A/N: Warning! Not kiddie-friendly. Some sexual references.

Disclaimer: Don't own, and only profit by way of fun and muse exercising.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4: How and Why It Came to Be

Pros:

1. A beautiful woman for my wife

2. I gain greater influence and can now more likely make those changes I've always wanted to.

3. …It's temporary.

Cons:

1. Greater responsibility

2. I will have to deal with the guild and noble idiots more often, attend state functions, and wear dress uniforms.

3. My time with my own kids will be limited.

4. My children will be royal children (I don't know what exactly the difference is, but I do know there is one.)

5. This will probably ruin any chance I have for a normal life with a normal girl, even if it is temporary.

6. I'll really only be a glorified stud.

Pros:

4. The sexy and alluring Azkadellia (Yes, I have thought of her that way by now. I'm not gay or a eunuch, ya know) will be in my bed.

5. My accepting will prevent someone less trustworthy from gaining that kind of influence over the O.Z., Azkadellia, and our children.

When I reached that last one, I knew I would be saying yes to Azkadellia. After weeks of thinking about it, talking it over with my father, Ambrose, and even her parents and having multiple conversations with her, the tipping point was that I couldn't imagine Az having any other man's kids. My possessive he-man and my biological procreation mandate kicked into gear, and I suddenly, desperately wanted to see those kids come into existence, to bounce them on my knees, to teach them how to carve, to see the Cain grin play at the corners of their mouths as their laughter shone brightly in their dark brown eyes that resembled their mother's.

Of course, to keep my dignity intact, this is not what I told her when she asked me why. Instead, I told her some malarkey with a cocky grin, "This way a Cain will be on the throne no matter which of you two conceives first. Won't that piss off Vy-sor and them all off?"

And so with that flippant remark, I became Azkadellia's ally against anti-Galites and her fiance.

~*~OZ~*~

It took a few days to get the contract written up and finalized, but by the end of the week we were signing the document and technically married. My father, her family, Ambrose and Raw were there to witness it.

My father's eyes were filled with – not disappointment, not pity, just overwhelming concern. He worried that I was doing this for the same reason Az was, that I wanted to spare him another sacrifice for duty.

It was part of the reason. Wyatt Cain, my father, blames himself for the robbing of my childhood. If he hadn't gotten involved in the Resistance, then the three of us could have continued to live our happy life together.

But he's wrong. It wouldn't have been happy, not while the Sorceress was in power. So yes, my childhood may have been sacrificed for the Cause, but I gained a future of freedom. My father's annuals in the suit bought me that.

The real reason I was doing this was that these two annuals were the least I could do for the future of my children – by Az and possibly some other woman. Such a future would only be possible as long as a Gale woman was on the throne, and my 'sacrifice' would double our chances of guaranteeing that. My thought process being that if I didn't step up, then they would have to waste time to search for a suitable substitute; time we didn't have to waste, because from what I have observed, babies operate under the Principle of Contrary. They are easily made when it's the most inconvenient, and most difficult when most wanted. So here I am.

The Queen looked on with a mixture of hope, acceptance, and regret as she officiated. She wore what Azkadellia called her mother's 'brave face.' As this was the expression she wore when in confrontation with the Sorceress, this wasn't all that encouraging. But then again, considering what I knew what my own mother's expression would have been if she was alive to see this, it was far more positive than I could hope for from a mother.

Ahamo gazed at his daughter with deep sadness, and at me with a glower. Azkadellia told me that when they (she and her mother) had informed him of her intention to marry me and why, he had vehemently protested.

I understood. One day I would want my daughter to marry for love, to have what my father has had twice now and what the Queen and Ahamo seem to have. And I would have serious reservations about a man who would accept such a proposal, especially a man in my position. A former resistance leader voluntarily wedding the former Sorceress who was allegedly possessed by an ancient evil witch? Yeah, once this got out, I was going to suffer some serious censure. Azkadellia's father had every right to wonder what my intentions were. (Well, he knew what these were, but to be more accurate, he had to wonder what I hoped to gain from this that would outweigh the disadvantages.)

To be sure, the only completely optimistic and hopeful person there that day had been Ambrose. He was never very clear as to why, but while I may have found his optimism disconcerting, Azkadellia took strength from it – so I didn't really press the issue.

Strangely enough, it was from the Viewer that I derived the most confidence from. His expression was unreadable, but his body language was not emitting any negative vibes. Thus, while I could not convince myself at the moment that this was a good thing or a non-stupid thing that I was doing, I could at least persuade myself that it wasn't a calamitously foolish commitment I was making.

All through the ritual of the signing, DG, like her father, looked at her sister with sadness, but she also gazed at me that way. I didn't need Azkadellia to tell me how her sister had taken the news of our engagement. She had marched right out and told me exactly what she had thought. She had thought Az and I were the perfect pair – a pair of masochists.

"I know why she's doing this. She's doing it out of guilt and because she doesn't think that she's worthy of love and lifetime commitment, which – " she scowled at me, " – she most definitely is."

"And you're doing this because you're a Cain. In the dictionary of idioms, right next the phrase 'glutton for punishment' is yours and your father's picture…"

And so the tirade went… "Neither of you has to do this. I'm perfectly capable and willing to step up to the plate." Arms now waving about in agitation, she continued her rant more to herself than to me, "So becoming preggers would move way up on my to-do list, but it's no big deal. I want to have your father's babies – "

"Prin- DG," I corrected myself upon seeing her scowl deepen at my use of her title. "Your sister wants to be queen one day. I think, she wants to have the future she would have had if not for the Witch. And no ridiculous Assembly ruling is going to deprive her of that."

The truth of what I said had sunken in and stopped her short. Momentarily that is. Eyeing me skeptically, she asked, "And you?"

I flashed her a grin, "Guilty as charged."

After the signing, Azkadellia's expression of resolve and DG's of sadness disappeared and changed into identical looks of 'Oh shit. It actually happened.'

But then DG threw herself at her sister, congratulating her as she practically squeezed the life out of her in a giant hug. Azkadellia threw me a bemused expression, and once again, I came to her rescue, making some inane remark about how I wanted my wife alive and breathing as I jokingly tried to pry the youngest princess off her sister.

That's how I remember that day, by everyone else's reactions. I think, I focused on theirs so that I wouldn't hear my internal monologue, which was telling me to run for my life, for the sake of the freedom of my young bachelor days, the time when I was supposed to be young and carefree and footloose… Ha, what a joke. For when had it ever been that?

For the next few weeks, it was business as usual. I got up in the mornings in my own palace room, in the East Wing, which was not reserved for royal family quarters. I ate a quick breakfast, went to my office, read reports, went to meetings, and so forth. Azkadellia did the same. The only difference was that we now ate dinner together, when there wasn't a state dinner scheduled.

All of this changed, of course, when she – well, when it was time.

~*~OZ~*~

We had decided to begin trying as soon as possible; hence, the private signing ceremony. (The official public one would be done a few months after DG's and my father's wedding in order not to 'steal her thunder' as the youngest princess facetiously put it.)

When Raw – whom we had monitor her rather than the royal physician to maintain our marriage's privacy – had informed Azkadellia that she was nearing her optimum point in her cycle, we left for Finaqua. Azkadellia was supposedly taking a much needed vacation, and I was accompanying her at my father's request so that he could stay and help his bride with their wedding. It still surprises me to this day that anybody fell for that load of hogwash.

Understatement of the annual: the journey out there was one of the most awkward of my life.

We talked of everything but what we should have. DG, the upcoming 'circus' as the bride and groom fondly referred to their own wedding, Lord Ambrose's latest invention idea, our horror stories of tutors and schoolmarms, our failure to find Nikadok's new lab or the man himself are a few of our small talk topics.

After the first dinner at Finaqua however, Azkadellia finally broached the subject by asking, if I wanted to join her in her room or for her to join me in mine. I elected hers. I privately suspected that her bed was bigger than mine.

When I arrived at the room, she was already dressed in a modest cream silk pajama set and sitting in the middle of the bed with her knees drawn up, hugging them to her chest. I myself was wearing my favorite navy flannel bottoms and a plain white tee. As soon as I approached the bed, she laid back and looked at me with trepidation underneath her heavy-lidded eyes.

Seeing her fear of this situation for the first time, somehow gave me the courage that I needed 'to man up' as it were. I strode casually to the bed and plopped down, making myself comfortable and leaning against the headboard. Giving her upper thigh a nudge of a kick, I asked gently, "So, uh, wife of mine, I gotta ask – have you done this before?"

At first, I didn't think she would reply, but then she whispered, her eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, "I don't – not that I can remember."

When I didn't say anything in response, she turned her head to look at me, her dark eyes now wide with confusion. "Sometimes, it became too much and I would…black out, I guess, like when I – she killed my sister or took Ambrose's brain. At other times, like when she sucked out the Mystic Man's soul, I remember … in excruciating detail. But the times when I retreated into oblivion, she always taunted me with her memories of it, so you'd think she would have done the same for something like that."

Nodding my understanding, I mused aloud, "So you've never done this before…"

At her wary expression, as if she was unsure of whether I thought this a good thing or bad, I rushed to reassure, "Oh no, Princess! Don't get me wrong. I'm glad for your sake that she didn't make you – " I broke off to avoid naming the crime, as if by doing so I could make the topic less unpleasant. Instead, I hastened to explain myself, "Well, anyways, I just kind of assumed she had with the way she dressed and all." Diplomat, I am not.

Her lips curled in distaste as she said, "She enjoyed rubbing her power over her men and subjects in their faces; whether it was her position as dictator, magical prowess, or …physical appearance."

I nodded once again, but soon saw that it was a wasted gesture, as she was no longer looking at me. Her gaze had returned to being focused yet unseeing on the ceiling, and she was swallowing nervously. As I watched her, I had the sudden urge to kiss her slender ivory throat. I nearly did. But then I stopped myself. And then I was wondering why I had stopped. We had to start somewhere, somehow.

Praying to whatever deities that would care that this would not be a total disaster, I shifted positions until I was lying right alongside her, propped up on one arm. She was so absorbed in her inner-musings that she didn't notice my actions, so I extended my left hand and waggled my fingers across her rib cage.

In hindsight, that wasn't a very smart move as she was magically gifted and trained to defend herself by Ambrose, but I was fortunate in that all she did was jump and shy away from me as she shot me a baleful look.

"Ticklish much, Princess?" I taunted.

"In a word? Yes," she snorted, before adding, "Prince Consort."

Wrinkling my nose in distaste at the title, I teased with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, saying, "That is quite fantastic, because you see – I am not ticklish at all."

Rising to the bait, she cocked one elegant eyebrow, inquiring in mock challenge, "You aren't, are you?"

And then the tickling war commenced.

At one point, she gained the upper hand and was on top of me, but I soon reclaimed the advantage and had her pinned beneath me. She never did beg for mercy. That could have been because she was out of breath, but it also could have been due to the fact that I seized the moment of her relaxed and unsuspecting state and leaned down to kiss her.

It was a gentle tentative kiss, even shorter in duration than the one we had shared months ago. When I drew back to judge her reaction, she gave a tiny nod of encouragement, so the second (third) kiss, I deepened and explored.

Azkadellia tastes sweet and tart. She smells spicy, heavenly. Her lips and skin are soft as peaches. She flushes pink as a budding rose, and she's as responsive as she is ticklish.

My hands, which had been resting lightly on her rib cage, now slid to her back, drawing her to me, pressing her glorious curves to my chest. Her pliant body eagerly molded to my unyielding one as I gained entrance to her mouth teasingly swirling my tongue around. When I began to withdraw, she mewled in protest and fisted her slender fingers into my long locks, preventing me from escaping her own exploration. She was a quick learner, my new wife.

With a groan of unmitigated pleasure, I rolled us so that I was on my back and Az was draped across me.

We lay like that for quite some time. My hands ran up and down her sides. Hers threaded through my hair. Our tongues tangled and pleasured. Eventually, I did make my way to her ivory throat, peppering it, nibbling it, nuzzling it. My hands brushed and then kneaded her breasts, causing her to gasp in pleasure and to arch into my touch.

When her hands left my hair to fumble at my pants' drawstring, I chuckled lowly, "Not yet, Az. Just because we have to do this, doesn't mean we can't damn well enjoy it."

She nibbled uncertainly at her swollen lower lip, and then went all royal-like, declaring imperially, "Fine. But if I'm going to 'damn well enjoy it', your shirt must come off this instant, Captain Cain."

"As you wish, Princess."

We took our time, learning each other. It was awkward, and we laughed nervously and/or apologetically through most of it. But if judging by her moans and my groans of ecstasy, enjoyment was most definitely had by all.

In the morning, she was still shy and hesitant around me, but the tension was broken.

We spent our days in activities of leisure: boating, horseback riding, maze-wandering (It shuffled anew at her request so that we would be on equal footing), shooting (Azkadellia is quite a good shot for someone who rarely touches a gun), and, of course, reading. Our nights, we spent mixing pleasure with business.

At the end of our idyllic week, I brought up reality.

"So, when we return to the City and the public eye, how are we going to play this out?"

Setting her book down, she looked at me bewildered, "'Play it out?'"

Toeing off my boots after doing a perimeter check, I explained, "Yeah, you know, are we going to go back to how we were – separate bedrooms, your role of princess to my military advisor and subject? Or are we going to be more like now but with less play time and more stress and spying courtier eyes?"

"Oh," she breathed, as she considered my query. Sending a cleaner-Light ball towards my boots with a flick of her forefinger to de-mud them, she finally answered, "I think, separate beds at least until the public ceremony, except for when…" She blushed as she tried to find a delicate euphemism for a less than delicate topic and failed.

"Yes, obviously not when we're…" I smirked, as I began to list off possible terms that she could have used, "Baby-making? Breeding? Copulating? Squelch – "

With another flick of her finger, she sealed my mouth shut, saying dryly, "Yes, that."

It was a testament to how far we'd come that I was not having a fit of panic or rage at her casual use of her magic against me, to silence me. Why didn't I have such a reaction? Well, I was far more preoccupied with the fact that she felt comfortable doing so around me. Except for when she had been de-trapping Nikadok's lab, she had never so blatantly used her magic around me, much less on me. My cynical side said it had more to do with her having her first real break in who knows how long rather than anything to do with our new level of intimacy, but I kind of hoped that it was at least a little of both.

Obviously, unaware of my inner-musings, she continued, after unsealing my mouth, to answer my previous question, "And no, I don't want us to be princess-subject, even if all the gossipmongers and spies are watching my – our every move. I want us to be equals, Jeb."

As this was our last night free from responsibility, I didn't want to spoil it by asking her how she saw this equality playing out in day-to-day life, so I raised my eyebrows questioningly and quipped, "Equals, huh? In that case, I respectfully demand that when we do share a bed that I get my half of the covers."

Her mouth dropped open at my indirect accusation that she was a blanket-hog, but then she snapped it shut before retorting in mock-seriousness, "Fine, but I respectfully request that you wear socks to bed. You have cold feet…Literally, not figuratively."

"Much obliged at the correction," I remarked haughtily, and then with a waggle of my eyebrows, I smirked, "It would be a sad day that after all we've done these past few nights, you thought I had metaphorically cold feet."

Tingeing a slight pink, she murmured, "You're welcome."

And that is how I became not only Azkadellia's lover and spouse, but her partner and acknowledged equal as well.