Rituals of Passion (Brides of Caralon, Book One)

by Alexander, Lacey

  “Oh Ares, please,” she murmured. Please what? She didn’t even know what she sought, only that the answer seemed to lurk just beyond her reach.

  The door opened.

  Maven shrieked lightly and withdrew her hands from her body as her mother entered the room in a long, flowing sleeping gown of sky blue. “I startled you so?” the beautiful raven-haired woman asked with her usual warm smile.

  For some reason, Maven felt she’d been caught at something she preferred to keep private. She didn’t understand the inclination, but neither did she bother examining it. “I’m simply feeling…uneasy,” she mumbled, easing her hands from under the covers.

  Her mother, Jalal, sat on the fur- and silk-covered bed next to her. “Uneasy, daughter? About what?”

  Maven took a deep breath and confessed. “I suppose I’m growing ever more curious about the marriage rituals. Other girls seem to know all there is to know about women and men, together. Yet Teesia, Laela, and I are kept ignorant of it all.”

  Her mother bestowed a kind, knowing chuckle. “You must remember, I was once a royal daughter too.” Jalal was the daughter of Osren of Myrtell. It was known far and wide that she’d left her father’s small domain to marry Enrick the Attacker, now Enrick, Ruler of all Caralon.

  “So you, too, were as mystified and curious as I?”

  Her mother nodded. “I know it’s infuriating, not yet having the answers you desire, but such is the cost of being a ruler’s daughter.”

  “I scarcely know if it’s worth it,” she fumed, her frustration made worse by the roaring hum of her body, left hanging in that same maddening place as every other time she’d attempted to alleviate the ache.

  Jalal tilted her head and looked as wise as Maven knew her mother was. “You live a life of ease compared to others, my daughter. You shouldn’t take that for granted.”

  “Yet I have no choice of who my husband shall be, I am bartered like a common goat or chicken, and I am given over to a man without a clue of how to be a wife.”

  Her mother’s calm smile remained in place as she reached out to stroke Maven’s hair. “You are your father’s daughter,” she said. “Strong, determined, with a will fit for battle.”

  “But I am a woman. What good does such strength do me?”

  “Your father will not marry you to just any man, Maven. He makes such a choice with the greatest care. You may not like your inability to choose your own husband, but it’s our way, a way that has worked for centuries. Your strength will carry you through the uncertainty, and later it will perhaps lift you to your husband’s side.”

  “Like you, with Father.”

  “Exactly.” Everyone knew Jalal was the most powerful woman in Caralon, and perhaps in the domains to the north and south as well. Enrick had chosen to make her his advisor and confidante in many matters, a rare elevation for a female. Men, it seemed, liked women well enough when it came to kissing and connecting the way Senya and Arleck had, but they thought themselves superior in most other aspects of life.

  The thought struck Maven hard. “Father tells you so many things another ruler’s wife would not know.” She tilted her head against her feather-stuffed pillow. “Has he told you his plans for me? Has he found my husband yet?”

  Jalal’s smile deepened. “That’s why I’ve come, daughter. Your father summons you to the great hall this morning. There is to be an announcement.”

  Maven’s heart dropped to her stomach. “A betrothal? I am to be married soon?”

  “Yes, Maven, your father has made his choice.”

  The news took her breath, but she managed one more question. “Who, mother? Who am I to marry?”

  Jalal lowered her chin slightly. “Ah, daughter, even I don’t know the answer to that. Your father will share it with us all at the same time.” Her mother pushed to her feet, blue fabric flowing over her matured curves like silken waterfalls. “Lavonia shall be in to dress you shortly. After that, you are to come to the hall—we’ll all be waiting.”

  * * * * *

  “You are to be married, daughter,” Enrick said, although he proclaimed it loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. Maven stood looking up at his throne, wearing her best silk dress. In attendance were her mother, sisters, all who worked in the fortress, and many of the local townspeople who wished to show their support to Enrick, the fairest ruler to reign over them in over a hundred years.

  It occurred to Maven how noble and handsome her father appeared, elevated on the throne constructed of costly metals, some of the most valuable artifacts from the Before Times. His once-blond hair had begun lightening to silver, along with his beard, but his dark eyes still glittered with power. He was a wise and fair man, and still clearly enamored of her mother many years after they’d wed—so maybe Jalal was right, maybe he’d chosen a man who would treat Maven with the same reverence. Even so, she waited impatiently, her stomach churning.

  “Maven, my oldest daughter and first to become a bride, in three nights you shall be gifted to your husband-to-be in this very hall, then escorted north to his home, where you will marry. The man you are to wed is Dane of Rawley.”

  Maven’s chest went hollow. Dane of Rawley? She hadn’t heard her father correctly—she couldn’t have! Yet everyone around her had gone silent, their faces filled with shock. Even her mother looked aghast, sitting enthroned next to Enrick.

  “Father, surely you jest.” She had to find out if she’d misunderstood.

  Her father appeared displeased. “No, daughter, I would not jest about something as serious as marriage.”

  An ire unlike any she’d ever known rose in Maven’s chest. She’d been frustrated before, about the nagging sensations between her thighs, and she’d been angry before, about having no control over her own fate. But what she felt now surpassed those emotions twentyfold. “Father, Dane of Rawley is a—a…barbarian! Surely you know this! He’s the most feared man in the north. Why in Ares’ name would you award me to him?”

  Enrick looked about the room, as if deciding whether to answer her, given the presence of so many. Yet finally he took a deep breath and peered into her eyes. “Precisely because he is so feared. His estate is vast and his army is strong—in the northern territories of Caralon his name is revered as one of power and danger. In exchange for your virginity, Dane will guard and protect the entire length of my northern border until my demise. As the husband of a royal bride having no brothers, he will also be eligible to take my throne at that time.”

  Maven’s heart sank. Her mother was wrong. Her father had not paired her with a man he thought well-suited to her, or someone likely to treat her with reverence. He had paired her with an utter beast, whose exploits both in war and women were known throughout the domain. Her father was trading her to a heartless fiend to ensure he’d never lose his power.

  Tears welled in her eyes, although she fought to hold them back. “Father, how could you? How could you give me to such a merciless brute?”

  She’d hoped to see a hint of compassion in her father’s usually loving gaze, but today it seemed Enrick the Ruler had once again become Enrick the Attacker, a man who let nothing stand in his way—even his daughter’s heart—when it came to keeping control over the land. “You know there are threats from Virgland to the north. Dane demands entrance into the royal family in trade for his protection. If Caralon is to stay intact, there is no other choice.”

  Maven tried to calm her breathing and think rationally. Although she’d been raised with every luxury, she’d also been taught that her first loyalty was to Caralon, a region which, before her birth, had been fraught with corrupt rulers and sporadic wars for hundreds of years. Enrick had brought peace and prosperity to the people of Caralon and that was important—yes. But it was impossible for Maven to believe the only way to keep the domain unbroken was to trade her to a madman.

  “I’ll never forgive you,” she sobbed, finally giving release to her tears. With that, she turned and fled the hall.

  Ch
apter Two

  Dane extracted his cock from his brown leather pants. He ran a loose fist up and down his erection as he switched his gaze between the two servant girls who generally cooked and delivered his meals. Today their job was one he knew they’d find much more pleasurable. The women in his employ all eagerly awaited their turn pleasing him, and for the current task he’d chosen Rafia, a plump girl with large, round breasts, along with Calla, a petite blonde-haired vixen with lovely, pouty lips he’d always thought looked made for sucking.

  They rode in a grand four-wheeled cart, covered by an expensive weave of leather and silk. He sat in a plush, feather-stuffed chair, his erection jolting as the left wheels dragged through a rut on the road.

  “Is your mouth as skilled as it looks, Calla?” he asked, casting a wicked grin.

  Both girls knelt before him on the floor of the cart, naked, waiting for direction. Calla smiled lecherously. “Would you like me to show you, master?”

  “Yes, but don’t take me in your mouth just yet. Lick, up and down.” He shifted his eyes to the other girl. “You too, Rafia. Help Calla lick my cock.”

  He cupped his balls as the two girls moved in on his erection, releasing the sac when the females had his rod well under control. Their tongues were like trails of fire that made him moan as he watched them work.

  Calla smiled up at him as she dragged her able tongue along his hard length, while Rafia closed her eyes, looking deeply absorbed in her assignment. Dane wrapped his hands, gentle but firm, about their napes, urging them to move in closer against him. The heat of their lush bodies warmed his legs through the thin leather.

  When Calla boldly reached up to begin kneading his balls, he let out a soft groan at the added stimulation. “Ares help me,” he muttered, wondering how much more he could stand. And this was only the first day of travel, with two more to go. He’d thought it would take more than the light ministrations of two young girls to get him this excited, but at least it ensured he would be more than ready by the time he took possession of his virgin bride.

  “Now,” he said, watching the serving girls, “suck me, Calla. Show me how well you can use your pretty mouth.”

  The girl looked exhilarated at the demand, and Rafia ceased her affections, letting Calla take full authority over the column of stone jutting from between his thighs. The blonde servant kept her eyes on his as she licked a drop of fluid from the tip of his cock, then eased her lips over the thick head.

  “Mmm,” he groaned, filled with undeniable lust as she kept going, taking him deeper and deeper—six inches, seven, then more. She’d not managed to swallow all of him, but what woman could have a throat so deep? He was well pleased to feel the head of his cock pushing there, against her wet throat, as she gazed hungrily up at him.

  As she began sliding those luscious lips up and down, he lifted his eyes to Rafia. “Come. Bring your breasts to my mouth.”

  He soon wrapped his arm around her soft, fleshy waist as he closed his lips over one prominent pink nipple. Rafia moaned as he drew on her, letting her arms fall about his bare shoulders. He suckled roughly, making her cry out in pleasure as her nipple grew harder on his tongue.

  Below, Calla worked vigorously on his cock, raising his pleasure with each stroke. “Mmm, yes, skilled indeed,” he murmured against the soft flesh of Rafia’s breast. He blew on her nipple even as he watched Calla suck him from the corner of his eye.

  How much more? he wondered. How much could he stand?

  Calla plunged down over his length, this time nearly taking the full ten inches. He groaned and thought, I can’t take much more at all. What a shame. In any other circumstance, he could let these two wantons pleasure him all day.

  “Mmm, yes, Calla, suck your master’s cock,” he growled. “Keep sucking.”

  Just a little longer. Just a few more blessed seconds of intense delight. He kissed Rafia’s nipple again as he watched the lovely blonde whose mouth didn’t seem to tire.

  “Stop,” he said suddenly.

  Rafia flinched in his grasp as Calla went still, looking up at him, half his rod in her mouth. Clearly seeing the command in his eyes, she slowly withdrew until his cock sprang back against his abdomen.

  “Shall I fuck you now, master?” Calla asked.

  Ares, but she was eager. It was agonizing to answer. “No, Calla. No.” He’d reached his threshold.

  For the first time, Rafia spoke, her voice deep with passion. “Shall I? My cunt is soaked with desire and would take your cock with ease.”

  He released the larger girl from his grasp. “No, Rafia. I won’t be fucking either of you. But you may lie down on my bed,” he said, pointing to the soft mattress a few feet away, “and lick each other’s pussies.”

  The girls looked disappointed but accepting. And why shouldn’t they? he thought as they moved into position. They, at least, would reach climax. He, on the other hand, would sit here torturing himself by watching them.

  Rafia lay on her back as Calla straddled her face with a cunt as pink and pouty as her mouth. She wasted no time in bending over and using her hands to part Rafia’s plump, curl-ensconced pussy and sinking her tongue into the glistening flesh there. Rafia let out a deep moan, but it was muffled when Calla lowered her own slit over Rafia’s lips.

  Together the two servant girls moved as one, panting and moaning, the sounds accompanied by that of wet, lapping licks. Dane allowed himself to slide his hand lightly up and down his erection, still moist from Calla’s bottomless mouth—but no more. Every time he reached a certain brink, he knew he had to release his rod—once he even had to look away. He was a man with great control over his cock, but the coming days would put him to the test.

  When both girls launched into orgasm, shrieking and thrusting their cunts at each other’s tongues, Dane feared he would explode, but instead he found himself just where he’d intended to be—on the sharp edge of climax, yet still hanging on to a precious shred of control.

  By the time he got his bride from Enrick, his cock would be filled with blood and lust like never before.

  * * * * *

  Maven cried into her pillow as Jalal stroked her hair. “Crying will not change it, daughter. You must summon that very strength we discussed earlier, for your Orientation is to commence tonight.”

  Oh Ares! Her Orientation! Already? If her father had named any other man for her bridegroom besides Dane the Dreadful, she would be ready and eager for the training she would receive before his arrival. But at the moment, she couldn’t even enjoy knowing she would soon begin to learn the secrets she’d wondered about for so long.

  “Mother, how could he? Dane of Rawley? It’s…unthinkable.”

  She looked up in time to see Jalal purse her lips uncertainly. “I will agree, I was shocked at your father’s selection. But you must abide by his choice—there is no other option.”

  Maven rolled to her side and sniffed back tears. “He is selling me in order to keep his power.”

  Jalal shook her head. “Selling you, maybe. But not for power. For peace. Peace for all of Caralon.”

  Maven raised a woeful gaze to her mother as she wiped moisture from her eyes. “I’ve heard Dane of Rawley is wicked and…forceful. I’ve heard he forces women to do his bidding.” She didn’t even know exactly what that meant, what he forced women to do, but it sounded all too ominous.

  Jalal let out a long sigh and looked away, her expression sad. “I, too, have heard the rumors about Dane.” Then she returned her gaze to Maven. “But I must have faith in your father. I must believe he’s made a good choice for you.”

  “A good choice for Caralon, perhaps, but for me—no.”

  Her mother gently squeezed her hand, then changed the subject. “You must dry your eyes and prepare to learn, daughter. Your Orienter will be here soon.”

  Maven felt forsaken—her mother was accepting this, not even fighting her father on it? “You aren’t going to help me?”

  “There’s nothing I can do to change it. You
must trust in Ares. He brings together those who should be together, both in battle and in marriage. You must trust in your father as well.”

  As far as Maven could see, though, her marriage would be a battle—a battle with the ruthless Dane of Rawley—and there was nothing she could do to keep that battle from commencing.

  * * * * *

  Lavonia whisked into Maven’s chamber wearing a wide smile. “Don’t fret, sweet Maven, all will be well, starting now.”

  Maven had done as her mother instructed—dried her eyes and sat upright on her bed, trying to be strong—yet she still felt nothing but despair. “How? Has Dane of Rawley met some terrible demise? Or has my father come to his senses?”

  Lavonia kept her happy expression in place. “Dane may not be the sort of man you expected, but I hear he’s most pleasant to look at, and that does count for something.”

  He wasn’t an ogre, as Maven had feared? Well, even so, that made him no more kind, or giving, or loving. She repeated her thought from earlier. “He’s a beast. He’ll probably flay me alive.”

  “Not if you learn to please him,” Lavonia imparted with a mischievous smile. “Which is why I’m here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The voluptuous woman stood up a bit straighter, looking proud. “I’ve been chosen to be your Orienter, Maven.”

  Maven gasped only slightly—for though she’d not thought much before about who might be selected, Lavonia was a natural choice. A bride’s Orienter was always a woman, always someone the royal bride knew well, and it was a sizable honor. “Well, that is pleasant news,” she admitted. Having known Lavonia so long, she was very at ease with the older woman, so who better to teach her the ways of the marriage bed? “But it makes the outcome no less awful.”

  Lavonia gave another knowing smile. “You may decide differently after you see what I have to show you.”

  Maven sighed, her curiosity piquing only slightly. “When do we begin?”

  “Now.” Lavonia looked utterly pleased.