Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ To Overcome ❯ the bedding ceremony ( Chapter 2 )

It wasn't until he was down the hall that led to his private rooms that he noticed the tinkling sound that was following him was not made by his guard's armour. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned slowly.

He blinked blearily at the strange vision before him. "Hm," he grunted tiredly, "well I guess I'm stuck with you then…" he trailed off and scratched at his wild mane of hair, it had been styled in its 'lion' fashion, he was, after all, the high priest of Liyra, the lion god; the position was little more than a title though.

He took a few steps to stand in front of her. "What's your name?" He was beginning to feel guilty about ignoring her, but, he was really tired.

He watched as she stared at him doe-eyed and fiddling with the jewellery on her arm, causing the sound of metal touching metal to fill the nearly silent hallway. She finally spoke in a rolling yet harsh language; similar to his own but so different, he was only able to understand one word, 'lord'.

He sighed and took hold of one of her surprisingly calloused hands and lead her to his door; outwardly calm, inwardly exasperated.

His suite doors opened as if by magic, and by those who were waiting inside his room to greet him, Najja wished it had been magic. He had never been so annoyed in his life, well, except for the time Akil had put honey in his hair, but that was a story for another time, right now, he wanted to strangle his father.

The emperor and empress, as well as all the advisors and the princess's entourage were waiting in his sitting room, most sporting inhumanly sized grins.

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. How on earth had the beat him to his chambers? They must have run the whole way through the servant's passages.

Akil on the other hand was greatly enjoying him self, he had not been interrupted by his father, and was at the moment enjoying an amazing fuck, too bad he couldn't remember that he was fucking his new wife.

Jorg had decided to forgo Akil's bedding ceremony as he had practically completed the right at the banquet from the comfort of his throne, and in front of all the guests. There was very little doubt that Tom wouldn't complete the act once he was alone with his bride.

Najja on the other hand, wasn't so reliable in the bed department, in fact, to the extent of Jorg's knowledge Najja was still a virgin, and therefore, a bedding ceremony was most assuredly in order.

So the emperor of the Ghumdeer dynasty and his advisors escorted Najja to his bed chamber to explain the intricacies of sex, while Ashleen and the princess's servants readied her in the sitting room.

Najja groaned as his father and advisors went into explicit detail about the pleasures between a man and a woman.

It wasn't that he was uninterested in sex, because he was, despite his father's beliefs he had partaken in the act on a few occasions, it was more that he had no wish to perform this night.

Sure, the princess was strikingly exotic compared to the monotonous colouring of his people- the royal family was an exception to the dark hair dark eyes ethnicity as royals often married outside of their race, to strengthen ties with their neighbouring countries.

She was Celtic, if he had heard properly… or hadn't been dreaming, he couldn't truthfully tell what had been a dream or reality during the party. He was sure, given enough rest that the expected intercourse would be enjoyable enough, but he was just so damn tired.

His thoughts wondered as his father joyously explained details Bill was already aware of.

While he didn't envy his brother's position as high emperor, he did envy his apparent peace with the matter. Najja, despite years of training, felt ill prepared to rule. While it was true that he had studied from a young age, even younger than Akil, in all things tactical and in the warriors way, he lacked the actual field experience.

While he had been trained under the most intelligent and fearsome generals, he had no other credentials apart from their tutelage; he was not a warrior, sure he could fight, and fight well, he had trained in many fighting styles, from blade to archery to hand-to-hand to javelin, he had the greatest tutors in the kingdom train him to be the warrior king they all desired, but he lacked the blood-lust, the love of war.

His interested lay mostly in the arts of psychological warfare, tricks of the mind. His brother and he had been ill matched in their roles; Tom had been trained in the arts, in etiquette and entertainment, in pleasures and worldly knowledge, yet he was the warrior inside, he was the one who could walk proudly among his dead enemies, and rally the spirits of his men when the times seemed dire.

Alas, their roles had been set since their birth, the first born was always the high lord, well versed in lore, all things historical and all things required of a public figure, the second was always the warrior, the champion of the country, silent and supportive, yet the brains behind it all.

When they were younger their nurse had told them the stories of their birth, how Najja had reached his hand out first and a ribbon had been placed upon his hand to mark him as first, but he had pulled back in and in the end it was Akil who had fully emerged first, and while Najja's wrist was tied with the ribbon, he had been born last, thus earning his role as the second, the supportive one, the strong one; but he wasn't strong.

 

 

 

"So we'll leave you to your lovely bride," Jorg beamed at his son, completely unaware of how he was ignoring him.

After the emperor left the room, one of the advisors, an older man in his late eighties, turned to Najja. "My lord, I can tell you are uninterested in this matter, but as long as you have an heir, her purpose will be fulfilled, after that you will not need to bore yourself."

The man spoke with respect, but Najja found himself offended and he scoffed as soon as the door closed.

*@@@*

Aislin remained quiet as she was cleaned and brushed, as each piece of jewellery was unpinned, and as her servants mumbled quick words of advice, right up until the moment the empress handed her a tiny knife.

She stared at it bewildered; it was barely an inch long. It appeared to be useless, but it was razor sharp.

Ashleen made eye contact with the younger woman as she took the knife back and slid it into her own finger, cutting a thin line and allowing the blood to fall onto the cloth she had prepared, suddenly the girl's eyes widened in understanding and she took the blade gratefully.

The emperor and his advisors filed out of the bed chamber doors, winsome smiles on most of their faces, Aislin watched through her eyelashes as the empress took the emperor's hand, love shining in her eyes; and her heart ached, would she find love like that in this marriage?

Once the room was empty of both royalty and servants, Aislin made her way through the slightly ajar bedchamber doors, nervous apprehension stiffening her muscles.

Her nerves unwound instantly at the sight of her sleeping lord, for tonight they could forgo the actual act. Softly she walked up to the unoccupied side of the bed and pulled down the covers, uncovering her nearly nude husband in the process; she turned her eyes away form his form, and instead focused on a spot about halfway down the bed.

She brought the tiny knife to her ring-finger tip, and sliced it open, letting the drops of blood spill on the fresh bed linens, knowing that that little bit of blood would be what the royals would be looking for in the morning as proof of the consummation of their marriage.

 With the deed done, she lay down on the bed and covered herself and husband and attempted to sleep.