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CHAPTER ONE

"Mother."

"I'm sorry."

The older Kepner seems saddened, almost sorrowful by her daughter's upcoming nuptials. She knows that it was her own fault, hers and her husband's, but they had failed to see another choice.

They needed the allegiance, and the support of the other House. And if marrying their only remaining daughter was the only way to do that, then so be it.

"My sweet child." She strokes her daughter's hair gently, running her palm over the soft curls and closing her eyes. She takes in the moment, savours in the young woman's smell and innocence.

As much as a part of her regrets the decision, the deal, she knows that there was no other way. They needed this, had almost begged for it, but in return they'd have to lose a child, have to send her away and hear of her making new life with a stranger.

Though, was he really such a stranger? He was known, and his father ruled the land so he definitely wasn't some unknown wanderer from down in The Fall.

"Do not call me that." The younger woman sighs, pulling her mother's hand from her hair and backing away.

April Kepner was still young, untouched, unlooked at. She was only eighteen years of age, only eighteen years of inexperience in a human body. She wasn't ready for this, despite the months, years even, of preparing. She knew the day would come.

The day she would leave, be shipped away, be dragged far unwillingly to marry a man and carry his child, his heir, though he was only an heir himself.

"You lost the right to call me that when you signed me away."

"April, we've done this for you."

The red haired girl rolls her eyes, clasping her hands in her lap and eyeing the older woman carefully. She chews on her lip and stares blankly ahead, "Which part of this was for my benefit? The part where I marry a man I've never met, or the part where I lay down and let him use me as a bed?" She raises a brow when her mother swallows a breath, obviously perturbed by the image of her youngest daughter vulnerable.

"Your father did-"

"My father did this for himself." April corrects before she can start, standing up from her stool and patting down her ling dress. She stares at the deep ivory colour, hands carefully wrapping around the material lying around her hips. "He did this for himself, and for you, and for the Averys. He did not do this for me. No part of this is for my benefit, so do not tell me that it was."

She blinks, hazel eyes briefly shutting and gulping, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a marriage to get through. And you're more than welcome to attend."

They're married sometime in the late afternoon.

The sky is growing dark, the birds have gone away and the only thing left is them, and guests, and wine. Lots of wine. And she will be needing a lot of it.

"Lord Avery." She tries.

"I have a name, you know." He points out.

Her new husband is surprisingly decent, but she's not sure if his manners and kindness are just an act he's putting on to keep up appearances.

He's handsome, even a fool could see that much, but his attractiveness is more boyishly pretty than a masculine grace. His stare is strong, his green eyes sharp like a viper's, and he speaks in such a low and deep voice that she almost fails to hear him. He talks with something she can't quite out her finger on, not a stutter and not a lisp, but it draws her in and she's curious.

"Would you like me to call you by your name?" She crosses her legs the best she can beneath the table with the heavy dress weighing her down. Her small hands fondle her wine glass, watching as the liquids swirls and her lips moisten at the sight.

"Since we're now married, I would think that would be a good place to start." He suggests and for a second she forgets his name, his ranking.

"Jackson."

"There you have it." He smirks softly, the corners of his lips turning up and he glances at her from the corner of his eye.

Her breath pauses, hand tightening around the cup in her palm when he looks at her. She isn't entirely sure how someone can convey so much emotion in one look. He was amused, at her, with her. But she's still not sure if he's toying with her or if his sentiments are real. Is he truly this light-hearted, or will his demeanour change once he gets her alone and out of the public's gaze?

"And do you know my name?"

"Do I have to?" He turns to face her then, fully and attentively,hand reaching across the dinner table to grasp hers, "You're my wife. Do you need a name?"

April stares, at him and his hand wrapped tightly around her own, "I may be your wife, but I still demand respect. So, yes. I need a name, and I have a name. My name-"

"April." He interrupts, looking away from her and dropping her hand back onto the wooden table. He licks his lips before he softly grins, "I know your name, you fool. I did marry you after all."

"I'm not a fool." She challenges, a clear frown on her face and her grip around the wine glass tightens.

"You accepted this marriage without ever meeting me. You must be a fool."

"How terrible are you?" She's curious, desperate to know almost. Was he short-tempered, easily irritable? Or was he rude, and disgusting? Did he have a reputation of treating women badly? Did he have secret fetishes? Just what was he expecting from her exactly?

"Isn't that up to you to decide?" He's going to irritate her, and play with her, and toy with her nerves and emotions. She can already feel it, she knows it. He's going to destroy her.

However, before she can respond, there is already a man standing tall at the other end of the hall, goblet in hand proud smile on his old face.

"It is time for the bedding!"

"No." She mumbles under her breath, eyes closing and knuckles turning white.

For a moment, she had forgotten where she was and what was now expected of her.

She had made peace with the fact that she'd have to part her legs and let her husband discover her. But she had made no such promise about letting their families watch him do it.

"No?"

She turns at the sound of her husband's voice (and she is still finding it quite strange to refer to him as such given her very basic knowledge of the man). He's midly smirking again, standing up from his seat and folding his hands together in front of him. He stares down at her, as though he's truly amused by her expression.

"No." She repeats, eyes staring into his with a frown and lick of her lips.

She's grounded and she knows what she wants. But, on the other hand, she's also vulnerable and precious and innocent and she's not ready for an audience to watch her undress and writhe. She's not completely comfortable with herself, in her skin, with her looks, and she becomes timidly bashful under certain conditions.

"I have agreed to marry you. And I have agreed to become your wife, and your future Queen. I have taken a vow, a promise, to keep you satisfied, to please you. To let you watch me. But I am not- I cannot- Please." Her voice almost breaks. Her tongue dries and she looks down, red hair cradling her face as she stares at the floor, admiring the gentle curved patterns. "Please." She whispers, guard breaking and letting him see her true colours.

She's not hard, and she's not strong. She's a young woman with a heart of gold and an innocence that's soon going to break. She's fragile.

"There will be no bedding."

She thankfully sighs at his words, letting her head drop in relief and biting on her lip. At least she owes him that much.

"But, My Lord-"

He groans loudly then, dropping the palms of his hands against the table and sending the older man his deadliest stare, eyes sharp and face blank, "There will be none."

"But it is a tradition, My Lord, that the wedded couple consummate their vows in front of the guests. It is the only way of knowing whether the bride was truly pure."

"Well, traditions change." Jackson argues, eyes blinking rapidly as he stares the man down. "Do they not?" He raises a brow and April almost has to laugh at his look.

She feels slightly sorry for the elder man, though her face remains expression-less as she stands to join her betrothed.

The role of wife is hers now, and she has to begin sooner rather than later. She may not know him that well, or love him at all, or even want to for that matter, but she is his wife now, his Queen, so she has to start acting it.

She leaves her goblet of wine down on the wooden table and reaches for his hand, this time wrapping her own palm around his hard knuckles. Her fingers caress his skin and she licks her lips, eyes flickering up to meet his as he turns to face her with a confused frown. She's moderately confused herself by her actions, unsure why she was suddenly so eager to touch him or be by his side.

Maybe it was because he was defending her and, in a twisted way, guarding her honour. Or perhaps it was because she had just pledged to pleasure him and he didn't want the people of his court to see such an intimate moment.

"Will you join me now?" She knows what she's asking of him, what she's asking of herself. But it was the only thing to get them out of there.

He takes her hand without a second thought, and she finds herself following after him rather than the other way around.

She's just grateful that she won't be forced under the gaze of a dozen people waiting for her to bleed.

"Do you need a hand, My Lady?"

She shakes her head, back still when he touches her ivory dress, his flesh not even meeting her skin and she shivers. Whether it was out of fear or comfort, she fails to know.

"I'm fine."

April tenses, hands holding up the front of her dress as she keeps her back turned to him, feeling his heavy gaze relying on her body. She blinks and gently chews on her bottom lip as she lets her dress fall, hands dropping to her sides unsurely.

"I believe you're staring, My Lord."

She hears him laugh, and her teeth dig deeper into her lip when she feels his hands grasp her waist. "Did you expect me not to?" He asks her, his low voice echoing against her skin as he leans down to kiss her flesh, lips pressed against the base of her neck.

She sighs, though it's more of a shaky breath, and she lets her eyes drift shut.

"Are you cold?" He runs his hands down her arms, feeling her small goosebumps beneath his fingertips. He grasps her hands and threads his fingers through her own, resting them against her abdomen.

April loosens her shoulders, glancing down at their hands against the cloth of small gown. "No."

"Then why are you shivering?"

She shrugs lightly, lower lip trembling and eyes closing as he moves a hand up her chest, grazing the middle of her breasts. "You have many questions, it seems."

Jackson softly laughs, lifting his hand to cradle her neck, thumb tracing over her carotid, "And yet, you don't give me many answers." He tells her, as though he was pointing it out and she was not already aware of her occasional shyness.

She's not sure how she feels about this, about his power, about him standing behind her and pressing himself into her gently. He isn't doing anything she wouldn't have expected, and so far he had kept his hands to himself extremely well.

His hand turns her neck so she faces him from the side, lips parted and breath uneven. He runs his thumb along her jaw, leaning forward and coaxing her mouth open with his own, slipping his tongue past her teeth with need. She moans quietly, fingers running over his hand and tugging him closer by the arm. She lets him discover her mouth, allows him to steal her breath. She goes to turn, to make this easier for them both, until he grasps her hips roughly and holds her to him, back pressed against his chest.

He draws his mouth away from hers and rests his forehead down on her shoulder, "Will I be the first?"

She gingerly tilts her head back against his own shoulder, shivering once again when he cradles her neck. He seems to have some soft of fascination with it, she thinks. "The first to what?"

"To fuck you." She can feel his smirk against her skin, and she closes her eyes with a deep sigh.

She has never been a fan of men talking like that, crude and vulgar, like they have no respect for women. But somehow, the way he says it and the way he stares at her, make her believe he's different. His eyes make her think that he won't treat her like a rag doll, like one of the whores that she so desperately prayed to not end up like.

"Yes."

He moves his hand from her neck to one of the straps of her gown, fingering the material before he tugs it down her arm loosely. "I'm glad."

Maybe he's more proud than she had originally thought. Maybe he has more respect for her, for women. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad.

He pulls down the other strap and lets the garment fall down her body, pooling around her feet as she looks down at it. He holds her neck again, pulling her back against him and tilting her head back, voice low against her ear, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Does she have another choice? A way out of it?

He can't be so terrible.

"Yes."

Before she can react, his hand that rested against her stomach slips lower, fingers rubbing her center and she jumps softly when she feels a shooting sensation curse up her spine.

He chuckles at her reaction, pressing his lips to her shoulders as she shifts, legs parting and faintly crying when he slips a finger inside of her. Her muscles tighten and she feels her back arch away from him, hands gripping his arms for support as he works her body into a climax.

It takes her a while, though probably shorter than he would have liked, for her to soak.

His teeth graze the skin of her shoulder, tongue tracing her flesh like an animal and nibbling, softly pecking, at her.

She feels her hips move, convulse, involuntarily and out of her control, as he finishes touching her, softly pinching and toying with her bundle of nerves.

"My Lord."

He isn't sure if she is calling out to him or crying in pleasure, but he smirks despite his sweet confusion and roughly pulls her backwards against his body, pressing his engorged self against her bottom.

"Can you feel that?" He takes her hand as she continues to writhe and ache under his fingers. He brings her hand around her waist to push and feel the swollen mound of his pants, her fingers curling around him over the light cloth.

She goes to move, to return the favour, feeling herself come down, until he stops her, hand wrapped around her wrist.

April licks her lips, turning to face him, only now realizing her full state of undress. She grins, gripping him tighter in her fist and biting down on her lip as she stares at his lips. She pushes into him, lifting her right leg up to his side when he grasps the back of her knee and pulls her closer to him. He stares at her lips, though his green eyes flicker from her mouth to her bare breasts.

She notices his staring and parts her lips, softly curling them into a wicked grin as she tilts her head back to look up at him properly, "Where do you want to put it?"

It comes out as a whisper from past her lips and he smiles, brushing her hair behind her ears as he licks his own lips.

"You need to rest."

He's done something to her. She has snapped, broken. Her back aches and her teeth clack and she craves it, him. Is it possible to crave something you've never had?

Jackson backs her up toward the bed in the room, pushing on her shoulders gently so she falls against the mattress. She leans back on her elbows, "I thought you were going to fuck me?"

"Tomorrow." He promises, surprised yet glad of her sudden awakening. She's proving to not be as boring as he had first thought. "I will destroy you."