It was our wedding night at last. The ceremony itself had spun by for me, as such things always did, whoever they were for. There had been fanfares and speeches and congratulations, which I appreciated, but could not retain. My mind had been on the night to follow all along, even as the priestesses granted us their blessing, as all his friends (mine too, perhaps, though it had never occurred to me to consider them as such) had crowded around to shout encouragement and compliments.
I was afraid of this. I had been from the moment he'd asked me, and afraid of my own stray fantasies before that. For one thing, no one had ever, before him, desired the near peasant from an impoverished noble line, the reclusive scholar, the cursed and ugly double black that I was. I'd never been held or kissed before him. I'd never let myself wish to be, and the first time he had pressed his lips to mine, I'd been so shocked I couldn't respond, though afterward I'd been told his desire for me couldn't have been more obvious.
And that was the real reason I was afraid. I didn't know if he loved me. How could I know, and how could he? Nothing had changed about me, however invaluable I'd been in the war. He wanted my body, he'd needed my council, and now he no doubt appreciated both. That didn't mean love. I tried to tell myself it didn't matter. He still needed my advice, a warrior and not a politician. He was an honorable man, and with our marriage inscribed in the records he wouldn't cast me aside. If desire lessened, there were plenty of others he could bring to his bed. It wouldn't hurt me.
Except that it did. Even before he'd kissed me so unexpectedly, before I'd let myself admit a thing, it had hurt. Many were the times I'd entered his tent on business to find someone in his bedroll, a blushing youth or maiden from the nearest town, a brazen, smirking whore when pickings were slim, a few times one of his other generals and advisors. I still had trouble meeting Bielefeld's eyes, though I'd been assured by them both that it had been one night of drunken excess, that the boyish soldier tended toward women anyway and had a fiancée of his own. Still, he was wealthy and heroic and lovely, and he'd looked so very picturesque curled in my lord and commander's coverlet. And that was after the kiss that had changed my world.
His hand tightened around mine a bit and I realized I was hanging back. I let myself be led. It wouldn't do to appear reluctant. I'd made him wait this long, as none of his lovers ever would have. I'd tried, but before I couldn't bring myself to let him do more than hold and kiss me. He forgot—everyone forgot—how young I was, really, how most of my life had been lived alone with my parents and sister in the middle of the country, surrounded by the crumbling walls of our tiny keep, that all I'd known of the world before he sought me out was out of books and visions the old priestess had taught me to see.
But that was no excuse, whatever I wished. I was no child, if close, and I wanted him, too. I trusted him to be gentle. He was trustworthy, Bielefeld notwithstanding. And if he'd been playing all along to make me want him more, to bind me to him, I didn't blame him. He conquered Soushu. No surprise he could handle his provincial and pliant Navon, now called Daijenka and revered despite himself.
I hadn't even thought of my given name in a long time. No one used it anymore. Before the army had accepted me, no one would deign to speak to me, for the most part, and afterward, my commander's half-teasing title had stuck. I heard it now, whispered, as he eased me onto the bed. I'd honestly thought he'd forgotten I had a name besides what he'd given me.
His hand was on my jaw. He had surprisingly delicate hands for someone who spent most of his time swinging a sword at things. His fingers were oddly cool, almost clammy, and for the first time the thought came to me that he might be nervous, too. I couldn't fathom why. He'd succeeded in seducing a clever country boy. I might order him around in public, but here I was as tractable as any soldier following orders. I thought I was.
I closed my eyes and pressed into his hand. His little finger was right below my ear, and that was shockingly sensitive. I'd let him kiss me there before, but not on a night when every nerve was alive like this. His thumb was against my lips. I kissed it, and felt it slip between. I was surprised, but managed to answer with my tongue, hoping that was the right thing to do. He made a pleased little noise and moved in to kiss me, so it must have been.
It felt like the first one again. In my mind we were back under the flickering light of his field lanterns, ugly iron things that cast grotesque, hard shadows. There were maps laid out between us. He had a skin of wine, I water. The sharp, acid scent tickled my nose, used to it as I should have been. I was tired, thinking of nothing but troop movements, of edging in our enemy however we could. Those were bleak days, when Soushu's victories far outnumbered ours and allies were vanishing or turning traitor. I was asking him about a certain town—No, I remember, I was asking to go. I was exhausted. But when I'd looked up I'd found his mouth pressed hungrily to mine, tasting of wine, and of him.
He'd pushed the table away, spilling half the maps, and pulled me to him. He was much stronger than I, and shock was still setting in. I hated him in that moment, though I had no right. He was privileged from birth and had been a hero all his adult life. Why would he even think of someone rejecting him. His hand was on my hip, sliding further back, and I started to cry. The only time I'd let him see that, before or since. I could ride beside him on a battle field amid magic fires and flying arrows and not be afraid, but this was different. And I was sure he'd have his way with me. What would stop him?
At the first tear, though, he'd let go, speechless and looking as shocked as I'd been. I ran, expecting punishment but too frightened to try to prevent it. I didn't see him again for two days, and when I did, he came to my little tent for the first time. I'd been terrified, but he only apologized. To me. The commander of all the host, the only hope for the world against the rising tide of Soushu's forces, the handsome lordling who knew only a world that played by his rules, apologized to me, and left me alone. I can say at least that it was I who returned to him. I'd done him an injustice in my assumptions, and that fact alone was enough to make me curious, to bring me closer to him.
I was not merely a living book to him, a source of clever ploys and fleeting visions. That meant the most. That kept drawing me back. It had never been true before. It was months before he kissed me again, but that time I let him. I even tried to kiss back. And he never did it so roughly again. His hands hadn't moved below my shoulders since, either.
But I knew that was about to end. However honorable and gentle and sweet he was, he'd made me his own. It meant the world to me. He'd had a hundred lovers and not one achieved this. He had every right to me, and I was willing to give up. Maybe even eager, if I could just stop myself shaking.
I opened my eyes, and Shinou's looked back at me, lovely and blue. My dull, earthy black seemed unworthy, but the first word he said since we'd left the banquet hall was, "Beautiful." Sweet of him, I supposed. His fingers slid away from my jaw, over my neck, and that was disarmingly responsive, too, a tickle that somehow reached right into the core of me. What was he doing to me? Could he have reduced me to this delicate, helpless desire any time? I loved him more for not doing it before, but now I knew I wanted more. That uncertainty was gone.
"Really?" I heard my voice as though from a distance. What a stupid thing to say. Asking for clarification of a compliment. Couldn't be more childish. But he nodded and kissed me again, slower this time, lips oddly hot against mine, sharp contrast to his fingers. I thought for just a moment he might have been running a fever, but even I wasn't so naïve.
"You are beautiful, whatever you've been told." His lips wandered to my cheeks and my forehead. "My Navon." I didn't know where his hands were for a moment. In that moment, I knew very little, except that I believed that I was beautiful when he said it and that my real name was lovely on his lips, as lovely as the kisses that were all mine now.
Then I felt his fingers on the clasp of my robe. The wedding clothes were delicate gossamer, a thousand layers of floating, gauzy fabric the color of a stormcloud. Dark gray for the king's consort. Black was his color, and for the first time I thought to connect it to me.
Lovely as the robe was, it was delicate. I felt his hand against my chest as though there'd been nothing there, and it made me catch my breath. He was staring at me, eyes alight with fire I'd only seen in battle before. They rose to mine, hungry, barely restrained. "Please?"
The word made no sense. I was wedded. Bedded was in the contract. And I'd come to accept it, even want it. My throat caught a moment, and he took the silence oddly. "I've never wanted anyone like I do you. Please, Daijenka?" My name was gone again, left floating in the ether, but he was flustered, and it wouldn't be a treat if I heard it all the time.
"Yes." My voice shook a little. I'd never adored him as I did right now. All doubts were gone. He loved me. He had to love me, to leave me the choice even perched on his bed as I was. I wrapped my arms around his neck as I'd almost never dared and kissed him myself. He kissed back with the hottest of passion for a moment, and then his hands were busily unclasping my robes. I froze for a moment when the garment fell away from my shoulders. He didn't. My husband went on, for once not noticing my fright, which oddly drove me past it myself.
He flipped apart another clasp, and I was exposed to the waist. The last, and there was nothing between me and him but air. I was blushing and he was blushing and I almost wanted to hide again. To occupy myself I bent down to unclasp one of my sandals, lovely, strappy, silvered leather he'd given me for the occasion. Like the dress. My own clothes were all homespun, rough and plain.
He caught my hand before I could reach the strap and brought it to his lips. He kissed my palm. It tickled with the same insane intensity that stroking my neck produced. I felt my hair stand on end, all of it, blood rushing to my cheeks, my nipples, between my legs. Was this what all his other lovers had felt like? I couldn't remember why I hadn't let him before.
His mouth slid over the back of my hand. He kissed every individual knuckle, then the tip of each finger before slipping the smallest into his mouth. He bit down, and it hurt, but I liked that pain. It made the pleasure sharper, illogical as that was.
"Navon…" His voice was strained as he let my finger go. "…Lie down."
I knew that was at least the general idea, but I hadn't expected it to come as such an order. I hesitated, and he rested his hand on my shoulder. It felt worlds away from the gesture I was used to with skin upon bare skin. "It'll give me the most control. This time I have to be careful not to hurt you."
Where did that come in? No one had mentioned to me that it hurt. Frightening, overwhelming, earth-shattering… No one had said painful. My worry must have shown. He brushed his lips against the end of my nose. He hadn't done that in a long time. He'd often done it to tease me when he thought I was being too serious. I didn't think that was what it meant now, but hard to say.
"I promise I won't." That was the kind of promise that shouldn't be made, but I believed him. He pulled my gauzy wedding robes away, tossing them in a heap on a chair. Some maid would be irritated tomorrow. I was cold. The room was chilly and maybe I was still scared as I rested my head in the silken pillows. What a world away from the furs and rough blankets where I'd begun to dream of him.
His mouth was against my neck. I gasped. He'd kissed me before there, but differently. This wasn't a kiss. Nearly a bite. I almost wanted him to stop, but couldn't muster the breath or the words. Or quite the desire. It was like the nip at my finger. If I'd been thinking straighter I could have recalled the red and purple smudges I'd always seen on his other lovers. My husband liked to mark his territory, it seemed. I was surprised by them in the morning, though. Not thinking. It was very strange not to be thinking.
Of course I had to let him lead the way. I told him that later and got a scowl for it, the spoiled brat. But still.
His mouth slid lower. I felt his teeth against my collarbone, which was more strange than anything else. Maybe he had someone who liked that. I tried to push the others from my mind. At least for now, he was mine. Lower still, and his wet, velvet tongue pressed against my nipple. That was unexpected (I don't know why, but I'd never really given the act much thought) and I squirmed hard enough to accidentally knee him in the hip. Not too hard, I hoped.
He laughed at that, very quietly but I felt the vibration. Shinou looked up and smiled at me bewitchingly. "Like that?"
"…Yes." My own voice sounded strange.
"Good. Always tell me when you do. And when you don't." He bent his head back down. I propped myself up a little to watch. It was fascinating to see what he did to me and feel the results. When I could keep any sort of concentration, anyway. When he moved from licking to sucking I know I lost all sense of reality for a moment. When I was aware again, my fingers were tangled in his hair and I was short of breath, and he was smiling at me.
His hand slid lower. I felt his fingers against my belly and shivered again, less violently only because I checked myself this time. "Shinou… is it almost…?" I couldn't believe it. I was… impatient?
"Well, we're both as ready as we'll get." He seemed surprised, but I'd seldom seen such a warm smile. I suppose after years of not letting him below my neck, it was a little strange. His hand shot lower, very suddenly, and once again I lost track of the world around me, caught up in a shudder that moved from his fingers to the tips of my fingers and toes and every hair on my head.
When I slipped back to reality, his mouth was against mine. I met his eyes and we both smiled, he greedily, I shyly. Gently he parted my legs. I resisted a little. Couldn't help it. He let go until I calmed down. "Yes?"
"Yes." I was going to stop being such a child. "Please."
He looked delighted and kissed me again, moving between my legs. "Navon, if there's anything you want to stop, do it now. We're almost past the point of no return." I shook my head, unable to speak. Yes. I was still afraid. Shameful. But I didn't care anymore. "Right." One more kiss. "I love you."
And once more I started to cry, the second time I'd done it where he could see. I heard his gasp and felt him nuzzle me, stammered something… I think it was that I was happy, not upset. It was true. I convinced him somehow.
Then I felt him inside me. A slight lie. It did hurt, but it was more of pleasure-in-pain, a sharpness that kept me even more alive. A wave of electricity and heat soon knocked me panting onto the pillows, the world spinning and eyes unfocused. He lasted a good deal longer, and I felt bad for not being able to answer his strength with anything but adoring eyes.
Sad, that I have no more memory than that of when my lover really made me his, and he became mine. Just a rush of sensation, his sapphire eyes, the words that made me drunk as wine every time I heard them.
Author's Note: So just a quick break from Only the Moon Howls. This literally came to me in a dream and woke me up to write it. Nine o' clock on a Saturday, I kid you not. Last time I willingly got up at nine on a weekend, I was three feet tall and wanted to watch cartoons. It may make a bit of an appearance in the larger story arc. I do flashbacks. But here you go, the reason I got up in the AM hours this morning. Hope it was worth it.