Chapter 8 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

The wedding ceremony was uneventful but for Belleth's absence; the Earl had left for Apecto not long after he'd announced he would neither be standing up for nor even attending the wedding. From there he had hired himself a ship and sailed west for home on his own, leaving Ilhovin to soothe King Creithig over the open snub, which he took on himself. Ilhovin would have been heartbroken but for the excitement of the wedding, and anticipation of its consummation.

As it was, he stood holding Macca's hands before the Sairish High Priest of Pagg--Palg, same god, different name, Palg, not Pagg, thought Ilhovin distractedly. Behind them stood Creithig's court and his own delegation from Tremont. The Little Father had just looped their hands together with the wedding cord and was saying the final blessings.

"Dearest Father Palg, look down upon these children and give them your approval. Make their marriage a blessing to our nations. We entreat you, Oh Lord."

"We entreat you," murmured the gathering.

"Blessed Father Palg, make of your child Ilhovin a guide for his wife as for his nation, and make of your child Macca a willing servant for his will." Ilhovin felt Macca's hand tense in his; he looked sideways and saw the twitch in her jaw that he'd already learned was a sign she was working very hard to control her usually cool temper. She'd tried to have the traditional phrase stricken, but Creithig, Gethin and the High Priest would hear none of it. "We entreat you, Oh Lord."

"We entreat you," the gathering repeated.

"Mighty Father Palg, instruct the Lady Mother to bless this union with children, binding our nations together forever through the ties of blood. We entreat you, Oh Lord."

"We entreat you," came the response.

Ilhovin felt the grip on his hands tighten further; this was the part Macca had fought hardest, again to no avail: "Macca," said the Little Father, "do you give yourself to this man as wife, to serve for the rest of your life?"

"Yes," said Macca through gritted teeth.

"Ilhovin, do you accept this woman's service as your wife, to care for her the rest of her life?"

"Yes!" said Ilhovin, as clearly and as reassuringly as he could. The priest took the elaborately braided cord from around their hands. He tied it in three ritual knots around Macca's wrist--"Obedience, humility, fidelity," he intoned as he worked--and handed the free end to Ilhovin. He led her down the aisle by the cord as the assembly cheered.

As soon as they were out of sight Ilhovin gave her the end of the cord and folded her hands in his own; hers were shaking in fury and he squeezed them reassuringly. "Macca, you are your own woman. I want you standing next to me, not walking behind me on a leash. You know that. You are my strength."

She shook her head, and visibly calmed herself. "You have plenty of strength of your own, Hov. You have blood in your veins, not milk."

"You make me stronger, your love makes me stronger. When I'm with you, I feel as if I can do anything, Macca, do you understand that? If I can win the heart of a woman like you, if I can persuade a woman like you that I am worthy to stand beside her," he said, his own voice shaking with emotion, "I can do anything."

They stood there staring into each other's eyes for a long moment. Finally she said, "Are you going to lead me to our room or am I going to have to challenge you to a race?"

"Would you let me chase you, my lady?" he said with a grin.

"That's not the question," she said primly. "The question is--would I let you catch me!" And with that, she took off down the ceremonially deserted corridors of the castle for their rooms, with Ilhovin in hot pursuit. Macca was fast, but he was faster, and she was in heavy skirts; he caught her after only a few dozen yards and threw her squealing happily over his shoulder. "Put me down, sir!"

"Never, madam!" he said, giving her butt a firm tap with his free hand.

"Put me down, put me down!" she cried all the way through their receiving room to their sitting room to their bedroom.

"You want down?"

"Yes! Oof!" He pitched her down from his shoulder onto the wide bed with a bounce.

"Is that better?" he said, breathing only a little harder than usual as he took off his jewel-encrusted doublet, then pulled his shirt over his head.

"No."

"No?"

"You're still over there, my lord," she said coolly.

"Ah! But there's a reason for that, my lady," he grinned, pulling the bedstool to her side and sitting down. "It's much easier to remove your shoes from here." Ilhovin took each slipper off her foot and massaged the balls of her feet until she let out an unwilling groan of pleasure. "And, of course, as long as I'm down here, I may as well remove your garters and stockings."

"Oh, you stopped rubbing my feet!"

"Patience, woman, I have a lifetime to rub your feet. As I was saying, your garters and stockings." He slid his hands up to her garters and untied them both, slipped her fine, white stockings with their elegant red clocks down her long legs, and slid his hands back up again. With them went her skirts, exposing her nakedness to the waist.

"Now my legs are cold," she said, looking down on him over the big pouf of white satin and gold lace wedding dress, and indeed, she shivered a bit.

"Are they?" He began kneading her bare thighs softly. "Is that better?"

"A little."

"Perhaps this will help." He kissed up her thighs from side to side until he reached the red-gold hair curling between them. He inhaled her rich scent and blew warm breath into her thatch, ruffling it softly. "Better?"

He looked up into her serious gray eyes. "You've done this before," she said quietly.

"Macca, I'm almost 20, of course I've done this before," he answered, just as quiet and serious. "And while I've done this before, I can say that even so, I've never wanted to do to any woman what I want to do to you tonight."

"And what would that be?"

"Everything," he said, burying his face in her mound and thrusting his tongue between the lips.

"Ah! Not--not everything all at once!" Macca threw her head back at the sensation and rose up convulsively; Ilhovin took advantage and slipped his hands beneath to grip her bottom, still licking enthusiastically. "Hov! Oh--Hov--what on earth are you doing!"

He ignored her, sucking gently at her inner lips and lapping the length of her vulva to her clitoris. It had never before occurred to her that someone might want to do such a thing; she was so astonished that her wit deserted her and left her unable to do anything but feel his happy licking tongue.

She knew what it was to orgasm; she had discovered the joys of her own body as a girl, and indulged them whenever she had the chance. But no one else had ever touched her in her 22 years, let alone tried to eat her alive like this, she thought, looking down on him. She wondered dimly why anyone would want to do such a thing. Then he slid a finger inside her and she decided she didn't care why anyone would want to do such a thing, as long as he didn't stop. Her vision swam, and she closed her eyes. Macca put her head down on the bed and gave in.

One finger, then two fingers, gentle, stretching and questioning. What was she like in there? Very tight, came the answer, and very responsive. Ilhovin spread her labia with his free hand until the hood of her clitoris pulled back. He sucked her clit gently into his mouth and felt a strong ripple against his fingers. He did it again; the ripple increased and she let out a long moan. "That's my girl," he whispered.

Macca barely heard him. Still in her wedding dress, she sprawled at the edge of the bed, gripping the coverlet. Ilhovin was now flicking her clit with his tongue as he sucked, each flick pulling a loud, surprised gasp from her as the sensation seemed to rush inward from all directions and then fly back out again. She felt hot all over. She couldn't bear another moment in her wedding dress, but she couldn't move; he had her pinned squirming to the bed on the point of his tongue.

She was completely focused on his mouth until he hooked the fingers inside her and pressed up in gentle circles. Her eyes flew open, and she took in the canopy above her without really seeing it before they closed again. With every circle she bore down on his mouth, and with every flick on her clit she tried to squirm away, until she was fucking herself on his fingers, her cries increasing with every touch. So good, so--Neya help her, if that's what his fingers felt like, so gentle but so insistent, what would it feel like when he was inside her, when he--when he--when he fucked her--with--with--

Macca let out an ecstatic roar, her hands clutching over her head at the coverlet. Her legs drew up and fell wide open, and she pumped her hips helplessly as Ilhovin hummed his satisfaction into her. Her sex was brimming, and when she finally quieted and he pulled away, his face was glistening with her honey.

He went to kiss her, but she turned her face away. Impatiently, he wiped his face on the coverlet and kissed her firmly. "You like that?" she said when the kiss ended.

"Your taste? I will smell you on my hands and beard no matter how hard I scrub, for days. I love it."

"I don't."

"You will." He kissed her again, pulling at the laces of her bodice. Thus began a mad scrabble to get Macca out of her wedding dress and Ilhovin out of his remaining clothes as quickly as possible, until finally they lay skin to skin atop the bed. He ran his hand down her long body, finally settling on her small, rosy-nippled breast.

"Are you frightened? Don't be frightened, sweetheart," whispered Ilhovin in her ear.

"I'm not," she lied. "I want to make you happy."

"You already have." He settled between her legs. "I'll go slow, I promise I'll try not to hurt you." The head of his prick pushed at her entrance and retreated. "Does that hurt?"

Her hair stood on end and her eyes were wide. It did hurt, but it was an odd hurt, a thrilling hurt, a pain promising that something completely different would follow. "No," she said softly. "No, you can go a little further." He pressed in a tiny fraction more. "It's all right, get it over with!" she added impatiently.

But Ilhovin kept up his long, slow approach. There was something delicious about prolonging it, even if it was difficult--pushing in just a bit more, sliding almost all of the way out of her, pushing in again, just a bit more. He looked down at his new wife; her eyes were almost closed, and her breasts rose and fell rapidly with her breath. Concentrate, he thought.

Finally he met resistance; he debated whether to warn her or just do it. He decided on the latter, pulled back almost all the way, and thrust hard into her. Macca felt something break inside her; there was a gushing, as if a dam had broken, and suddenly Ilhovin was in her to the root. "I can't wait, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I can't--"

"Then don't!" She pushed back against him. "Enough waiting!"

Ilhovin groaned and began thrusting rapidly, all the movement he'd stored up until then let loose at once. Macca lay beneath him, breathless, holding him close; it wasn't long until he let out a desperate, sobbing moan into her neck and she felt a soothing flood inside her. Somehow, lying there with him still hard inside her, the whole thing felt better than when they were doing it. It was very confusing, this sex thing, thought Macca.

"Oh! My love! Oh!" Ilhovin was saying; he brought her back to the moment, covering her face with kisses.

They stayed entangled, kissing and drowsing, until finally she roused him. "We have to show the flag, darling."

"Ah. I suppose we do," Ilhovin said sleepily. He pulled out of her and reached over to a tray waiting expectantly on the side table, taking from it a large handkerchief of white silk. He wiped himself on it, then carefully mopped his wife and showed her the result: Blood, more than she'd expected, but less than she'd feared, and proof of both her virginity and their consummation.

Macca nodded; Ilhovin pulled on a dressing gown and walked through their sitting room to the receiving room, where a nervous knot of Tremontine and Sairish officials was waiting. He produced the silk from his pocket and exhibited it with a flourish.

"Congratulations! Well done!" came from all sides, and footmen poured a round of wine for everyone.

At a hidden cue, a small flock of serving women and ladies in waiting appeared and quietly made their way past the menfolk to Macca's side. Once she was arrayed in her dress for the feast and came out to accept the congratulations of the lords, he retired himself to their chamber with his servants to dress.

When they rejoined the celebration, Ilhovin looked into her uncharacteristically blushing face and felt a flush of pride and happiness come over him. This amazing woman was officially his wife; no one could take her from him, and he would never leave her, ever.