Disclaimer: All things Potter are not mine, unfortunately.
A/N: This story is an Alternate Universe, AU, so if you don't like AU stories I suggest that you read and review this anyway. Also, you'll see that I don't use names a lot, I don't know why, I just didn't.
DUTY
Part I: Chosen.
She stood by the large balcony doors, her body shaking with fright. Of all the people that were in that room, he had to pick her like some punishment for not wanting to be picked like the other girls had. Some would say that she should feel privileged at being chosen by the Emperor to carry his heir, but she begged to differ.
The woman jumped as she heard the bedroom door shut with a loud bang, and she turned slowly, coming face-to-face with the Emperor. She was so frightened that she forgot to bow.
"Tell me your name, woman," he muttered, his deep-blue eyes boring into her brown ones.
"G-Ginevra," she whispered, failing to make her voice any louder.
"Ginevra, don't even begin to think that this is some sort of fairytale, where you get to marry the prince in the end," he hissed, his handsome face twisted into an ugly sneer, "because that won't happen."
"Yes, s-sire," she said quietly, quite taken aback at what he just said; she did not want to marry him. All the while, she was trying her best not to look away from his piercing gaze.
"All this will be is sex, nothing more, nothing less, do you understand?"
"Yes, sire," she repeated.
"Good," he said bluntly, finishing that area of conversation. "Now, get undressed," he ordered.
What followed was not romantic or passionate, like he had hinted at. He took her virginity carelessly, not giving a damn about her as she cried on the inside, and broke to fit him. His thrusts had become almost unbearable toward the end, where he was desperate to reach his release, where she had cried out with his final deep thrust, and at which she was nearly torn apart.
Then he lay atop her, waiting for his essence to fill her, his breath coming out shallow in her ear. He gave a final gratified groan as the last of him filled her, and he pulled out of her swollen hotness to sit at the side of the bed. He ran a hand through his damp hair, causing it to stick up in some areas. He sneered as he looked over Ginevra, who had huddled herself into a foetal position, and was crying gently, her red hair standing out like blood on the black satin sheets.
The Emperor stood up, and poured himself a shot of whiskey, feeling slightly light-headed at how tight and hot she was. He knew she was a virgin the moment he had looked at her, standing shyly in the long line of women he had to choose from. She had a weak disposition, she was a weak physical being, but she was submissive, although scared to tears.
The girl was beautiful though, he would give her that, and she reminded him of a vixen, except she was not so feisty, which he preferred her not to be. It was why he had chosen her in the first place; it had been obvious that she would be weak and submissive.
Once he had finished his drink he pulled his black trousers on, and buttoned up his shirt, and with a final arrogant glance at Ginevra he threw his cloak around his shoulders, and before she knew it, he was gone.
He had left her to pick up the pieces of her shattered dignity, and she could hardly mourn the loss of her virginity with the horrid pain between her legs, she felt battered and bruised. And only one question went through her mind, why had he chosen her?
The next day, a woman came and woke Ginevra up, and told her that she was her personal maid. She also told her that she had to prepare her for that evening, "to please the Emperor."
Was he going to do this to her every night? She hoped not; because she was still in pain from the night before, how could she possibly lay underneath him again without crying out in pain?
"You must feel very honoured, miss," the maid said to her as she scrubbed Ginevra's back, "to do something such as this for the Emperor is such a privilege."
Ginevra rolled her eyes. If she thought it was so fantastic then why didn't she swap places with her, and have her beloved Emperor fucking her so hard that she would rip to pieces. "Oh, yes, it's simply grand," she answered in a sardonic voice. "I haven't seen my family for weeks, but other than that, it is great."
The maid seemed to not notice her tone of voice, because she did not press on the matter. Once the washing was over, the maid led her back into her room. "Sire says that he wants you dressed in the most elegant dress," she said in a happy voice, "he wants you to eat dinner with him."
"What? Why?"
"Well, miss, he does eat alone," the maid said in a hushed voice.
The Emperor waited patiently for the girl, who he presumed was getting made up. He liked the idea of her looking wonderful, and then looking ravaged after he had finished with her. He chuckled at that.
When Ginevra came, she curtsied and took her place at the other end of the table. Yes, he liked what she was wearing, a long, elegant black dress, which showed off her best asset, her cleavage, and her hair was done up in an elaborate bun. It wouldn't be when he was through with her.
"Eat, then," he said, as it looked like she was going to sit there and stare at the food instead.
She picked out a selection of meat and vegetables, and began to eat like she had been starved. Her wine glass was empty by the time she had ate all her vegetables.
"I trust you bathed this morning," he said suddenly.
"Yes," she said, glancing at him before she took another sip of her refilled wine.
"Because I'd rather not sleep with a tramp."
She stared at him and thought; Well, I'd rather not sleep with you, but you can't have everything.
"Oh, yes I can, Ginevra," he said with amusement, "and I'll let that comment pass."
"What?" she said, confused.
"I can have everything," he said pointedly, "look around you, girl, I am the Emperor of most of the world, and I guarantee you that I can have anything I want."
He had listened to her thoughts! How could this be? She wondered, she could not even think nasty thoughts about him now.
Days passed, and he came to her each night. Sometimes he would take her twice after drinking some of his Firewhiskey, where she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Then days turned into weeks, when she realised that she would become impatient if he did not come at the usual time. As weeks turned into months, she learned to enjoy how he thrust into her, despite herself, and she had began to give him discreet little touches; whether it was the brush of her fingertips across his chest, or her lips lightly touching his shoulder.
Then she fell pregnant, and he visited her less; he had done what he had set out to do, and that was the end of it. Ginevra fell into a slight melancholy at being treated so carelessly, at being discarded once she had given him what he wanted.
End of Part I.
A/N: So, tell me what you think, review, because I like them.