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was to truly love. He moved with her, arms and legs tangled together, creating a rhythm that was all their own, trading kisses and caresses as their bodies melded into one, joined together as man and woman, husband and wife. There need be no witnesses for this; this was something sacred to be shared only between two loving hearts, with no one to witness but the Goddess above.

Even knowing her heart before such an intimate, wonderful coupling, she felt sure that she loved him all the more as body, heart, and soul seemed to come together in a staggering crescendo that left her breathless and trembling in his arms, unafraid of allowing him to see her so weak, so drunk with love that the only word that came to her lips was his name. She was more than a woman now; she was his woman, his wife, and for the first time in her life, she felt a strong desire to possess him, to make him hers so that no other woman might ever entice him away.

There was little chance of that now that she was his. If he had bespelled her, she had just done the same, bewitching him with her beauty and her charm, and claiming his heart and soul, just as he had claimed hers. No other woman would ever stand a chance at catching his eye now that he had given his heart to this gentle creature. He whispered her name, like a prayer upon his lips, an entreaty to the goddess that was his wife, and when it was over and they lay together in each other's arms, hearts on fire, he whispered the words again that she was longing to hear. "I love you, my sweet Marianne. My love and my life."

Let the bright butterflies of the court look his way and simper; for all her seeming shyness and timidity, there was a fierceness in his young wife that would fight to the last breath against any one of them who tried to take her place. As he whispered his love to her once again, she curled tightly to him, unashamed, unembarrassed by her nudity, by the gentle ache between her thighs that told her she was, indeed, a woman. "Everything I am is yours, my dearest heart," she whispered to him in kind, raising up to lean over him, drawing her fingers through the tousled mess of his hair with a soft, fond smile. "I would share your bed every night, my love. Do not banish me to my own."

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:53 EST

"No, I would not banish you. Though you are entitled to your own rooms, your own quarters, I am afraid this bed would grow cold and lonely without you now that it has known your presence," he said, as he wrapped her in his embrace. Though he might have been talking about the bed, it was really himself who would miss her presence and himself who would grow lonely without her. "My bed is your bed. Everything I have, everything I own, everything I am, I give to you. My heart, my love, my life. I give them all to you."

The tip of her nose brushed his as they lingered together, as his arms came about her. Who would have thought that her first kiss had come only a week ago, that she had blushed to be held by him on that same day' Yet here and now, the promises they shared felt more binding than any they had made in the Temple before so many witnesses. "Then I shall never leave your side, where I am allowed to be with you," she promised him faithfully, sure that it was possible to die of a broken heart now that she had given hers so absolutely. "You are mine, as I am yours."

There were few places she could not follow - to counsel with the High King and his men, to the practice field, to the battlefield. But here in these rooms, alone with her, he was not so much the Crown Prince of Pomerania, as he was Stephan DeGaria, her husband and beloved.

It seemed so strange, to have lived her life expecting to be wedded to the highest bidder, who would wed her, bed her, and beget sons from her, never allowed to hope for more. Yet here she lay, in the arms of a man she loved - the same man who had wedded and bedded her - loved and in love, treasured beyond her wildest expectations. Marianne couldn't help laughing a little as she settled against him, brushing her lips to the firm plane of his chest. "What shall we do tomorrow?"

"What would you like to do tomorrow?" he countered her question with one of his own. In truth, it did not much matter to him what they did, so long as they were together. He wondered in that moment if it were possible to feel any more content than this, cared for by a lovely woman. What was it that he'd done to deserve such happiness" It never occurred to him that this happiness was of his own making; that because of a small piece of advice from his father - to be kind and gentle to the woman who would become his bride - he had not only won her hand but her heart.

She blushed in the darkness, hiding her face as she laughed quietly, shy of admitting to the first thing that had come to mind. There would be the checking of the sheets, come the morning, and she was sure that the ladies of the court would no doubt descend to wash and dress her, whether she wanted their help or not. But the rest of the day ....she wanted only to be with him, to learn more about the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life. "It is a shame that winter is upon us," she confessed softly, diverting her thoughts from the source of her giggles. "Is there some way to escape the castle without risking a chill?"

He chuckled a little at her comment. There were things he knew that she did not. As Crown Prince, he had his own estate a few days' ride from the capital, as well as a hunting lodge just outside the city, where they might find some solitude from the prying eyes and ears of the court. "Without risking a chill, no, but so long as the weather holds, we could make Peronell in a few days' ride."

"Peronell?" She raised her head once again, too buoyed up for the softness of sleep yet, too aware of his body against hers and the thrill that came with such a feeling. "I do not believe I have heard that name since my arrival. It is some estate?"

"You did not think I make my residence here, did you?" he asked, a slight smirk on his face, amused that he knew something she did not - something no one had bothered to tell her. "Peronell is a few days' ride to the east. It is smaller than Castle Garia, by far, but more comfortable, in my view. The estate was built for the Crown Prince a century ago or so. My father lived there before he became king, and when I was of age, it was passed to me." The smile widened as he explained further. "You will be the lady of the house there," he told her, wondering what she'd think of that.

Her eyes lit up as he spoke, delighted to discover that he did not expect her to live all her days within the hustle and bustle of the royal court. "Why did no one tell me of such a place?" she asked, quietly astonished that it had been left out of all her instruction. "I did not think ....I did not know that you had an estate of your own." Her mischievous giggle sounded suddenly, though it was too dark for him to see the sparkle in her eyes. "Then perhaps it is possible to lose hours in your arms without risking the wrath of the High King."

"I did not think to mention it. I'd thought you would have been told," he replied, blue eyes sparkling with amusement at her reaction to this bit of news. It warmed his heart to see her smile and to make her happy; if he could only make her happy all the days of his life, he would die a happy man. "Hours, days, weeks..." he said with warm laughter of his own. "It is lovely there, even in winter. Far more comfortable than here. I think you will like it."

"Weeks?" A fresh laugh broke from her lips as she gently slapped at his chest, certain he was teasing her now. "Such a thing is not possible," she insisted laughingly. Despite the length of the day, she did not find herself sleepy, more than content to lie with him and talk, to risk being sleepy the next day for this opportunity to be truly alone with Stephan. "I should think you would grow bored within a few days."

"Bored?" he echoed, laughing. "I should never grow bored so long as you are with me, love," he told her, smiling brightly. Even if it stormed and there was nothing to do, he thought he would be content to lie in her arms forever and gaze into her eyes. "Do you play chess at all, lady?" he asked, with a gleam in his eyes, wanting more than just a woman to bear his children, but a companion to share his days and nights.

Touched by his insistence, she beamed, still teasing her fingers through his hair as they lay together. "I do play, a little," she admitted, the amusement in her voice quickly explained as she went on. "I have little head for strategy, but I have won a game on occasion. My tutor never let me win, but he was easily distracted, and I learned very quickly how to change the pieces on the board without being caught."

He broke into laughter at her admission. "You cheated!" his voice echoed loudly, clearly amused by her confession. If anyone was in the hall or the adjoining rooms, they might wonder just what the Crown Prince and his Princess were discussing, though at least they were laughing. As late as it was and as long as the day had been, he felt more alive than he ever had before, and it was all because of her. "We shall play then, and take care, Princess, I do not abide cheating."

Marianne · Date: 2015-01-03 17:54 EST

"My lord, I am but a woman," she pointed out, her voice sweet and innocent, and rather too much of both to be anything but a tease. "I cannot possibly hope to match you in thought and strategy. Am I not supposed to make use of my own talents in order to achieve victory?" She giggled as she spoke, not entirely sure what she might earn for herself by cheating in a game against him, but certain it was unlikely to be anything unpleasant.

"Hmm," he mused quietly, unabashedly looking her over, fully admiring the view. "That depends, I suppose, on which talents you speak of," he countered, that teasing gleam still in his eyes. He would have rolled atop her and taken her again, but he was not so cruel as to cause her more pain than necessary upon their first night as husband and wife. "I believe you have already bewitched me, beloved. There is little you could ask of which I would not freely offer."

She bit her lip, blushing at the warm admiration in his gaze as he looked her over, stubbornly refusing to hide herself from the one man who held the right to see her as she was in that moment. Indeed, she rolled from him onto her back, shy and bold at once, missing the heat of his skin against hers even as she presented herself to his gaze. "Would you allow me to follow pursuits I have been denied for some years?" she asked warily, not sure what would constitute asking for too much.

"That depends on what those pursuits might be," he replied, rolling onto his side as she moved onto her back. He reached over to trace soft circles against the gentle curve of her flesh with a touch that was deceptively gentle for a man whose hands were calloused from sword and bow.

She warmed to his touch only too easily, roused to desire with a gentle intake of her breath caught in her throat. Her own hand rose to trace the back of her fingers against his chest, over the smooth flesh she had so recently discovered. "Would you permit me archery?" she asked softly. "And a little swordplay' I have greatly missed them since my brothers were born."

He arched a brow, a little surprised at a request from a lady such as she; and yet, there was little he could deny her, and he had to admit, it would do her well to know how to defend herself, were the need to arise. "On one condition," he replied after a moment's consideration, all joking aside.

She stilled, holding his gaze with soft understanding. She had a feeling she knew what that condition would be. "I would not allow anyone to know of it but you," she promised him fervently. "I would not practice them but on your own estate."

"That would be wise, but that is not my one condition. My one condition is that I be your teacher and no other," he told her; not because he was the jealous sort or because he wanted her all to himself, but because there was no other he trusted to such a task but himself. "Archery is not so difficult. It is only a matter of practice and patience, but does require some strength to draw the bow. Swordsmanship is another matter. What sort of bow and sword do you require?" he asked, gauging her weight and body type, just as he might one of his youngest recruits. Something light, he decided, but deadly.

The delight on her face was almost childlike in that moment, so pleased was she to hear him allow her to renew the pastimes that had been taken away from her a decade before. "I can draw a 20lb short bow," she told him warmly, rather proud of herself for being able to give him an exact draw-weight. "But I do not think I am capable of swordplay with anything above a rapier."

"A rapier in the right hands is as deadly as a broadsword. Deadlier, perhaps, if wielded correctly. Did you use a rapier in your lessons?" he asked, thinking she might be strong enough to wield a short sword, but a rapier might suit her far better.

"My father started my learning with a short sword," she admitted awkwardly, smiling at the memory. "But I could not handle it. Too much a girl, he told me, and he gave me rapier to study with." She sighed softly with regret. "It was not long after that when Frederick was born."

He heard the sigh and sensed some feelings behind it that she had not yet spoken of. In truth, there was still much they had to learn about each other, but they had all the time in the world to learn it. "You regret his birth, and yet, without it, you might not be here with me today," he said with a small frown, wondering if she'd change the past, if she were able.

She shook her head, brushing the long tangle of her hair from her face. "It is not that," she assured him quietly. "I do not regret my brother's birth; if I ever did, how could I possibly continue to' Without his birth, I would not be yours." She let her eyes raise to the panel of the bed covering over them, seeking to put into words something she had never explained to anyone before. "When I was a child, I was the most precious thing in my father's life. He had time for me; he cared about me. Yet as soon as he had a son, suddenly there was no time for me, no care. The things I had enjoyed were taken from me, and I was given into my mother's care. It was made very clear that I was only important so long as my father did not have a son, and now he has two."

He frowned in sincere sympathy at her explanation. He, too, had brothers, though they were younger than him, disappointed perhaps that they had not been born first, even if they had never said so. His parents, however, had not been like hers - they had loved their sons equally and raised them to know that each had his own strengths and place in the family and the court. There was only one thing they regretted, and that was the lack of a daughter. He took her hand in his, tangling his fingers with hers, his voice gentle, hoping she would understand what he was about to say and not take offense. "My mother would have welcomed a daughter such as you. I fear she was more disappointed with each son that was born, and yet, she loved us equally as the one before him. I daresay she is overjoyed to at last have a daughter, even if you are not of her own bloodline."

She smiled gently, already aware of the great differences between her family and his own. She had seen, firsthand, the love that suffused parents and sons, deeply envious of their affection for one another. "I hope very much that I shall not disappoint her," she said softly, "for I do believe that I will love her as a mother in a very short time. And, if the Goddess wills it, we may give her granddaughters to love, with her grandsons."

"And we will not make them feel any less loved than their brothers. You have my word," he told her with a smile, touching his heart as if he was making a solemn vow. He leaned over and touched a tender kiss against her lips. "You should sleep now, my lady. Tomorrow will come soon enough and promises to be a busy day, if we are to make arrangements for a trip to Peronell."

She giggled beneath his lips, so easily reassured, fingertips gently stroking against his cheek. "No more lessons tonight, my love?" she asked sweetly, nestling closer to him in the darkness. "Or do you wish me to save my strength for some fresh debauchery on the morrow?"

"I do not wish to cause you any more pain tonight, just to please myself. You will find me a patient man, Marianne, where most things are concerned," he told her, reaching for the blankets to cover them both before taking her in his arms, to keep her safe and warm. Though they might come apart in the night, he was content in knowing she was right beside him. "Sleep, sweetling," he said, kissing her brow. "We have the rest of our lives together."

It was his endearment, more than anything, that drew a soft, contented sigh from her lips as she nestled close beside him, unafraid to drape her arm about his waist as he drew her in close. "May they be long and full," she murmured to him, a hope and a blessing in one breath, as finally sleep began to drift over her. Quietly loving, the Crown Prince of Pomerania and his new bride succumbed to sleep together, each one dreaming of the years ahead that they would share under the warm gaze of the Goddess.

((And that, ladies and gents, is how a prince spares his wife's blushes on their wedding night! :grin: Many, many thanks to Stephan's player!))