The fate of those who rule is ruthless, the young bride thought while staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She was carefully combing her white long hair, falling in waves on alabaster shoulders. Tonight, she was going to meet her husband, welcome him to her bed of ice, as many spoke behind her back, foolishly thinking she was not aware of what they thought of her. If anything, her decision to marry the Barbarian King should have told them she was more than just a pretty little girl, just happening to be the heir. She knew what a treaty wife was and she was not afraid.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself. Her hand trembled on the crystal comb. Yes, she knew she had to pull strings and offer herself as tribute if she wanted to maintain her shaky position. She had known her husband for several weeks now, but that could hardly amount to anything. Despite his rough appearance, the barbarian was not stupid. He was cunning like a snow fox and cruel like the northern winter winds. She had to admit, if only to herself, that she was scared of him. Of course, nothing of the kind had been left to transpire during their meetings, always focused on political matters, and not at all on any romantic pursuits.
Ashe was not the kind of girl to dream of handsome princes and happily ever afters. Although she had always loved those stories, she had known that was not what lay in front of her. She had to be a ruler, a strong and capable one, cool headed and focused, and that if she wanted her head to still be on her shoulders for yet another day.
Still, for brief seconds, she had caught the Barbarian King watching her with wicked intent in his dark eyes. Those looks gave her goose bumps, something unheard of for someone as used to cold as her. It was as if he was assessing her, as a female, and not as a ruler. There had been a few to watch her in that manner, but she had been carefully quashed any hope those men might have had. Such poisonous weed had to be nipped in the bud. But this man was her husband, and he was going to breach all her well laid out defenses, because it was, after all, nothing but a small sacrifice she had to make.
That small sacrifice was her body, she thought as she pressed her white elegant hands over her womb. Her night gown was frail and delicate, as if sewn by angels. Such a poor defense against what awaited her. With dignity, she rose and went to lie down on the lavish bed. Everything was white, befitting for the Queen.
Her breath quickened as the door to the royal chambers opened and closed. Was it better if she pretended to be asleep? No matter how much the old women had tried to prepare her for what followed, she knew it was going to hurt, and she was going to allow it.
She felt the bed sinking next to her.
"You may open your eyes, my queen," she heard him talking.
She should have been deaf not to sense the mockery in his voice. Her magnificent blue eyes snapped open. Lying on one side, his head propped against one hand, her king was looking at her, visibly amused.
"What?" she snapped.
"Is this really what you want to ask?" he smiled, showing rows of white teeth that made him look even more dangerous.
"You're staring," she spoke. "Why are you staring?"
He gave her an appreciative once over, making her feel overly self conscious. She could feel her bosom rising and falling, and when his eyes glued to her chest, she could barely refrain from covering herself against the prying eyes.
"Am I not allowed to look at my beloved?"
She snorted.
"We both know that's not what I am to you."
"Oh, really?" his free hand moved and rested atop of her womb. "I suppose your people expect some heirs soon enough."
"I will not stop you from taking whatever you want to take from me."
"You are not in the position to oppose me, and you would not be able to do it, even if you weren't in this position."
The queen had every right to feel affronted at the not so veiled threat. But the man's hand on her lower belly was hot and unyielding and it made her skin burn underneath the see through night gown.
"You're very confident of your abilities."
"And you, of yours. As expected from my queen. Now, beautiful, you know what to do, right?"
She frowned. It looked as if the man had no intention to move, but have her work for it instead. He was just continuing to look at her, that dangerous smile on his rough face. Reluctantly, she slowly opened her legs and, with trembling hands, she started pulling the night gown upwards. She stubbornly stared at the ceiling, while proceeding to show her husband what he was going to receive for the trade they had made. An appreciative sound from his direction let her know that, at least, he was not disappointed.
"They say you're made of ice," he spoke and moved his hand to plant it on her now naked thigh. "Last time I checked, ice didn't burn like this."
She gasped as his calloused hand traveled upwards, resting close to her most secret place.
"No, you're not made of ice. I think you're all honey," he drawled out the words, making her throat incredibly dry in turn.
"You're wrong," she whispered, her words welcomed by a bawdy laugh.
She just wanted everything to be over, the sooner, the better. The man shifted from his position and, for a second, it felt as if he was no longer there. Ashe cried out in surprise, when she felt something hot and wet slamming against her womanhood. She hunched on her elbows, only to witness her husband of only a few hours, comfortably installed between her legs, licking her intimate areas with delight. She could feel her nether lips parted by rough fingers, an action apparently needed for letting that skillful tongue explore her further, deeper.
Never in her life had she experienced such a sensation. She could feel him inching lower, towards her entrance and her insides began to melt.
He rose and smacked his lips, throwing her an amused look.
"No one ever tasted you, right, my lady? Of course not. They were too afraid to end up with their lips frozen."
And it was just getting good, she found herself thinking with regret.
"So, are you ready?" he slowly started to peel off his clothes.
The sight of his hidden sword left her breathless. Now it was a good time to run, Ashe thought, panicked. No matter what everyone said, that was not going to fit! It was impossible! She was going to be killed, suffer an impudent death, impaled into … into that thing! A strong hand pushed her back as she unconsciously tried to rise.
"No running away, my queen," he said, as if he could read her mind. "You will now have to trust me," he added, on a gentler tone this time.
He slowly placed himself between her parted legs, his dark eyes on her face, questioning, searching, while the young bride tried hard to fight back her tears. His right hand moved and slowly caressed her face, contouring her soft features, descending on her lips, as he hovered over her. Ashe sustained his gaze, despite feeling like the dark eyes could devour her, just like that.
A hint of a smile made his lips twitch. The queen of ice frowned.
"Could you please hurry?" she asked, her voice hoarse, unnatural.
The smile disappeared. The gentle hand reached her throat, caressing it in passing. Pressure built, making the woman tremble.
"You'll have to trust me," he repeated his earlier words, like a mantra.
How could she? He was big and strong, and he was just showing her he could snap her neck like a twig, like she was nothing.
Tryndamere leaned closer and pressed his forehead against hers. She could now feel his hot breath on her face and a small tremble in the strong masculine body almost glued to her. His thumb caressed her neck a bit roughly and she gasped. Quickly, the small breach in her defense allowed him to get closer and kiss her. She could feel his tongue moving inside her mouth, invading her, and she tasted black ale, and herself. But there was something else there, something intoxicating that was making her mind explode into tiny little pieces, like she had no idea it could. She could feel his power overcoming her.
She suddenly could breathe more freely, as the calloused hand left her throat, only to descend lower and capture a small nipple between deft fingers. She moaned into the kiss and the man above her deepened their connection, pushing harder, further, making her sink more into the bed. Now she could feel his manhood, hard and strong rubbing against her. The hand tormenting her chest was making it hard to breathe again. But barely consciously, she realized in horror how she was spreading wider, allowing him more access. The maddening kiss didn't stop.
As she felt her womanhood stretching to accommodate the invader, and her husband adjusted his position, tears welled unwelcome in her eyes. Taking pity in her distress, he let her mouth free, allowing her to cry out the loss of her maidenhead. The pain stretched, making her scream so loudly, like a wounded animal knowing there was no escape.
Only that there was no death ahead of her, as she thought. The pain somehow receded, as he pushed inside her, moving, slowly at first, then faster and faster. His labored breath blew over her face, and she wanted him to stop, to let her be, to allow her to withdraw to one corner and wait for the pain to pass.
"My queen," he whispered, as he collapsed with a low growl on top of her.
She could now feel something wet and sticky pooling between her legs. He eventually moved, letting her breathe and Ashe rose just to watch in horror the scarlet stains on her virginal bed, her nightgown and her inner thighs.
Next to her, her husband was still breathing deeply, signs of his earlier exertion showing in the form of sweat making his muscled chest and arms glistening in the candle light. She watched him, in horrid fascination. He had been inside her and she hadn't died. She took in his strong frame, forgetting to hide her admiration.
A small chuckle woke her up from her reverie.
"There's more where that came from, my lady," he joked, and Ashe moved her eyes away, only then realizing she was staring at his manhood, now slowly turning into a less frightening form.
She was about to offer a biting remark in return, when the doors to the royal chambers opened, to allow a few old women inside. Without a word, the women approached and started pulling the stained sheets from underneath them. Ashe shyly covered her thighs and moved to allow them to do their job.
"What on earth do you think you're doing, you old crones?" Tryndamere hissed, as he was pushed and made to move from the bed.
"It is an old custom," Ashe offered in a trembling voice. "The people have the right to know that …"
The king looked at her in dismay. "… That we consummated our marriage? That you've been deflowered?"
She nodded, casting her eyes down. His intense dark gaze was making her feel uncomfortable.
He snorted derisively. "And they say I'm the barbarian."
Ashe chose not to comment on that.
"Please fetch some hot water," she ordered the women who nodded and withdrew quickly.
"We should … wash," she said slowly, after the women were gone.
She climbed the bed again, dragging a white fur over her. She could only hope he didn't plan on doing it again.
The women returned quickly and water was poured into a large bathtub. Ashe submersed herself inside, hoping to get rid of the dulling pain, nesting in her lower belly. She almost screamed in surprise, as her husband climbed the bathtub and let himself into the water, with a satisfied groan.
"At least, there are some advantages to being here," he commented and Ashe felt scorned for some unfathomable reason.
Her small huff of annoyance wasn't lost on him. He slowly reached for a strand of silver hair, floating on the water, and wrapped it around his fingers.
"I must say I'm impressed, my queen. I was expecting more tears and begging."
"Why?" she asked, trying hard not to snatch her strand of hair from his hand.
"You look fragile. Delicate."
"I'm not."
"I guess so. But you're not strong either. Stop fooling yourself."
"I'm strong enough," she murmured.
He smiled and this time, his smile was warm and honest.
"As a queen must be," he added and reverently kissed the wet strand of hair.
She blushed. Why was she blushing? They had just been intimate moments ago, but now it was a good time to blush.
He rose from the bathtub and quickly dried himself. She watched him slipping into his leather and fur clothes and heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
He stopped and turned towards her. "I'm meeting my men. I must celebrate with them, too. Plus, if I am spending the night with you …" he trailed off, throwing a suggestive look towards her naked body.
She covered her chest, eliciting a small laugh from him.
"You may be strong enough, my lady, but I doubt you would appreciate being possessed by me for the second time tonight. But don't be disappointed, there will be plenty of other nights for us to get acquainted."
She so much wanted to have something heavy and blunt at hand so she could throw at him. Unfortunately, all she could do was to try staring him down with her icy eyes.
Tryndamere laughed while making his exit.
"I'll see you tomorrow, beautiful. By then, I hope your body will be healed enough to welcome me once more."
"In your dreams!" she shouted after him, decided that she was going to lock the doors and keep them that way until hell froze over.