15. Conrad
I ’ve chosen this chapel very carefully. Chosen the priest carefully too.
I might be a Blake; I might be a high-ranking Brethren Lord, but that doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want. No, if I’d gone through the usual channels, I’d be hauled in front of the Senate by now. I would have to answer to them.
And Brynn, my pretty little Brynn, she’d already be snatched back, carted off, probably sequestered away while they decide what punishment they can give that would fit the crime.
She’ll be labelled as a jezebel, a harlot who seduced a taken man.
Of course, marrying Brynn won’t mean I’m not in the shit, marrying her just makes the crime I’ve committed a different one. Instead of kidnapping and coveting a woman I have no right to, I’m marrying without permission. It’s a lesser offence technically, but add to the fact I’m already engaged and that my brother has to approve of this…
Brynn clings to me, her tiny hands digging into my arm like she’s suddenly realised that I am her saviour.
Don’t worry Doll, it’ll all be over soon.
We walk into the building. The place is dirty, with dried up leaves strewn across the stone floor. If I had the wedding I wanted we’d be in the Cathedral, we’d be standing before the entire Brethren of this Chapter, and they’d all look on at the beauty of my wife. They’d all be gawping like little boys in the playground, jealous that she is mine.
I clench the hand not holding my soon-to-be wife. I wanted that. That moment. To make a point that she is mine, that no other man can touch her now. That’s off limits. Claimed. Fucking owned.
I wanted them to witness the consummation too. I wanted everyone to see as I took my wife, stripped her and fucked her on the altar.
That’s another thing Giselle will answer for.
The priest is standing, waiting for us. He’s wringing his hands like he might just change his mind. With a look, I warn him not to even think about it.
I pull out the veil, fixing it to her pretty dark hair. There, now she is perfect.
She falters. She freezes.
My beautiful doll freezes. No doubt she realises what this is and she starts to fight, starts to plead. I tighten my grip, dragging her down the aisle. If I have to, I’ll put that ceremonial dagger against her throat and force her to say the words.
When she states that she’s a Monclere, when she tries to use her name I can’t help but laugh. I pre-warned the Priest, so it’d make little difference what she does say but the fact is, I’m granting her the greatest honour she’ll ever receive. Her family would never have secured such a prestigious marriage for her by themselves. Afterall, her father is a nobody, an unknown. She might be a Monclere, but in the eyes of the Brethren she’s still a bastard.
I grab hold of her, dragging her down the aisle. She still tries to fight, but I can already feel that she’s giving in.
With a curt nod, I tell the Priest to get on with it. This isn’t how I imagined it to be. This isn’t how it was meant to go. Brynn was meant to be smiling, meant to be delighted that she was becoming my wife.
Why is she being such a bitch? Why is she making this so damn hard?
When the Priest says the words, I’m more than happy to rip her dress off, more than happy to push her onto the altar and consummate this.
Maybe this moment here will be enough. Maybe me fucking her here, claiming her before God, will make her obedient. Maybe it’ll make her understand.
Her veil falls down, making this moment more picturesque.
My now wife cries out, her hands snatching at the air.
I shove her face down and yank her hips up harder as I push into her tight little cunt. God, it feels so good. I let out a groan, shutting my eyes, revelling in this moment.
It feels like God is here, that he’s beside me, applauding me, honouring me. That finally, after all these years, he’s granting me the honours I deserve. The rewards I’ve worked so hard for.
Of course, my little wife refuses to give in. She fights, she cries, but in the end it’s useless. Her attempts to stop me are as futile as her strength.
The Priest stands there looking on, bearing witness so that technically, by the old laws, this marriage is unbreakable. I look up and meet his gaze and I can see it, the ghost of a smile on his lips. How many weddings has he officiated like this? How many brides has he witnessed cry and beg as prettily as my now wife does?
I lean down, taking a handful of her hair and I wrench her head up so that she’s forced to look at him, forced to meet his gaze.
You see, wife, you see? No one will stop this. Not even God himself will step in.
You are mine now. You can’t escape me. You can’t run.
Even the Brethren can’t separate us.
She lets out a wail; a pitiful sound that if anything, spurs me on more. I buck harder, driving myself more mercilessly into her delicious cunt. Her muscles protest; they clench, they try to fight me but my cock pushes through, my brute strength forces her to submit.
And then I’m roaring out, coming harder than I ever have before. My hands dig into her scalp, my nails tear into her flesh. It feels like an explosion goes off and I pump away, emptying my balls deep inside her.
As I pull out, I see the smear of something, and I wipe myself clean on her pretty torn up dress.
She keeps her eyes down, like she can’t even look at me and I lean in to grab her jaw, to force her to meet my gaze.
This woman here is bound to me for life. Good or bad, there is no way out from this.
I scoop her up, carrying her half-limp body out. She keeps her tear-stained face staring off into the distance as if she’s still expecting someone to come rescue her.
Only, I am her salvation. I am her beginning and her end.
I am her every reason for existence now and the sooner my new wife accepts this, the sooner I can stop hurting her and start showing her my love.