Rituals of Passion (14 page)

By the time  she was set to meet Dane  and the priest who would perform the marriage rites, she felt entirely out of sorts.  Logic told her she should feel some of the

same emotions she’d experienced up to this  point in time—fear of what was to come  tonight, anger and loathing over being seen as Dane’s property.

But she felt so overwrought that  not even a good case of nerves could be found  inside her as she walked down the hall  and outdoors,  heading for the altar behind

Dane’s flower garden. Instead, all she could  feel was a strange, persistent sort of lust.  Indeed, her body teemed with more blatant  desire and hunger than she’d ever known or even imagined possible.

It all seemed too unreal to be true, and  the most unsettling part was knowing that by all rights the excitement had just begun.  Before the sun came up tomorrow morning, she would marry a man she desired but despised, she would endure the wedding feast, she would play the sacred Maran  tiles and finally learn what  secrets they held, and she would lose her virginity, would know—for good  or ill—what it felt like to have Dane’senormous shaft inside  her body.

* * * * *

68

Rituals of Passion

Dane stood waiting at the altar  in finery  made just for his wedding day.  Pants of fitted black leather hugged his still-rampant erection tight. Above, he’d donned a thin tunic of white silk with long sleeves and an open collar.

“You don’t think the bride has changed her mind?” the priest asked with a smile when the sun behind them began to descend, slowly turning the sky a vibrant pink.

Dane  looked  up  at  the  middle-aged  man  of  religion from beneath shaded lids.  “The

bride doesn’t have a choice.”

“Ah,” the priest said, clearly trying to  hide his dislike for this sort of arranged  marriage.

Dane couldn’t have cared less what the man thought—it  was Dane’s estate, and the  farms thereon fed the nearby villages, keeping  them in work and giving the priest of  Ares a population to serve. Not to mention  that he was paying the priest handsomely for this service.

“Don’t forget to recite the correct ceremony,” Dane reminded him. There were  two—those  for marriages of choice and those for the marriages of the royal and  wealthy, where one party might object but was not to be given any other alternative.

“Don’t worry,” the man replied in a slightly scolding tone, “I know  which words I  am to say.”

When Dane caught sight of Maven approaching through the garden, he felt his cock  grow tighter, even longer. Dear Ares, there was a part of him that  couldn’t fathom the thing
 
getting
 
any harder or longer.

Yet wasn’t this what he’d wanted? To be so big  for her, so lust-filled, that it would

leave no doubt in her mind that she belonged to him in every way?

He smiled to himself as she moved toward  the altar in the golden dress, which  draped her high breasts and revealed the length  of her legs with each step. He couldn’t help remembering that once upon a time, while journeying to get her, he’d thought the  prolonged  excitement would also help him  on his  wedding night, should  he find her…less than arousing. That, however, was not a problem. She was a lovely creature,  lovelier this moment than he’d ever seen her before. He only wished he could yank the bindings from her hair, spread her locks out with his hands. But that would come soon enough. His lust for her was so intense he  could almost taste it on his tongue.

That thought reminded him of
 
her
 
tongue—and of her kiss  on his cock. As she  stepped up to the altar to face him, he looked deep into her eyes, wondering if she’d  gotten the kissing lessons he’d planned for  her, wondering if her cunt had tingled and her heart had raced, wondering if all his schemes of arousal for her over the past couple  of days had indeed left her burning for him  as
 
he
 
now burned for
 
her
. Like him or not, that didn’t matter—so long as she
 
burned
 
for  him.

A long evening lay ahead—first this, the private marriage ceremony, and then the rituals to follow. He was more than ready to  begin, and nodded at the priest to start.

“Dane of Rawley,” the priest said in a grand-sounding voice, “do you willfully wed  this young woman, Maven of Myrtell, daughter of Enrick, the ruler of Caralon? Do you

69

Lacey Alexander

vow to provide for her needs,  to protect  her from harm, and  to  fulfill her physical  desires for all the days  of your life?”

“Yes,” Dane answered, clear and resounding.

“Maven of Myrtell, daughter of Enrick, the Ruler of Caralon, you have been chosen to wed Dane of Rawley, to be his wife, give  him heirs, and do his bidding all the days of your life. By this ceremony, you are bound to him, now  and forever.”

Her face stayed as stony as ever, but to  Dane, it didn’t mar her beauty—he’d grown  used to her scowl, and it only reminded him  that  very  soon  he  would  be  wiping  the distaste from her face and replacing it with ecstasy.

The priest turned back to Dane. “Do you have a gift for your bride?”

In reply, he reached into a pouch at his hip and drew out a specially commissioned choker of black leather, inlaid with rare sparkling gems. Maven gasped when she saw  it, and even  the priest pulled in his breath.

“An exquisite piece,” the man murmured as  Dane moved to stand behind her, tying it snug around her neck.

When he faced her again, the priest addressed her once more. “Do you have a gift for your husband?”

“No,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

Even so, Dane only cast her a wicked, knowing grin. He hoped  she could read hismind—
 
I shall get my gift from you  tonight, between your thighs.

“Very well,” the priest said, sounding a bit  flustered by the lack of a gift. “Then, I suppose that’s everything. You are now wed,” he said, falling back to the traditional ceremony. Then he shifted his gaze to Dane  for the final, union-sealing words. “She is now yours.”

70

Rituals of Passion

Chapter Nine

As soon as the short ceremony ended, Dane  took her hand and led her back towardthe fortress. She knew there was yet a wedding  feast to endure before the Maran game and the wedding night fucking, yet she still  felt like a lamb being led to slaughter. Thechoker he’d given her was the finest piece she’d ever seen—even given her father’s wealth and the luxuries she’d always known—yet  he’d tied it too tight and it felt more to her like a collar than a gift, like a yoke  one might use to harness a beast of burden.

As for Dane  himself—he looked utterly breathtaking in  his wedding clothes,  every bit the confident man of power he was. As  had been the case all day, she felt torn between loathing and desire for him, but desire was winning. In fact, despite all her underlying fears, desire seemed to be consuming her. Beneath her dress, her cunt felt somehow inflated, engorged, the  largest part of her.

Dane pulled her through a different door  than the one she’d exited—it opened directly into a great hall like the one at home, and it was filled with people. “Make way for the master and his bride!” a deep voice yelled from somewhere to her right, and as a path parted for them,  she was stunned to  notice that everyone besides herself and Dane wore little clothing. The men had donned their usual leather pants, but their torsos werebare, most sporting only strips of leather that crossed over one another or which created ladder-like patterns across their chests. The women, too, wore the normal leather and fur garb, but the skirting was hemmed sinfully short, and round, curved breasts werenearly bared, either by low-cut, fitted vests or  scraps of leather tied over the chest. She couldn’t believe the amount of skin revealed in the enormous room.

Dane led her to the center point of a long table that twisted and wound around thehall, the whole length of it heaped with countless roasted birds, sides of beef and lamb, corn and potatoes, sweet cooked apples and peaches, bowls of fruit—including the expensive bananas she knew must be delivered from the south, and every manner of pie and sweetened bread for dessert.

The whole meal went past in a blur as  man after man toasted Dane’s health andprosperity, wishing him a long life with many children, and one  fellow added, “To a prosperous night with his virgin bride as  well!” evoking laughter from the crowd.  Maids moved about, constantly refilling drained wine  goblets and taking away empty wooden platters to replace them with full ones. Maven drank and ate much—all that was set before her—as a means  of distraction from all the attention being heaped onher. She’d have had  to  been blind not  to see the men leering and the women flashingblatant looks of jealousy, and keeping her  hands occupied with food and cup helped her not to notice so much.

71

Lacey Alexander

As the crowd grew drunk on the plum-colored  wine, even more ribald toasts began

to fill the air.

“To Dane’s mighty cock—may it fill the virgin well tonight!”

A bold woman responded with, “And to the virgin’s  cunt—may it open wide for  him!” Again, merry laughter filtered through the room.

“May Dane and his bride wear out the mattress on his bed this night!”

“May her breasts be ripe and her pussy  moist for him!” someone else called.

She couldn’t help thinking  of just how moist her pussy indeed was—and growing  more so with each passing moment. Never had she dreamed she’d feel so sensual, so hungry, on  her wedding night  to Dane the Dreadful, yet her  physical response to everything around her seemed beyond her control. The wine, too, seemed to lull her— much like her bath had earlier—into a place  where there was space  for little else but  desire and pleasure.

Oh certainly, bits of momentary shock  or revulsion still set in at unexpected moments—but those emotions were always short-lived compared to the lust that  seemed to be replacing the blood in her veins.

When finally the platters were all emptied and the food no longer came, the man  who she’d watched fucking outside her window stood up near  Dane, and the gay conversations and laughter around them quieted, indicating that he was a  respected  man, just as Maven had thought.

“As you all know, it is  tradition for  a man’s best friend to  plan  a bit of entertainment for him  at his wedding feast.  When Dane announced to me his plans to

marry the lovely Maven of Myrtell, I began to  ponder on exactly what sort of event I  would provide for us here tonight. I asked  myself, ‘What would the mighty Dane enjoy  most?’” Kells gave a dramatic pause. “Perhaps  a skit performed by  a troupe of traveling  actors?”

“No,” the crowd echoed in unison, booing the suggestion.

Kells lifted one finger  to his bottom lip, as if still considering. “Perhaps a musician of some sort, who might serenade Dane and  his bride with a romantic ballad of  love?”

The crowd hissed and booed its rejection again, the sound echoing down from the ceiling.

“Or perhaps a performer of impossible tricks, someone who might read minds or  make objects disappear before our very eyes?”

Another barrage of protest muddled the air.

Finally Kells smiled. “Then it occurred to  me that there are two things Dane  holds dear in life—battle and women.”

At this, raucous cries and whistles  of approval saturated the great hall.

“And one of these things he will be giving  up with the advent of marriage, yes?”

Maven heard a mixed reaction this time —some yelling approval and  others

objecting.

72

Rituals of Passion

“So for Dane of Rawley on his wedding night, I have  chosen to bring to  him…a  special dance.”

The crowd fell mostly silent then, not quite knowing what to  expect given Kells’  sudden shortness of explanation.

At that moment, a wild drumbeat filled the room and seven dark-haired women

exited the  crowd from all directions to form a circle before Dane and Maven, all  wearing scant silk tops that barely covered  their breasts, and skirts much like Maven’s  own dress—long, with high slits  climbing  each side. The crowd  cheered and clapped when the women began to sway  in rhythm to the drums.

Maven watched as the  women’s easy movements dissolved into  a sensual dance in  which they arched their backs, dropped dramatically to their knees, and began to touch themselves as if lost in excitement, their hands roaming  their breasts, stomachs and  thighs as they moved, appearing lost in  the pulsing music.  Each woman wore a  different color—Maven took in blue, yellow, orange, red—all vibrant hues that drew  every eye to the dancers’ impassioned motions.

When the woman in blue pushed upward to  her feet in the center of the other  dancers, two of them crawled sensually toward her, soon hugging her legs, reaching up to caress her inner thighs. The front of her  thin, silken skirt dropped between her legs and Maven could make out the imprint of her mound beneath.

She wanted to look away, wanted to at  least take in Dane’s reaction to the provocative dance Kells had arranged, but she felt as lost in lust as the dancers appeared, unable to tear her eyes from their seductive moves.