melodywilde (melodywilde) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-13 10:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: melodywilde, f: dragon quest viii, p: charmles/medea, september 13 |
Wedding Night, Dragon Quest VIII (Charmles/Medea)
Title: Wedding Night
Author: melodywilde
Rating: R to NC-17
Warnings: Non-con
Word count: 2,108
Summary: In a less happy universe, the Quest might’ve ended this way…
September 13, Prompt #3, Dragon Quest VIII--Charmles/Medea: non-con - "wedding night"
Wedding Night
by Melody Wilde
King Trode came to her room early in the morning, carrying the breakfast tray that one of the servants should have delivered, a smile on his face that somehow looked false.
He settled into a chair beside the bed as she ate, making small talk about today’s wedding—how lovely her gown was, how beautiful a bride she’d be, how elegantly the chapel had been decorated, how many guests had come and from where. But he was ill-at-ease. Anxious. Unsettled.
At last she pushed the tray away and leaned over to take his hand. “What is it, Father? What’s wrong?”
“It’s...” He fidgeted in a most unkingly manner. “Oh how I wish your mother were here!”
“As do I.” She leaned back and retrieved her goblet of juice. “Every girl must wish for her mother’s presence on her wedding day. But I have my father and—”
“No, no, not like that. I mean... Yes, like that, but... Goddess. Your mother should be the one to have this conversation with you.”
“What conversation?”
“Talk to you about... Explain... Warn you—no, no, that’s not the right word to use, even if I do think...” He stopped to take a deep breath. Medea waited patiently.
“Children.”
“Children?”
“Charmles will want an heir, of course, and you will be expected to...to provide him with one. To let him...let him...do what must be done to produce an heir.”
“And what is it that must be done?” She been more curious than anxious.
“He will...you must... You’ll be in bed. Together. And he’ll spend the whole night there and kiss you and...”
When she saw that he could not go on, she smiled gently and leaned back to pat his hand. “I understand.”
“You do?” His face lit with relief.
“Of course. And do not fear, Father. I will not disgrace you. Whatever my feelings for the Prince, I will do my duty and behave exactly as I should.”
“Oh excellent. Excellent. I’m glad...” He rose and begun to edge toward the door. “Then I’ll just be going along...I’m sure you have things to do...”
And he was gone.
***
Medea settled down in the bed and drew the covers close around her. I can do this, although the idea of lying in bed besides Charmles—my husband—for an entire night disgusts me. Oh I hope he doesn’t snore like Yangus did...
She tried to force her thoughts away from her friend—her friends—and the quest they had shared, the quest which had ultimately brought her here, but they clamored for her attention. If I were sharing my bed with Eight... She smiled. In a way she had, many nights during their journey. So many nights he had spread his bedroll on the ground beside the wagon, close to her, reaching out to stroke her neck or mane or shoulders before he settled to sleep.
Eight is my friend. My feelings for him are totally inappropriate. I mustn’t think about him tonight.
She wished Charmles would hurry so they could go to sleep and get this night over with.
As if in answer to her thought, the chamber door opened and Charmles waddled in, accompanied by two of his servants. He stopped, staring at her with an expression that she couldn’t identify, then imperiously waved to his companions.
“Out, out, OUT! Whatever my father thinks of me, I can do this without any help.”
Bowing, they backed out, closing the door behind them. Medea forced a smile.
“Welcome, husband.” She was proud that she had been able to say the word without gagging.
Charmles approached the bed, seized a corner of the coverlet, and jerked it away. He looked her up and down, then scowled.
“Why are you dressed?”
“My lord?”
“Dressed, dressed, DRESSED. Are you deaf? Why are you wearing that thing?”
She blinked. “This is what I always wear to bed,” she said quietly. “While it is true that this gown is new, sewn for this occasion by the—“
“Why are you wearing ANYTHING?” he interrupted.
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “But...”
“I want you naked.” He stamped a foot petulantly. “Take that ridiculous thing off now.”
“But my lord...”
“NOBODY wears clothes to bed on their wedding night. Take it off now.”
“But...”
“NOW!” he screamed. His face was turning an alarming shade of red.
Obviously my father neglected to tell me everything about this. Poor Father. He couldn’t bear to think of his daughter exposed to anyone, much less...
“DID YOU HEAR ME?”
She scurried to the side of the bed and stood, her fingers moving to the top of the long row of buttons and beginning to work them free. “Of course. I’m sorry. I...”
“You’re taking too long.” He lunged forward and reached up to seize the neck of her gown. Before she could protest, he had ripped it open, sending buttons flying about the room.
Medea felt her own face go pink, with embarrassment. She lifted her hands to try to cover herself, but Charmles smacked them away. “Don’t do that. I want to look at you.”
Taking a deep breath, she dropped her hands to her sides and stood there, staring at a point above his head, as his gaze moved up and down her body. His breathing was accelerating in an alarming manner.
“My lord, are you all right?”
“I will be.” His voice was thick. He swallowed, then muttered, “Get that off and get on the bed.”
She shrugged and the ruined gown slid to the floor. “As you wish, husband.” Turning, she climbed back onto the bed and reached for the covers.
Once again, he smacked her hands away. “You don’t need those.” He was struggling with his own clothing. He’d managed to get his coat and vest off, but the buttons on his shirt were difficult. With an impatient sound, he turned to the door and screamed, “GILES!”
Medea squealed when the door opened and one of the men returned. She scrambled for a corner of the blanket to cover herself, but the footman ignored her. “My lord?”
“Get me undressed.”
“Of course, my lord.” With quick, practiced movements, the man undid shirt and breeches and helped Charmles step free. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“No. Get out of here.”
Charmles turned toward the bed as the man moved away. Medea hardly noticed his exit. She was staring at the naked body of her prince...her husband. It was not the first time she had seen a man’s body. So often, during their journey, Eight and Angelo had seemed to forget that she was more than a horse and had stripped to bathe and splash in the water. Their bodies were beautiful, slender and well shaped. Charmles was different, not just in his height or weight but...
There was something jutting out from the front of his body, something reddened and stiff and hideously ugly.
Oh dear Goddess, my husband is deformed.
He swaggered to the bed as if everything were normal and climbed up beside her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the...thing.
“Prince...”
He stripped the covers away again, moving closer to her. Giggling, he placed a hand upon one of her breasts and squeezed.
“Charmles!” she gasped and smacked at his hand. “What are you doing?”
“I’m allowed to. Now get on your back and open your legs.”
It made no sense. Her husband had gone mad. What does he want me to...
His grip tightened and she gasped. “I said get on your back and open your legs.”
She rolled, letting her knees unbend and settle to the bed. Charmles followed her, still kneading at her breast, a strange gleam in his eyes.
“I saw the way your guard looked at you today.”
“Eight?”
“He’s been with you a long time, hasn’t he?” He was moving, pulling one leg to the side, putting his body between her thighs.
“Since I was a child.” Her voice shook with terror.
“You’d better bleed. You’d better not have given yourself to him.”
She didn’t understand anything, not what he was saying, not what he was doing. “Charmles...”
She screamed as his free hand went between her legs and his fingers began to probe at her most intimate place. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“It’s my right. You’re my wife.”
She went scarlet with humiliation as his fingers jammed inside her and twisted. But it was worse—far worse—when he removed them and moved forward, holding that...thing...in one hand and trying to shove it into her body. “Charmles, don’t...”
He shoved her legs apart and tried again, grunting like some animal. When she writhed and tried to move away, he snapped, “Do you want me to have my men come in and hold you down?”
She shook her head.
“Then be still.”
It was a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare, because it was real. She felt something begin to move into her, something hot and hard and hurtful. She tensed, fighting against the pain. And then he shoved forward and it felt as if something tore when his body slammed against hers, into hers. She cried out with pain and humiliation.
“Be quiet.”
He began to move and the thing within her began to move, pulling away, thrusting back. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, trying to will herself away, not to be trapped beneath a fat, slobbering monster who was killing her. And then he was moving faster, and the pain was soaring with each thrust. He pushed in hard and deep and froze, groaning, and she felt the thing within her pulse and spill.
I want to die. Dear Goddess, let me die.
He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, eyes thick-lidded with satisfaction. “That was good.” She lay unmoving, hardly daring to breathe, hoping he would go away now. At last he raised himself and jerked away from her, and that was another pain. He thrust his hand between her legs again and, when he lifted it, his fingers were wet with blood.
“Lucky for you—and your guard.”
“You’ve killed me,” she breathed.
“Don’t be silly.” He wiped his hand on the sheet. “You’re fine. Just let me rest and then we’ll do it again.”
“Again?”
“All night.” He sprawled onto the bed beside her, closed his eyes, and almost immediately fell asleep.
He snored worse than Yangus. She wouldn’t have believed it was possible.
Gathering her courage, Medea moved away from him and slid one hand down to explore her injuries. There was a slick, disgusting wetness mixed with the blood. She bit her lip to keep from vomiting, and looked back at the man...the monster...sleeping so peacefully beside her.
“Just let me rest and then we’ll do it again.”
“No,” she breathed. No. He’ll never do that to me again, never.
She began to breathe deeply, calming herself, centering her energies, focusing. No one—not even her father or her best friend Eight or the friends who had shared the quest to make her whole again and rejoiced with her when they were successful—had ever guessed her secret.
The magic within her was not as powerful as that of Angelo or Eight, or even Jessica or Yangus, but it was sufficient. Goddess, I should ask your forgiveness, but I can’t. You’re a woman. I can only hope you understand.
She gathered her power, fueling it with her shame and hatred and loathing, wrapped it in a ball that would fit into the palm of her hand, and then pressed her hand to Charmles’s chest. He was gone between one snore and the next. She felt the life flee from his body. And she smiled.
Moving carefully, mindful of her pain, she slid to the other side of the bed, turned her back to him, and settled herself. It would not do to call his footmen in too soon—not while there was any chance that he could be taken to a church, or that someone could cast a reviving spell upon him. By the morning, enough time would have passed. He would be gone forever from her life. She would weep at the failing of his heart after his exertions and pretend to be sorry that she had slept so soundly that she had not heard him cry out. And then, after the funeral, she would insist that she was too distraught to remain there. She would return home with her father. Her friends. Eight.
Eight would never have done such a thing to her and hurt her so badly. She was sure of that.
Medea slept.