The Captive Princess Ch. 03

It did work, though. One sight of that wooden funnel with the slim, copper pipe attached to its spout and I was begging to be given another chance to finish my dinner using knife and fork.

"I am sorry," she murmured as she eyed the wet lump of cheese that he had set aside. "I did not mean for that to happen ... it was an accident, I swear."

His voice was deep and reassuring as he replied, "Do not worry about it. We will try again."

He reached for a tray, made another selection ... once again, a cheese ... and raised a wedge to her mouth. With a quick tilt of her head and a hesitant bite the thick substance was between her teeth. The rich, heavy texture clung to the roof of her mouth, the flavor was overpowering to her senses, and she had to fight to ignore the silly notion that the cheese was a toxin that would sicken her.

When she'd swallowed it all, she gratefully took a sip of watered-wine from the goblet her husband raised to her parched lips and then opened her mouth so that he might place upon her tongue a sliver of roast chicken he had wedged between two small pieces of dark, yeasty bread. The chicken was tender and bursting with seasoned juices, and as usual, she couldn't understand why she so instinctively feared so many dishes that were not only good for her but which were also, in truth, of pleasant taste. She swallowed the chicken and bread and realized, to her immense relief, that the delicious taste of the food was doing much to dissipate her fear. The tensed muscles of her body loosened, she settled against her husband's chest, and as the strangling, crippling anxiety faded, she could feel her husband relax as well.

"That's much better," he said as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You know how much I hate to see you so often troubled by baseless worries."

She murmured a reply of some sort, but her hunger, now that she had acknowledged it, kept her attention fixed on the assortment of dishes. "Husband," she said in a slow, measured, thoughtful manner after he had given her another long drink of watered-wine followed by two olives stuffed with some sort of thick spread, "I must ask you something."

"Anything, my love," he said as he cleaned the corners of her mouth with a napkin and then placed a slice of cured ham and a whiter, milkier cheese between two pieces of that same dark bread he had fed her earlier.

She turned her head so that she could catch his eye with a sidelong gaze. "You do know that you saved me, right?" When he paused mid-reach, his hands suspended above the tray, she smiled at the realization that she had surprised him. "I do not know where I would be in life if I had not found you, and I think that perhaps I am better off not knowing."

He kissed her again on the top of her head, placed the food he'd prepared between her parted lips, and replied, "We saved each other. You saved me from a broken heart I thought would never mend, and I saved you from a home for which you were ill-suited and which had become a torment."

She could enunciate no more than a soft coo in response, both due to the fluttering in her heart and the mouthful of food she was chewing, and she kept her arms in position while she scooted in the tub so that her entire back was pressed against him. With muffled words between swallows, she eventually added, "I know that I need to stay healthy, for many reasons."

"You do," was his only response.

The goblet again was raised to her lips and she cleared her throat with another sip of the light, red wine. Hints of berry danced on her tongue as she continued, "I will do better with my meals, I swear it.

"I am glad to hear it," he said before he kissed the back of her neck again. "But if these troubles continue, you needn't worry, because I have no intention of ever letting you go to bed with an empty, growling belly."

She closed her eyes, felt a sense of peace come over her, and when she opened them again he had already raised the next bite to her mouth. The meal went on for quite some time, as she was a deliberate eater even when motivated. Her husband did rotate slices of fruit and sugar-frosted nuts into the offerings he provided, but he also ensured she ate well of the more substantive fare. When needed, he wiped her mouth clean with a napkin kept handy for just such a purpose, and he seemed to always know when to provide a throat-clearing sip of water or more of the wine.

The water of the tub steadily cooled but remained pleasantly hot as she ate. Affectionate pats of her belly, tender caresses of her sides and neck, and whispered, encouraging murmurs were provided to her throughout, and the contentment she felt as they settled into a rhythm was sublime. After she had been fed for many long minutes, she noticed for the first time a small dish covered by a silver lid tucked away at the far corner of one of the trays. She glanced at it questioningly, and as if in answer to her thoughts her husband angled himself around her body, stretched his arm, and plucked the lid away. She gasped in delight at the sight of a small mound of shiny, purple-red cherries piled on the plate.

My favorite! How wonderful!

Without even thinking, she reached a hand for the tantalizing, bright fruit. No sooner had her arm unfolded from behind her back and emerged from beneath the water of the tub that her husband's fingers clamped on her wrist and held it still.

In a voice heavy with disappointment ... too heavy in fact, and she suspected that her husband was camouflaging his amusement at her childish display by feigning overly dramatic sadness ... he mournfully intoned, "And you had been doing so well tonight, Penelope."

She was fairly certain that he was not actually upset with her at all, but she nevertheless lowered her head and murmured an apology in the exaggerated manner she knew he found appealing. "I am sorry, my lord husband ... I forgot only for a second. I will try harder to be good, I promise."

A grin curled the corners of her mouth when in response to her fawning, obsequious tone she was rewarded by the sound of his breath quickening and the feel of his cock stirring against her buttocks.

He craned his head forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, then released her wrist so that she could return the arm to its folded position behind her back. With a raised hand he tapped her lips a few times, which meant that she was not to utter so much as a single word until he returned to her the privilege of speaking. It was a command he seldom gave, but when he did, he meant it. Most likely he wanted her focused on the delightful treat she was about to receive, but no matter the reason she would be remaining silent for the time being.

The cherries loomed large in her vision and she swallowed hard as she stared at them in eagerness. He proceeded to feed them to her one by one, twisting off each stem before doing so, and she treasured and savored every ripe, deliciously sweet bite that he placed in her mouth. After finishing each morsel, with pursed lips and an extended small, pink tongue she spat each pit into his waiting hand. At one point, after she wrinkled her nose and ceased chewing, he quickly surmised that one of the bunch had gone sour. The rotten cherry she spat into a spare cup he raised to her lips, and after he had set it aside he cleaned the corners of her mouth with a napkin and cleansed her palate first with water and then more wine. With the unpleasant incident behind them, he resumed placing the cherries one by one into her waiting mouth.

The entire experience was wondrous.

By the time the cherries were gone, her hunger actually was sated, and she eyed the remaining cheeses and meats with trepidation. Her husband patted her belly and then rubbed slow circles upon it with his fingers, kneading and pressing with gentle nudges while doing so. She doubted that he could actually tell from a touch when she had eaten well, as he so often claimed, but maybe he could. She wanted to tell him that now she really was full, honestly, but she was still forbidden from speaking. Instead, she settled into the warm water of the tub, leaned against his muscular chest, and waited.

After he'd finished checking the edges of her stomach, he tapped her lips, restored her voice, and said, "You've eaten enough for tonight and can put your hands down. " She unfolded her arms, eased herself further into the water, and settled into the curve of his body while he proceeded to whisper in her ear, "Our factor was able to source a half-crate of cherries from a late fall harvest ... I had him on the lookout for the past month. That should be enough for quite a few desserts."

She stiffened and opened her mouth in an expression of delight. "Oh, how splendid! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He smiled and his eyes glittered in satisfaction at the sight of her so happy. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he warned her. "We'll see how well you behave the rest of the week."

She closed her eyes, moaned in a manner that was more akin to a cat's purr, and pressed against him. She would most certainly try extra hard if a reward of cherries was involved. She laid in his arms, her stomach contentedly full, and felt at peace. Well, not quite at peace, because a warmth and familiar need was steadily growing between her legs. Two days of teasing and denial had left her wanton, indeed. She kept her eyes closed, one side of her mouth curled into a smirk, and she trailed her hand beneath the water and towards her own crotch. She had no intention of ever reaching her destination, of course, but she was hoping to excite her husband towards renewed exertions on her behalf.

"What what do you think you're doing?" he asked in a droll, amused tone.

"Just stretching," she replied as she changed the course of her hand so that it rested upon his thigh.

"I think you were mocking me," he informed her in a deep, ominous tone. "I think you wanted me to believe that you were about to do something that you know you are not allowed to do."

She opened her eyes and looked up into his stern, dark gaze. "Maybe I was teasing you," she admitted. "Just a bit."

He kissed her on the forehead before he spoke next. "If you desire something, you need only ask. It does not mean that you shall receive it, but you should never be afraid to speak honestly with me."

"Well then," she announced in a tone far bolder than she was used to being capable of, "I am asking for your touch." She stared him in the eye and her voice did not break as she clearly and plainly voiced her desire to him. "The last two nights have been dreadful, husband. If your goal was to ensure that your wife would be reduced to desperately pleading for your affection, then you have succeeded."

He smiled, and his eyes shone like a torch with the love and joy he felt that she had felt self-assured enough to speak in so forthright a fashion.

"Soon," was all he said by way of reply.

That's not the answer I wanted.

She pursed her lips and affected an exaggerated pout.

He laughed at her expression, kissed her cheek, and explained, "Some believe that hot water is not conducive to conceiving. We need your womb to be ready."

"That does not sound particularly romantic," she pointed out ... though in truth, certain parts of her body were experiencing a rippling tingle in response to the matter-of-fact way her husband had discussed his intention to fuck her.

I know how to change his mind.

She reached with questing, mischievous fingers for the already half-erect length that dangled between his legs.

Stop that!" He laughed and she laughed with him. "I must save some seed for later. Since you are going to be so incorrigible, fold your arms back behind you."

She immediately complied, and he held a glass of wine to her lips and had her take a long, deep swallow. The warmth continued to spread through her lower body and she knew that very soon she would be twitching with desire. An itch assaulted her nose, and with her arms unavailable her husband reached up to rub it away.

"You are in a receptive state of mind," he observed.

She nodded. "Indeed, I feel very receptive."

"You slid back into bad habits in regards to your meals today, and that troubles me." He did not sound upset, merely worried. "I think perhaps that I have taken too much of your progress for granted. It has been some time since I've had you recite the first three rules, and tonight is a good time to remind you."

"I understand," she replied as she settled against him and extended her legs across the copper bottom of the tub. She loved the comforting repetition of moments like this.

His voice was sonorous as he began the well-practiced litany they had worked their way through so many times. "What is the first and most important rule?"

"I am not allowed to hurt myself," she responded in a crisp, direct manner.

"Say it again."

More loudly, she repeated, "I am not allowed to hurt myself."

His voice grew thick with old pains. "And if you are afraid you aren't strong enough to keep from breaking the first rule?"

"I am to stop whatever I am doing and find you, or if you cannot be found, Seneschal Harwin."

He nodded and took a sip of wine himself. "And if you can't find either of us?"

"I am to come to this chamber, bar the door to everyone except you or the Seneschal, and go to my corner and wait for you to arrive ... as long as it takes," she realized that her voice was beginning to take on a hastened urgency, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and slow down. "If it takes so long that I am no longer able to stand, I am to bring a chair to the rug and sit on it."

"Very good," he praised her in his deep rumbling voice. "What are you not allowed to so much as touch except when you are eating or at needlework and within the presence of others?"

"Knives and needles."

His hands pressed in close along her sides. "Penelope, have you hidden anything sharp or pointed within your things?"

"No," she assured him. "I haven't for a very long time, and I never will again."

He hugged her close. "Nevertheless, I will keep searching, from time to time, and you had better not."

She twisted slightly to have a better look at him. "I won't hurt myself, I swear it. You know that I am not the same as when you married me."

"I know you are better, little one, and I am so very, very proud of you."

She leaned her head against his chest and tried, and failed, to suppress unpleasant memories that drifted to the forefront of her mind. On the day of her wedding, which was to be a far smaller affair than was customary for a princess out of deference to her fear of crowds, she bore the wounds of a dozen self-inflicted injuries and was broken and half-starved to the point that her parents had privately informed her now-husband that if he wished, he would be permitted to break off the engagement with no repercussions or fault being found with him.

He had refused, thank the gods.

The Lord of the East had seen past her shyness and creeping terrors and had been resolved to have her as a wife. She did have a say in the matter ... several suitors were presented, but he had been the only one to show her any kindness or understanding. In truth, she had not wished to wed at all, but her father had been adamant.

Early in their marriage, he had caught her injuring herself a few times. On the first such occasion, she spent a night alone in bed, cloth wrapped around the bloody wounds on her left thigh, while her husband sat in a chair by the hearth and brooded on his failures as a husband. The second time, with bandages fixed around her chest to protect the torn flesh beneath her armpits, she had wept and pled and promised that she would never hurt herself again if he would only come lie next to her. He rose from his seat, took her into his arms, and informed her in stern words that he expected her to keep that promise. She swore repeatedly, over and over again for long minutes, and he held her close so that she could fall asleep.

His voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Recite the second rule," he commanded.

She cleared her throat, guiltily eyed the trays of food that she had tried weasel her way out of eating despite her hunger, and replied, "I may not skip meals or purge myself of meals I have eaten."

He gestured towards the feast arrayed in front of her. "I know that meats and cheeses and vegetables are not to your taste, but you need your strength."

"You just watched me eat a very full meal!" she protested.

"Penny," he reminded her, "I can't be there at every meal to watch over your every bite."

Shame welled up within her. "I know ... I will do better."

"And the third rule?"

Again the practiced words rolled off her tongue in a lilting, song-like manner. "I am not permitted to hide.

She had been an expert at hiding. In cabinets, in closets, in small, out of the way, shadowed places ... men would search for her for hours and only thirst would drive her back into the light. Her husband had put an end to all of that mischief, as he had so much else. Her corner had been the compromise solution to provide her peace and quiet, although it had taken quite some time before her urge to conceal herself had subsided and been replaced by the familiar routine of standing still and calm with her face turned to the stone of their bedchamber.

"Good," he announced as he hugged her against his chest. "And what helps you keep from hiding?"

The practiced words came to her without the need for conscious thought. "I walk the Nest every day, including the battlements and balconies, except that I stay far away from the edge of any high place that does not have a railing."

"Excellent ... make sure you remember that last part."

As he spoke, his voice was thick with the pain of an old memory ... of her, shortly after she had arrived at the Nest. He had informed her that he needed to journey elsewhere for a month and that she would need to stay in the keep by herself, and he had soon thereafter found her standing at the edge of a rocky cliff. She'd been weeping and trying to find the strength not to jump at the thought of being forced to remain alone in a strange, cold, unfamiliar place where she knew no one. He'd realized his error, promised her that he would take no such trip until she was ready, and convinced her back into her arms.

"How else do you keep from hiding?" he asked.

"I go to my appointments and my lessons," she replied, "and I respond to people who talk to me. I do not run away or hide my eyes, and I do not seek out the castle's abandoned spots."

He kissed her cheek and ran a hand down her arm. "I am so proud of you. You have made friends these past few years, I am impressed with your writing, you laugh more easily and are not nearly so shy as once you were ... you are coming into your own."

She almost snorted derisively at his praise, but she caught herself just in time.

That was close ... so close I can almost taste the onion I would have been gagged with on the morrow.

He did, however, notice her silence. "Penelope," he scolded her, "I am speaking the truth. You have friends, real friends, who find your wit a source of amusement and your observations of interest."

"Thank you," she manged to reply. "It is not always easy for me to trust that people enjoy my company."

"But it is getting easier, is it not?"

It is ... though sometimes I long for the corner instead of conversation.

She nodded in reply.

Truly, it had grown easier, over time. It helped, of course, that her husband had taught her which corridors avoided the large common rooms, always arranged for her to be accompanied by guardsmen she found the least threatening, and that when she reached the solar, lounge, balcony, or patio he had assigned for her to use for knitting, sewing, writing, or merely sipping at wine and gossiping, she would find familiar furniture in their accustomed positions and company that would be neither too numerous nor include too many unfamiliar faces. Her husband's family ... her family, too, now ... their advisors, the household knights and the landless gentry that lived in the Nest, all knew that she grew frightened and tongue-tied with crowds, strange surroundings, and people she did not know. She imagined that everyone that dwelt within her husband's lands had learned to some extent of her vulnerable disposition.