I bite back my sigh. I will talk to the staff tomorrow since they are my responsibility now. Though, there is nothing to say that I have to run things as my mother does. I could choose a longer rein. That thought feels delightfully rebellious. It leaves a warm feeling in my belly.
But I need to put it aside. I have a long formal dinner to concentrate on. It is time to put on my most pleasant smile and pick daintily at my food. Good vessels do not stuff themselves and get all bloated.
Several small conversations begin, and the room is filled with the pleasant background hum of people talking. Felford starts conversing with one of his parents’ work colleagues and I’m left alone with my food. And my thoughts.
Any appetite I had flees. My thoughts are fixating on tonight and I cannot pull them away. Cold sweat starts to trickle down my back. I’m being ridiculous.
Felford and I have conducted our engagement impeccably. He sent me a true phallus, and at the allotted and proper time, I used it. Proving to us both that I can take him.
He has felt me and I have felt him. Tonight is simply a formality. Yes, doing the deed for real will release my magic, but physically, practically, it should be no different than taking a dildo. A dildo proportioned to his exact measurements and magically connected to him.
Hastily, I reach for my glass of water. I can feel my treacherous cheeks heating and I cannot sit here blushing for no appreciable reason. I’ll look like a crazy person.
I need to think about something else. Anything else. My old uncle is talking about tax reforms. I’ll eavesdrop on that conversation. That will do.
It works for a little while, but then the butler slips a steaming cup of tea by my elbow and my heart goes crazy. Wedding night tea for a vessel. The smell of valerian root itches at my nose. Herbs that will relax me. Sedate me. Make me more willing to surrender my magic. Herbs that will act as an aphrodisiac.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Felford being served his tea. Tea for a husband. Herbs that will help him to perform.
I pick up my cup with shaking hands and gulp the hot tea down. I’m going to need all the help I can get.
Chapter three
Lucien
It is here. It is finally here. My wedding night. And I suspect it is more than the tea that is making me feel dizzy.
This bedchamber is gorgeous. All rich dark colors and a mahogany four poster bed that is definitely big enough for two people.
I gulp and tear my eyes away from the mass of Egyptian cotton sheets and plump pillows.
A fire is burning merrily away in the large fireplace. The turquoise and green tiles are pretty. All in all, it is a lovely room. And it is mine now. My new bedchamber. In my new rooms. In my new home.
My gaze flicks to the fairly well disguised door by the head of the bed. My old rooms never had one of those. A door that my husband could let himself in through at any time.
My lungs constrict, and I rub at my chest through the thin cotton of my receiving gown. There is no need to panic. Felford doesn’t seem like a letch. He doesn’t even like me. I’m quite sure he won’t be letting himself in very often. Probably only when I’m ripe with magic and it is absolutely necessary.
As for me boldly using that door to stride into his bedchamber? Never going to happen. I know my place. I’ve learned it well. I’m not like some of these progressive vessels who throw tradition to the wind.
Perhaps Felford would like me more if I were? By all accounts, he is fairly progressive himself and considers himself a modern man. Maybe this is where I am going wrong?
A heavy sigh escapes me. I am my parents’ child. A product of their upbringing and training. Nothing more than the tool they have shaped me into. I can’t escape that. Cannot rewrite myself. As much as I might wish to.
A door shuts softly behind me. I whirl around to face it. Far too fast. Now I can’t see a thing for how much my head is spinning. As my vision clears, I see Felford standing before me. He let himself in through the main door. Now his dark eyes are raking over me, drinking me in. The thin cotton of my receiving gown doesn’t hide much at all. My arms move to cover myself from his gaze. I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to allow him to see anything that he wishes to.
He doesn’t berate me. He simply continues to stare. My gaze drops down to his wedding night clothes. Thin linen. Easy to remove. It shows the contours of his body far more than the suits I have always seen him in.
I swallow. He is a good-looking man. Well built. In his prime. Only a couple of years older than me. This all could be so very different. If we weren’t both constrained by duty and magic. If he liked me.
Though judging by the fire in his eyes, he likes my body well enough. That’s something. A good start, at least. Unless it is merely an effect of the Husband’s Tea. Perhaps his preference is for women, and that’s why he is so annoyed to have been given me?
No. I don’t think that’s true. A thousand dances, a hundred dinners. We move in the same social circles. We’ve been at the same events countless of times. I’ve seen where his eyes rove. They look at me. And others. But as much as that twists my heart with jealousy, the others who have caught his eye, have all been men. I have nothing to worry about on that regard.
Suddenly, my mind splutters and begins to function. I’m not supposed to be standing here silently ogling at him. There are words I need to say.
“How may I please you, my lord husband?”
My voice doesn’t tremble. I sound calm. Assured. I’m finally glad my trainer made me practice those words a million times.
Felford raises one dark eyebrow. His expression drips with mockery and disdain.
“Such a perfect little vessel,” he sneers, slurring the words slightly.
He is drunk. Or has drunk too much tea. Possibly both. My stomach twists into a knot.
“How about the rutting stool, since I paid so much goddam money for it?” he snipes.
My gaze flicks to the red velvet monstrosity looming in the shadowy corner. It is an instrument of tradition. Of ceremony. A wedding gift to demonstrate the mage’s wealth. Nobody ever uses them anymore.
I look back at his dark eyes. Oh. He is serious. He wishes to belittle and humiliate me. Seems I have vastly underestimated his hatred of me.
“As you wish, my lord husband,” I say with my head held high.
I turn and make my way as gracefully as I can to the rutting stool. I place my knees in the slots and bend over the padded top. I can only hope the craftsmen did their job correctly and measured Felford and I properly, and I am now at the perfect height and angle to receive my husband while he stands behind me.
Felford looks surprised for a moment before quickly striding over to me. I drop my gaze. He takes his place. My receiving gown has parted, revealing all of me, as it is designed to do.
I take a deep breath and concentrate on not squirming. My trainer had me resume this, and similar positions many times. I’m used to my naked ass being on display, while exhibiting the end of a butt plug. There is no need to get hysterical about it.
