The Duke's Pawn

Chapter 11: A Night To Forget

Richard played with one of his rings, featuring an impressive gold cup topped by a glistening emerald. He turned it inward, and then picked his wife's cup and held it out for a refill, his hand lingering over it long enough for the powder hidden under the gem to fall in. Once the servant had poured the wine, Richard placed it in front of Alienor with a reassuring smile. "Drink it all, my dear, it will ease your nerves. I suggest that you wait for the next course before retiring for the night. Trust me, all will be well."

Alienor nodded and obeyed. Anything that would help her get through the next few hours was welcome. She tried to return his smile, but despite her best efforts her lips refused to comply. Truth was, she was mortified. The perspective of the Duke watching the completion of her marriage was turning her stomach. She had no clue how to handle it. Politics were not as simple as a fight. There were traps everywhere, and she just got stuck into one. Her only comfort in this ordeal was her husband's unwavering support.

Richard patted Alienor's arm, aware of her distress. He wished he could do more. He cursed Clarence to hell for ruining their first night. Unfortunately, his hands were tied, for the time being. He couldn't attack a royal guest in his house, or defy the King's orders. Fortunately, Richard was a patient man; vengeance was always better served cold.

***

Alienor's mind was fuzzy. She was installed in the marital bed, half seated against the headboard and a myriad of cushions. The covers stopped above her breast, her shoulders exposed to the chill of the room, still noticeable in spite of the roaring fire. A passing thought reminded her that she should cover herself, and that the sheer chemise she was wearing, held by two thin embroidered straps, was showing a vast expanse of flesh. There were people nearby, men, she could tell from their voices. Yet they were no more than vague shapes in the growing fog surrounding her, and she couldn't get herself to care. She was floating on her personal little cloud. If anything, it was slightly amusing.

She smiled as she recognized Richard's baritone. It approached rapidly, followed by heavy jokes and laughs. She frowned, struggling to understand what was so funny. The mattress dipped, a warm body slid between the sheets and settled at her side. Richard. His face was a bit strange. Why was he so blurry?

She beamed at him anyway. He was so kind. He said she could trust him. She couldn't recall what it was about, but she did. Trust him, that was. He was so... she couldn't find the word. Was it trustful, trustable, trustabilling? The last one sounded so weird she had to hold in a giggle. Surely good wives didn't giggle, or did they?

"Should I giggle?" she blurted, batting her eyelashes. Surely, he would know. Her Richard knew everything.

Her paragon of knowledge chuckled and stroked her cheek. "Remind me never to give you poppy juice and wine together again, my sweet wife," he whispered into her ear, punctuating his sentence with a light peck. "Well, you won't remember anything within a few hours, so I guess I'll have to do it instead."

"Lord Fenton, would you care to proceed? You might have all night, but we don't. I'd rather like to be back in time for dessert."

The Duke's rude interruption earned him a murderous glance. Richard waited until he was sure to control his tone before answering: "Some things shouldn't be hastened, as Your Grace is certainly aware. I'll try not to dawdle, as long as my wife doesn't object."

"What if she does? You are a man, Fenton, are you not? Surely you can handle a disgruntled female..." Clarence looked around with a smug grin, and his minions cackled sheepishly.

Clenching his jaw, the butt of his joke distracted himself by picturing the Duke, hanging in chains, in the underground cellar of his house in Calais. Richard would enjoy peeling the moron's skin and pouring melted lead on the wounds. His screams would be much more pleasing to the ears than his pathetic attempts at sarcasm. The prospect brought a smile on Richard's lips.

Alienor's fingers entwined with his, bringing him back to the present. Her eyes were unfocused, the pupils reduced to black dots. No matter what he did, she wouldn't complain. Gosh, she wouldn't even feel it. And while he had opted to drug her precisely to this effect, it still annoyed him. This wasn't how he had wanted their wedding night to be. He was sworn to protect her, and the best he could manage was to spare her the humiliation, the pain, and the bad memories. This wasn't quite enough, and he felt guilty for it. A good husband should have been able to avoid to situation altogether.

He hoped he could make it up to her later, when she regained consciousness. But for the moment, he had a task to complete.

His hesitation had the courtiers fleering. They expected him to fail, believed that the pressure of having to perform in front of an audience would cause his body to betray him.

Richard nearly scoffed. They had no idea what his usual work entailed, or what his real work was at all. He doubted that the King would have entrusted his ambitious brother with such sensitive information.

And then there was the possibility that some of them DID trust the malicious rumors about Richard's sinful tastes.

If so, they were in for a surprise. They had underestimated him, and his attraction for his exquisite wife. It was understandable. Their union had been arranged, and it was pure luck that their match had proven so successful.

Slowly, Richard positioned himself above Alienor, careful not to expose her to the lustful gaze of the other males. Leaning on one arm, he pushed her chemise up to the top of her thighs and parted them gently. He dipped his fingers into the tiny jar he had smuggled into the bed and smeared a generous amount of the greasy unguent on both of them. She wouldn't be ready to receive him, and this would compensate for it.

Alienor's eyelids were fluttering. He had to act now, or she would fall asleep, and his deception would be discovered. He held his breath and breached into her at once. Her eyes shot open, her face scrunched up. Her lips moved but no sound escaped them.

"I'm sorry for the pain, It will be over soon." How he wished he could hold her, comfort her until she felt better. Yet she didn't seem to have heard him. Her head tilted back and rolled to the side, facing away from the onlookers.

Richard lifted the sheet, uncovering them just enough for the courtiers to witness the virginal blood and confirm that he was indeed erect and inside her. "Is this to your satisfaction, Your Grace, my Lords?"

The Duke pouted. "This is all nice and good, yet no sufficient. Full proof of your capacities shall only be brought by carrying the act until completion, as God intended."

Richard paled, and still didn't falter. Going on might hurt her. She was so tight around him, and while he found it pleasant, she certainly didn't. He frowned, unsure of how to proceed.

Tentatively, he leaned into her, trailing kisses on her neck. She didn't react. He prayed that she was asleep, and pulled out slowly.

Alienor remained immobile, and he began to move at a snail's pace, stalling until her delicate flesh had loosened a little, before picking up speed. His rage grew with every push, fueled by the knowledge that she didn't enjoy it, and that he had to take her regardless.

Behind him, Clarence's friends snickered and exchanged lewd comments, some entertaining themselves by encouraging him like a fighting dog. A couple of them even placed bets.

This was the last straw. Richard started to see red. He needed a distraction or he wouldn't resist the urge to punch their stupid heads until they were flat enough to use as a mat. Which would be an improvement to their present state.

Well, THAT was the distraction. For the next few minutes, Richard focused on devising how he would exact his revenge on the band of entitled fools.

"I hope you are not going to be at this much longer, it's getting boring."

The Duke's nonchalant tone grated on his nerves. Richard's knuckles whitened, but he kept going, ignoring the interruption. Rushing didn't suit him. He was used to taking his time, stretching the pleasure of the moment, but today would have to be an exception. Just a few more instants.

He sped up again, wishing hard he wasn't causing any damage to his wife's sleeping body. As for the Duke, however...

Richard grunted as he spilled his seed, his mind filled with the image of Clarence's dismembered corpse, bathing in his blood.