A Rational Arrangement, page 57
“We do.” The two spoke together from the east edge of the circle, Lady Striker’s voice wavery as she dabbed at her eyes.
“Mr. Ethan Vasilver, Mrs. Madeleine Ethan Vasilver: do you give your consent to this marriage?”
“We do,” Wisteria’s parents echoed. This portion was traditional rather than legal: parental consent was required where inheritance and parental property were concerned, but marriage itself only required a titled officiant (or one’s designated gentleborn representative) and the consent of the two people marrying.
“Lord Nikola. Miss Vasilver. You have the blessing of the Savior, the permission of your liege, the support of your families, and the goodwill of your nation in entering this union. In the years to come, you will find yourself relying on all of these things. Depend on the Savior most of all, my dears; he’s the most reliable of the lot of us,” Queen Felicia said to them, as smiles broke out across the crowd. “But you are in this circle alone because the ultimate success of your marriage rests upon you. The Savior and all of us wish for a more perfect Paradise for you, but it lies in your hands to build it. Conflicts in daily life are inevitable: it falls to you to resolve them with compassion, patience, and trust. You will know hardships, sickness, and suffering in your life together: it falls to you to share these burdens, to do what you may without resentment, to accept what is given to you with grace. It falls to you, Lord Nikola, to lead your wife wisely, to ensure the prosperity and honor of your holdings. It falls to you, Miss Vasilver, to obey your husband in all things, to nurture your household and your family with love and honor.
“Lord Nikola. Please rise,” the queen continued. Nikola stood, opening the velvet box in his hands as she continued, “Will you pledge yourself to Miss Vasilver?”
“With all my heart.” Nikola smiled, radiant, unreserved, as he turned to his bride. He took the gold, diamond-studded tiara of the Countess of Anverlee from the velvet box. It was customary for a groom to shower his bride with jewels at the wedding, as a show of his ability to provide for his new family. For a count’s heir, this was a traditional choice, even though as part of the county entailment it would not fall to Wisteria’s hands until the current Count of Anverlee passed on. Nikola placed it on her brow just the same. “My lady, I pledge my life to you, to honor and guide you, to cherish and protect you, to be true to you always, through all our days together.” He held out his hands to her.
Queen Felicia turned to Wisteria. “Miss Vasilver. Please rise. Will you pledge yourself to Lord Nikola?”
Wisteria took his hands and rose. “With all my heart.” Her expression was grave and calm even now, but her voice projected to the top of the temple as she continued, “My lord, I pledge my life to you, to honor and obey you, to nurture our family, to be true to you always, through all our days together.”
The queen lay her own hands over their joined ones. “And so let you be as one, and let nothing sunder you apart.” The orchestra swelled again as Queen Felicia stepped back and Nikola took Wisteria in his arms to kiss her. The crowd in the upper tiers cheered, greatcats roaring their approval, while the more dignified guests confined themselves to applause.
Justin joined in the applause, blinking hard and biting the inside of his cheek to avoid weeping openly.
The wedding banquet had been delightful. Wisteria was glad that Nikola had reconciled with Lord Comfrey, because the viscount was the most charming part of it. She could barely recall the food, but she could remember his smile and kind words as he toasted them.
Her majesty had generously offered the Vasilvers use of the Dragongate Palace in Viant for the wedding reception. When dinner adjourned in favor of dancing, the affair began to remind her of the Ascension Ball. The Dragongate ballroom was akin to Dawnfell’s only in opulence: the floor at Dragongate was of tiny fitted marble tiles in an intricate pattern that made it look as if one was walking on ocean waves, and there was no balcony from which to watch the dance. But the dancing and music were similar, and as she stood up in a set with her husband (my husband!) and Lord Comfrey and Lord Comfrey’s sister and four other guests, the sense of deja vu was uncomfortably intense. At least Wisteria had been allowed to detach her gown’s trailing cape for the dancing; having two children following her every motion had been an odd experience.
When the pattern of the dance put her and Lord Comfrey together for several turns, he opened conversation with a smile. “You must tell me how happy you are, my dear. I hope the wedding has matched expectation?”
“Oh, Lord Comfrey, I am happier than I ever have been before. Terrifyingly so.”
“Terrifyingly?”
“Yes. I feel like a fairy-tale princess and part of me in convinced something awful must be about to happen. A demon-prince come to curse my husband, perhaps. Or worse. If a messenger comes to tell Lord Nikola that some petitioner needs his attention urgently, I do not think my reaction will be rational.”
“Now, my dear. If you tackle Lord Nikola to the floor and forbid him to leave your sight, I will vouch for it being the sole reasonable course. I will assist you, in fact.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am so very glad you understand.” Wisteria squeezed his fingers when their hands touched in the dance, before the next moves split them to new partners.
After two dances, no demon-prince had arrived at the party to curse them, and no messenger to summon Nikola away. Wisteria was increasingly anxious to escape any possibility of such. Also, she had been legally allowed to be intimate with her husband for nearly six hours now and that she had been allowed no opportunity to take advantage of this Most Important Fact was plain cruel. At her request, they took a break from dancing to take some air: it had been a warm day for early summer, and the ballroom was overheated.
It took half an hour to make their way out of the ballroom, as it seemed every guest not among the dancers wanted to stop them to wish them well and exchange a few sentences. It was like a miniature version of the endless receiving line after the wedding.
Wisteria had thought it would be safe outside, but it was worse: a good third of their guests had also taken to the palace gardens in pursuit of cooler air, and all of them also wanted to offer their congratulations and marital advice. Often, Wisteria would find herself steered aside, or Nikola “borrowed” from her arm for a few minutes, so that some relation or acquaintance might offer advice. Much of the advice was perplexing if not disturbing in nature.
When she had finally managed to reclaim her husband’s arm and they had escaped to an unobserved bower, Nikola breathed an enormous sigh. He peeked around the corner of the vine-covered trellis that sheltered them from view, then ducked behind it again to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. After a few moments, he drew back laughing, whirled her about and embraced her again. Wisteria clung to his neck, suffused with delight. “My wife,” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes, my husband?” she replied, just to say the words.
“Are you quite sure you made the right choice, marrying such a great fool as me?”
“Very sure. But what is your folly, my lord?”
“You will never credit it, it is so preposterous.”
“Oh, try me, my very dear husband. I have lived two years in Southern Vandu; my standards of unbelievable are high.”
“Well, there was a time – now, you must trust me on this, I know it sounds absurd – but there was a time when I thought I did not wish to marry you.”
“I am glad to hear that is so,” Wisteria said gravely.
Nikola blinked at her. “…you are?”
“I should hate to think you had lied to me, those months ago, when you said you were uninterested in marriage at the present time.”
“Oh! Yes. Still, it was exceedingly foolish on my part. I cannot imagine what I was thinking.” He pressed her back against the trellis to kiss her neck, one hand stroking down her side and the other around her waist. A few too-short minutes passed before he murmured, “I suppose we ought to get back to our party.”
“Must we?” Wisteria had unbuttoned his wedding jacket to slide her hands beneath it. It is much too warm for all these clothes. “I was hoping you knew some private room in this palace too, where we might be undisturbed.”
Her golden-haired lord chuckled. “I do not, my lady. But if you wish to retire early—”
“I do. Now. Six hours ago. This wedding celebration is ill-timed, I tell you, and not at all the way I would like to be celebrating my wedding.” She caressed his chest through the thin shirt, fingers tracing the lines of pectoral muscles, finding the nipples and lingering over them as he gasped.
Nikola wriggled in the most intriguing fashion, then seized one of her hands to kiss her palm. “Then let it be as you wish.” He stepped back, reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket, and with a flourish produced a whistle. As she tilted her head at him, he blew on it, producing no sound she could hear.
“But what do you want a greatcat for?” Wisteria asked. Nik signaled her to wait with one raised hand.
There was a thump above and to one side of them, and she looked up to see Fel Fireholt perched on the stone wall at the rear of the bower. “Don’t tell me you need rescuing from her, Lord Nik?”
“No, we need rescuing from this party. Will you get us out of here?”
The huge black feline rumbled a chuckle and dropped into a crouch in the bower beside them. “You got it, m’lord.”
The warcat was still in the regalia he’d worn at the ceremony, but had removed the riding seat. Nikola lifted Wisteria to sit sideways on Fel Fireholt’s back, the full skirt of her dress belling against his side. Lord Nikola swung up behind her and snuggled her to his chest. “Carefully now, Anthser; Mrs. Striker cannot get a good seat in this dress.”
“Yessir.” Fel Fireholt padded down the garden path with even, decorous strides. The guests who saw them leaving smiled and waved; Nikola returned the smiles and Wisteria waved, leaning against her husband for support she didn’t need as he held her for balance she also didn’t need. But it made a delightful excuse.
They had taken temporary lodgings in a charming inn overlooking the river, a mile or so from the palace. Even at an easy pace, it didn’t take long for the greatcat to carry them to it. The inn was a modern new building, with vaulted ceilings and vast doors and passageways large enough not only to accommodate a greatcat, but to accommodate one bearing riders. The inn’s doorman opened the double doors for them and stood aside as Fel Fireholt carried them in and padded up four flights of stairs to the royal suite, where another footman opened the doors. Fel Fireholt crouched in the sitting room. Nikola dismounted and lifted Wisteria off. “Thank you, Anthser. You may go.” The dark-furred warcat bowed and withdrew.
Nik watched the greatcat go, glad but also strangely nervous to be alone with his wife. “Do you – would you like me to ring for a maid to help you change?” he started to ask, turning back to her.
Wisteria’s hands were already moving to undo his neckcloth. “No. Well, if you think it best. But…forgive my naivete, my lord, but need I change? I hope undressing is the next step.” She did not look at his face, eyes level with his neck as she pulled the last knot free and slid the cloth down one side. “But I do not wish to dress again immediately afterwards. If that is acceptable? You are my husband, I thought it would be permissible…” Her fingers undid the top button of his shirt, paused at the second.
Nik closed his eyes against a surge of desire. “If it is not, no one ever told me either.” Her fingers unfastened the next button as he shrugged out of his gold-laced jacket and tossed it on a chair. He’d already made a study of her quite beautiful wedding attire and set to unlacing its sides. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it apart to kiss his bare skin, eager fingers caressing, twining through curly chest hairs, pausing only to let him pull the overdress off over her head.
He caught her hands as she started to push his shirt off his shoulders. Nik took a deep breath, kissing her fingertips. “A moment, my lady, before I lose all capacity for rational thought. I know you want a family, but did you wish to…er…start on that immediately?”
Wisteria glanced at her hands in his. “Yes, my lord? Isn’t that why we escaped the party?”
“Yes, but – if you only want to gratify desire, there are ways to do that without, well…and I do have a preventative I could wear…”
“Oh! I see. If you do not wish to start trying at once, I am willing to wait on that, my lord. But I am very happy to start today. Now.” She leaned in to nuzzle his shirt aside and kiss his shoulder.
Nik smiled, releasing her hands and helping her remove his shirt. “As am I, my lady.”
He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Wisteria clung with her arms about his shoulders, kissing and nuzzling at his neck. He laid her down in the center of the bed, admiring the sweep of the white lace and satin underdress around her. “Now, how do I get you out of this…” He knelt over her, knees to either side of her waist, and started unfastening the tiny buttons that ran down her front. A delicious sense of wickedness filled him despite the licit nature of this assignation. His father had given him the traditional uncomfortable pre-wedding lecture on the subject of marital relations. Lord Striker knew better than to imagine his son a virgin, but he did go on at length about not “treating your wife like one of your whores”. His general theme was that a gentleborn maiden would be shy, frightened, and unencouraging, and the best course was to get it over with as quickly as possible instead of forcing further unwanted attentions upon her. Nikola had nodded his way through the interview without the slightest intention of heeding any word of it.
Wisteria caressed his arms as he worked, then reached to her head to pull out the comb and pins in it, freeing her dark curls to spill over the pillows. Her hips wriggled underneath him in the most enticing and distracting manner. Nikola spread the halves of the top of her gown apart, to reveal the bodice below. “You,” he growled, “are wearing far too much clothing.”
Wisteria was unlacing the front of his breeches. “I could not agree more – oh—” her hands stopped as Nik cupped her small breasts through the thin fabric, thumbs stroking stiffening nipples “—that feels so wonderful, my lord.” Nik smiled and shifted to lie half beside her, mouthing one nipple through the cloth while his other hand undid the front hooks of the underbodice. When it was open to the waist, he pushed it aside to kiss bare skin. Her face might be hard to read but her body’s response was unmistakable, spine arching to press soft, yielding flesh against his lips, her hand circling behind him to cradle his head closer. “Please don’t stop, I love that.” Her fingers fumbled at the barrette holding his hair back, unclasping it to let it stream around his face.
“But what about the other one? I don’t want it to be jealous,” he teased, moving to nuzzle and nip at her other breast while she squirmed under him. Nik slid his hand beneath her dress and underclothes, fingers exploring the smooth skin of her stomach, gliding lower to find the curly hairs of her vulva, some already slick in evidence of desire. He probed between the lower lips, rewarded by the tilt and arch of her hips to meet his fingers as he explored the slick nub of her clitoris with his thumb, index finger slipping gradually inside her. Her hymen would have been removed by the Blessed who inspected her prior to the wedding and who had attested to her health, fertility, and virginity. The last was a mere formality: Nik knew perfectly well that there was scarcely a Blessed in Newlant who’d embarrass a bride with a contrary announcement, not even ones actually pregnant.
She clutched at his head, fingers twining in his hair as she writhed against his hand. “Oh, Nikola, that’s amazing, why is it so much better when you do it?”
Nik blinked, lifting his head. “When I do it?”
“Than when I do it to myself. Oh, I am not supposed to talk about that. Please continue?”
He laughed quietly. “Now I want to see you do it to yourself.” He moved his fingers again, sliding in middle next to index, stroking rhythmically as she pushed instinctively into him. “May I do such inappropriate things with you, my love?”
She took a moment to answer, her breathing uneven. “I am advised to submit to my husband in all things,” she said, “and that sounds like a delightful way to start doing so.”
Nik laughed again, and licked her nipple. “Well, don’t submit to me if you don’t enjoy it. But if you’ll give things a try on those grounds, well enough.” He extracted his hand and wiped it on the bedclothes, then helped her out of the sleeves of the underdress. She sat up to help him get it off of her, squirming to escape her remaining clothing afterwards. Her nude form took his breath away, slender, with curves slight but graceful, breasts small and high, deliciously soft to touch. With her clothes out of the way, Wisteria was determined to do the same for him, which was only fair. She was as fascinated by his body as he by hers, and fearless in touching him. She caught him off-guard by stroking her fingers over his erection almost as soon as his breeches were off. He gasped in pleasure, closing his eyes.
“Is it all right if I do this?” She trailed her fingers down to cup his balls experimentally.
“It is much better than all right.” Then she wanted to know what would feel particularly nice, and they lay down together while he did his best to explain and demonstrate. It still felt bizarre to explain – no one had ever asked him before, especially not in such detail. Justin had always had a knack for reading Nik’s body language and knowing what he wanted. But during the months of the betrothal, when he and Wisteria would kiss and cuddle during the occasional time alone, she had often requested instruction upon his tastes, and he had come to have considerable appreciation for the results.
