Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 10: What A King Wants

Roland watched his new wife disappear through the door leading to her provisory chambers.

He had been gawking at her ever since Bassompierre led her to the altar. To be fair, all the gentlemen in the nave had been ogling her, bar Louis, of course. Those who had sniggered at the King's sentence now envied his punishment.

Looking at his bride, Roland couldn't tell what he found more appealing. Was it the rhythmic sway of her skirt, brushing the flagstones with a slight whoosh, or the waves of cerulean silk taffeta, shimmering into shades of mauve and pink like the wrapping of a decadent gift? The sudden feeling that her tiny waist, emphasized by the farthingale, would fit perfectly in his hands? Or the sight of her firm breasts, bursting out of her basquine under wisps of lace and rows of pearls, two juicy apples begging to be plucked?

In her wedding dress, Sabine de Brissard was indeed a vision.

Roland smiled. The simple yet elegant outfit belonged to the youngest daughter of the lady of the house, and was a little too tight on Sabine's more womanly body. Not that any male present would complain. Not even the priest had paid attention to his bride's face.

A pity, that. It was her best feature. The maids had showcased it by pinning her hair up in a mass of ringlets. She was not a classic beauty, and made up for it with a savory mix of innocence and spirit. The rouge adorning her lips and cheeks wasn't as enticing as their natural flush when she writhed under his mouth, while her creamy complexion was enhanced with a hint of rice powder, hiding a dusting of freckles. Escaping their prickly jailors, two curly blonde tendrils brushed the sides of her forehead, challenging his hands to brush them back.

He would have been hard pressed to guess her mood. She had kept her gaze on the floor the whole time, going through the motions as if unaware of what she was doing, and parroting the priest's words in a flat voice. For all Roland knew she could have been sleepwalking. Her strongest displays of emotion were the trembling of her pearl pendants as she pronounced her vows, and the clamminess of her hand when he slid the ring on her finger.

It didn't deter him. Neither of them wanted to be wed, and she would need time to come to terms with it, time he was more than happy to give her. Their union had been rushed, but they would have six long months to start anew, in the comfort of his castle. They would find an agreement; marriage was, after all, a life sentence. Failure was not an option. No wife of his would be executed as a common criminal.

"D'Ypagne, a word, if you please..."

The King had sent his gentlemen ahead and the manor's spacious hallway was deserted save for the two of them and his guards. "Your Majesty..." Roland promptly removed his hat and proceeded to bow until Louis signaled him not to bother.

"It has been brought to our attention that since the bride is no more virginal, there should be a witness in the nuptial chamber to attest the consummation." Louis paused expectantly and Roland dove in the opening.

"To be honest, Sire, I had planned to defer until we arrived on my lands. Considering my wife's past, I am worried she would be extremely distressed should I rush her into bed. A week-long trip in the confines of a coach will allow us to get better acquainted and mayhap assuage her fears." Roland regretted his words as soon as he pronounced them. The sovereign stiffened and the courtier braced himself for the rebuttal.

"Your scruples honor you, Monsieur, yet we must differ. As sullied as she is, we cannot in conscience release Mademoiselle de Brissard into your hands until your marriage is perfected, and therefore indissoluble in the eyes of our Holy Mother Church."

Short of insulting the King, Roland could only roll his mind's eyes. He wondered how Louis would react, were he aware of the method used to obtain her confession. Fortunately, he would never be. "I had no wish to contest it, Sire, and I will heed your Majesty's advice. I was merely concerned about the welfare of my wife, as a husband should be."

"Indeed. So you do agree you'll need witnesses?"

"Would a female servant suffice, Sire? To preserve my wife's modesty?" There was no doubt Sabine would fight as a wild cat if forced to perform in front of a crowd of male onlookers. He would spare her this if he could.

"In this case, I'm afraid not, though I am willing to limit the assistance to myself and our friend Bassompierre. We shall remain in the shadows. This will allow us to attest both the completion of your marriage and your manners in the bedroom. It should cut short any rumor that you mistreated ladies at our court."

"Of course, Sire, this would be suitable. I cannot, however, guarantee that my bride will be amenable to this, through no fault of her own. She has, quite understandably, developed an aversion for men. She might be unable to overcome it regardless of her will to obey."

Louis frowned. "Then you will use those skills Bassompierre raved about to subdue her. Use force if you must, within reason. Until she has served her sentence to our satisfaction, Mademoiselle de Brissard, though now Comtesse d'Ypagne, remains a criminal. She will comply, or be found in breach of its terms and forfeit her life."

There was no reasoning the King. Louis, married at fourteen to the princess of a kingdom he loathed and pressured into bedding his young queen forthwith, couldn't quite grasp Roland's reservations.

On second thoughts, there could be an unspoken motive. Bearing witness for the union of a Comte was far below anyone of royal rank. The d'Ypagne name, despite its shining record of service to a long line of French kings, wasn't near illustrious enough to warrant such an honor. The royal presence at his wedding was as high a favor as it would ever be.

Roland had thought it solely a matter of convenience, with Louis' usual reluctance to wasting daylight attending mass. Now it appeared more as an apology –or as close to one a Prince would get-, a 'buttering up' of a gentleman's pride before intruding on a most intimate moment.

Although it might not seem thus to Louis. His whole life was exposed for all to see, from the amount and consistence of his stools to the number of times he honored his queen. The whole kingdom was aware of the five years gap between his first two marital visits, the second featuring the King of France scooped up like a blushing bride and carried by his male favorite into his wife's bed. Louis had prepared for the event by sitting on the edge of his half-sister's nuptial bed, observing how things were done, but showed no will to put his knowledge to practice. By God's Grace, Luynes, for once, had shown some initiative, and they all prayed that soon the realm would have a much needed heir.

It had been less than four months, too early to tell. Perhaps Louis felt the need for more variety in the accomplishment of his dynastic duty? The choice of Bassompierre, a fine connoisseur of female charms, certainly pointed this way. In which case, humoring the King would be a matter of national importance, and Roland wasn't one to shy away from patriotic duty.

Still, he found himself in a bit of a conundrum. Sabine had yielded to his ministrations, due to her utter inexperience in proper lovemaking. His light touch didn't trigger the terrible memories she fought to keep at bay. He had seen her distress when forced to bring them forth, and he would happily eat his hat if the sight of his erect prick and the prospect of it ravaging her didn't turn her into a raving lunatic.

To be fair, Roland was usually quite partial to his lovers' crying, screaming, or begging, as long as they enjoyed it. They were powerful, depraved shrews who ought to be handed their comeuppance. But Sabine wasn't one of them. Two years ago, he might have sought her hand. She would have been the embodiment of the maiden he imagined as his bride. Now she lived for revenge, mind haunted and soul broken. For all her faults, she didn't deserve more violence, Louis be damned. She was delicate, his feisty little vixen. She needed a firm yet gentle hand. All he had to do was mend her.

Roland bowed mechanically at the King taking his leave, while he figured out how to handle the coming night. His decision made, he gave a list of instructions to his valet, retired to his chamber, and sank into his awaiting bath.