2. Delilah
CHAPTER 2
Delilah
A t first, I thought it was just my insecurity.
And I did feel insecure.
I had high hopes that King William and Queen Cecily, would be, maybe not replacements for my parents, but at least deeply cherished in-laws.
But neither of them seemed overly impressed by Alexander’s choice.
King William had very artificial dark hair and a beard, and he was a thick man in his 70s.
“I didn’t say you had to rush into marriage,” he said to Alexander after meeting me.
Queen Cecily was in her 50s and incredibly beautiful, with long platinum blonde hair and china-blue eyes.
“Did you want to meet some more women?” Cecily asked when she thought I wasn’t listening.
“No,” Alexander said sharply. “I want her.”
This comforted me a little bit, but I still felt all out of place and awkward when I was the only outsider and everyone knew I came from some backwards place like Gesaint.
And, not only did I already have an inferiority complex, but it didn’t help that there were so many tall, gorgeous women in Norjava Palace, including Alexander’s chief of staff Julia, a stunning tall blonde woman who was a former professional volleyball player, and his secretary Jewel, a stunning tall brunette woman who was a former professional model.
I tried to befriend both of them, but neither woman seemed interested.
When Alexander told me I could add some traditional Gesaint symbols around the palace and to give Jewel a list so she could find them, Jewel sighed dramatically after Alexander had left the room.
“He’s such a thoughtful man. It was so sweet of him to marry you.”
Her smile was big, bright, artificial.
I felt uncomfortably like a charity project Alexander was working on, but I said, “Thank you.”
Maybe she was just teasing me. Maybe we could still be friends.
“What are the symbols of Gesaint anyways?” Jewel went on, looking at her long, perfect scarlet nails and making no effort to write anything down. “Lumpy porridge and cold potatoes?”
“More like gout and bad teeth,” Julia laughed from across the room where she was scrolling her phone.
She folded one long, elegant leg over the other.
“Of course, we don’t mean you ,” she said, smiling insincerely.
I swallowed my irritation, too embarrassed and unsure of my status to respond.
Despite my unease and embarrassment, when I focused on my husband I was happy. He was everything to me. The most handsome, cleverest, kindest man in the world.
Of course I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
I couldn’t miss the way the women in Norjava looked at him. Plumping their lips when he came near, arching their backs to raise perfect tits in the air.
Alexander didn’t respond in any way that I could see, but I still felt unease that I tried to drive down.
I just lacked self-confidence.
My perfect husband, who encouraged me to draw and do art, and said any book I illustrated would immediately be required reading for everyone in the kingdom, loved me.
Then King William died, peacefully in his sleep.
And Alexander would soon be King.
Queen Cecily did not seem overly sad, and appeared much more concerned with Alexander’s upcoming coronation as King.
“Can you do something about. . . this,” she asked as she came into the room where I was being fitted into my golden coronation gown.
“What is this?” I asked nervously.
“Your. . . lower half, dear,” she said. “I know this sort of shape is all very well in Gesaint, but you are now in Norjava, and here we prize fitness .”
I twisted around uneasily in the mirror. The stiff and uncomfortable dress was a little tight across my generous ass, but surely it wasn’t that noticeable.
Butterflies began to fill my stomach. Was this what life as Queen of Norjava was going to be like? Everyone looking at my ass and thinking it wasn’t fit enough?
Setting my jaw, I clung to the comfort I had.
Alexander loves me . I can bear anything as long as he loves me.
On the day of the Coronation, I met the Archbishop of Norjava, who presided over all the official ceremonies. Archbishop Magnus was the second-most important person in all of Norjava, and it was his job to lead communal worship of the Norjavan patron saint, Constance. I didn’t know much about the 19 th -century saint but the pictures I had seen of her stern hawk-like face and glittering eyes made me nervous.
The Archbishop, however, was a man in his late 60s with a head of unruly white hair, a resplendent white beard, and half-moon glasses.
“Ah, Gesaint,” he said, fiddling around in his pockets, pulling out what looked like bits of old crumbly paper he’d written the ceremonial words on, as well as some whittled wood and a powdered donut. “I used to have a family of chickens from Gesaint, and very lovely they were too. Won me best in show at the county fair three years running.”
I was nervous, already pouring sweat in my tightly corseted dress and thick white gloves, but I smiled at Magnus.
At least there was one person in Norjava who had something nice to say about Gesaint.
“I used to raise Eastern Scarlet Blisswicks,” I said, and Magnus had many eager questions about the raising and care of them, only broken up by my husband coming to stand by me. We would be walking in together for the ceremony.
“I’m so sorry about your father,” I whispered again to Alexander. I knew he had not been very close with King William, who did not seem to have been a warm man, but it was still sad.
My husband squeezed my hand and gave me an affectionate kiss.
“I love you, my sweet wife,” he said, then placed my arm firmly in his and I waited beside him for the ceremony to begin.
Standing beside my tall, handsome husband, I shook my fear and insecurity away.
I was on the arm of the best man in the world who was about to become King and make me his Queen. I had nothing to worry about.
The ceremony itself was lengthy and confusing, with long passages in Norjavan that I had to listen to while standing in my official coronation gown, the heavy gold and jeweled crown digging into my scalp, trying to remind myself not to lock my knees or I’d keel over in a dead faint.
I was relieved when it was over and we all moved into the reception area.
There were a lot of official photographers and the cream of Norjava society there, and several journalists wanted to interview me, ask me what it was like to be the world’s luckiest woman, married to the heartthrob new King.
The stiff points of my bejeweled golden gown were digging into my face and I looked around for my husband.
I would of course never complain about any uncomfortable piece of clothing. It was more important to support Alexander than worry about changing into an actually comfortable gown, and I would stay at this reception in this torture device for hours, if necessary. But the crown was so heavy, the stiff points of my dress so freaking stabby, that I just wanted to know generally how long the event would last.
Alexander had left with Jewel maybe ten minutes ago, entering the little office space off of the main reception hall. He had told me I was always supposed to knock before coming in to his office or private quarters. But this couldn’t possibly be work-related right after his Coronation! One of his staffers was outside the door, but talking animatedly to Libby’s husband Henner, so I just opened the door and walked in.
“Darling, do you think—” I began, and then I stopped.
Loud, urgent, guttural noise assaulted my ears.
For one horrible second my mind tried to come up with any explanation other than what I was seeing. It was the sickening confirmation to everything I had feared and dreaded.
Jewel was bent over the desk, her skirt bunched up around her hips, her silky panties down around her ankles. She was bracing her hands on the wooden surface, her eyes closed, her lips parted to make little breathy moans.
And behind her was my husband, his hands on her hips, jerking them back to meet his sharp thrusts.
In my frozen state, my horrified eyes zoned in on his strong hands, the thick gold band on his fourth finger.
Oh my god.
As people behind me began to turn around curiously, I heard little gasps and low muffled curses as they saw what was happening.
My brain reeled, the world spinning around me.
Maybe he was just. . .
Maybe she dropped. . .
No
No no no no, this couldn’t be happening
In front of every single other person in the palace
Every one of them witnessing my excruciating humiliation
The country bumpkin wife who couldn’t keep her husband’s attention
My eyes filled with tears as I saw my adored husband’s golden face frown as he pushed away from Jewel.
“Mark, weren’t you supposed to be watching this door?” he asked sharply, his eyes on me.
He tucked his cock back in his pants, but there was something about that familiar motion, something he always did after we had lunch quickies or he had to get dressed for the day, that utterly broke me, and I turned and fled from the room.
The entire reception hall was packed, and I had to swerve around the tight crush of people, the tears blurring my vision, the eyes on me filling me with shame and embarrassment.
Even as I flew to my own quarters, panting with the tight laces of my dress, my brain was still trying to rationalize what I had just seen.
At least he was wearing a condom. . .
I practically threw myself into my bedroom, my head in a whirl, my stomach in knots. The tears were running down my face and I felt huge sobs begin to wrack my body.
This was my absolute worst nightmare. That I wasn’t enough for my husband. Wasn’t sexy enough, witty enough, smart enough, funny enough, that he had to go look for attention elsewhere.
And in front of practically the entire palace, too!
I wanted to throw up.
My mind kept going back to what I had seen. Jewel’s long glossy dark hair spilled over her back, those perfect tall legs spread and stretched so her pussy was tipped-up in the air, and my husband behind her, his hand bracing himself against the wall, and his hips jerking forward. His big cock deep inside her. . .
Oh fuck, I had been such a moron to think he really loved me. . .
Something jabbed me in the cheek, and I realized I still had my coronation gown on.
I looked numbly at myself in the mirror.
My eyes looked huge in my face, my mascara smeared with crying. With trembling fingers, I tried to undo my beautiful golden gown, only to realize that the backing was so intricate that I was going to need help. Someone else was going to have to help me and witness my humiliation.
Did Alexander want to divorce me?
Was he planning on telling me to leave?
Where had it all gone wrong?
I was ashamed and furious with myself that all I could think about, even when my husband had been caught publicly cheating on me, was whether he was going to send me away.
Then I heard a brisk knock on the door.
Was it Alexander coming to kick me out of the palace?
No, it was Libby.
“Thought you might want help getting out of your dress,” she said, her snappy voice unexpectedly gentle.
I nodded wordlessly.
“It’s not your fault,” Libby added.
But I couldn’t believe it, and shook my head, afraid I would start sobbing.
Clearly if I had been hotter, funnier, better, he wouldn’t have cheated.
There was silence for a moment, as Libby’s deft fingers freed me from my outer layer.
“I’ve seen some of your illustrations,” she said as she stepped away. “I’m not usually one for art, but they are really good. You’re worth ten of any of those other women, Delilah. I mean, Queen Delilah.”
I let the ghost of a smile cross my face.
Being the new Queen hadn’t even sunk in yet.
It felt like a hollow victory.
What was the point of being Queen if your King didn’t really love you?
“Come down and see us at St. Constance’s anytime,” Libby added as she opened the door to go. “I think you’d enjoy the services.”
“Thanks, but I’m not really a church person,” I said dully.
“I get it,” she said agreeably. “Just think it over. St. Constance was kind of a huge bitch, but the food is good. And I think you’d like the people.”
“Thank you, maybe I will,” I said, but I didn’t really think that would help me.
Dropping my gown on the floor, I kicked it into the corner, then picked it up and guiltily hung it in my enormous closet. I took my crown off carefully, placing it on a side table.
It glittered but I felt hollow inside.
Why was I even the Queen?
I put on a nightie with numb fingers. What was I supposed to do now? How could I ever go out and face all those people who had been at my wedding only a few months ago?
I had barely fallen in bed with swollen, red eyes when the door opened again, and my husband came inside.
Alexander had a glass in his hand, and I could tell he had had a few drinks, but he sat down with his usual lithe grace in the chair beside my bed.
For a moment he said nothing, and my heart was in my throat.
Was this where he said he didn’t love me?
Was this when he’d tell me to pack my bags and get out?
That our marriage had been a huge mistake?
It was dark in the room but there was a clear shaft of moonlight slanting across his face, cutting across those gorgeous sharp cheekbones and the flawless jawline.
“You didn’t have to leave the party,” he said.
I was taken aback.
“W-why wouldn’t I?” I asked, the sour bitter feeling in my stomach twisting my guts.
“Because what you saw didn’t mean anything,” he said.
“How can it not mean anything,” I asked, my voice sounding strange and high in my own ears.
“It doesn’t,” Alexander said sharply. “Just don’t read the news for a few days. They’ll get over it. There will be some new gossip to occupy everyone soon.”
“But—“ I started, trembling.
“Come here,” he cut across me.
For a moment, I hesitated.
He was still in the same clothes he had been wearing at the party, and they barely looked rumpled. Everything always looked phenomenal on his tall, long-limbed body, the crisp white shirt stretched across his shoulders. Even now, he was still the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life. As I watched, his strong tanned fingers pulled slowly at his navy-blue tie, undoing the knot with a soft swish of the fabric.
I shivered watching his fingers work. I wanted them on me, and I was disgusted with myself for being such a doormat.
How could I still want him after seeing the evidence of him cheating right in front of my face?
The newly crowned King was still looking at me.
“Come here,” he said again, this time beckoning me with one finger as he began to take a cufflink out, his tie draped around his neck now.
I stood up and got off the bed. I was in one of my silky spaghetti strap nighties, and I walked slowly toward him, feeling my thighs rub together.
Should I try to lose weight? Is that why Alexander had cheated on me?
How many times had he cheated on me?
From his casual attitude, even I couldn’t delude myself into thinking it was a one-time thing.
All these thoughts were churning in my head as I stopped just in front of him, inches from his knees. His proximity made my skin buzz as it always did.
Usually when he beckoned me closer, I dropped to my knees and settled between his legs, my hands reaching eagerly for his zipper. I knew he loved that, and I loved it too. His deep groans and the way he tangled his hand in my hair were tangible evidence that he desired me.
But this time I just stood there. My palms felt sweaty and I wanted to rub them on my thighs.
Were my blowjobs too boring or something? Did I need to find some spicy new techniques?
“Do—do you still want to be married to me?” I asked, hating the tremble I couldn’t keep from my voice.
My husband frowned.
“Of course I do,” he said. “Nothing has changed between us. Come closer, Delilah.”
Alexander raised a hand and put it on my thigh, moving so his fingers skimmed up my heated skin to the round curves of my backside. I was too shy to look him in the eyes, dropping them to where he sat in the chair. His hands kneaded my ass and I heard him make a satisfied hum. I hadn’t put panties on, and he rolled up the silky fabric of my nightie, pulling me down onto his lap.
The heat flared in my chest, the desire for my handsome, charming husband warring with the sick feeling of betrayal.
When he kissed me, pulling me over his hard length, I opened eagerly.
Maybe it was all just a mistake.
Nobody was perfect, after all.
I rode him eagerly, hoping desperately that he liked what he saw.
Maybe if I tried to be even sexier, he wouldn’t cheat again.
Feeling ridiculous, I ran my hands across my small, pert breasts, rubbing my tight pink nipples with unsteady fingers.
Alexander grunted at the sight, dipping his head to take one tight nipple in his mouth.
When we had sex, I was always focused on what pleased him, far too shy to even tell my husband what I wanted. So I knew by the way his eyes closed, that little line that appeared between his brows, that he liked what I did as I ground back and forth on his lap, stretching my toes so I could deliver the perfect friction.
“Yes, baby,” he groaned. “Ride me just like that.”
My calves burning, I rode him at that exact pace, his hands tightening on my hips as he released deep inside me with a satisfied grunt.
My heart was thrumming with nerves, my mind a whirl of uncertainty.
But Alexander only pulled my chin down gently and kissed me.
It was difficult to think with his lips over mine, his tongue in my mouth.
He didn’t pull out either, just sat, perfectly relaxed, with his cock in me, his lips and tongue exploring mine. He was hard within a few seconds, and I ground eagerly down on him again. When he came for the second time, he pulled me contentedly against his chest.
“I love you,” he said sleepily.
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
As he tucked his dick back in his pants, the heat was still pounding between my thighs, and I pressed my legs together, willing it to stop.
If only I wasn’t so shy about telling my husband what I liked!
But he never asked and I didn’t know how to bring it up.
He carried me to the bed and pulled off his clothes, and I watched the lean feline beauty of his strong arms and flat, athletic stomach.
It used to give me a giddy feeling to watch him undress.
It’s all for me! I can’t believe it’s all for me!
But that wasn’t true anymore, was it?
Alexander pulled me back against him, and within a few minutes, he was sound asleep, snoring gently, his breath rustling the curls at my neck.
But I couldn’t fall asleep. The sight of his phone on the bedside table consumed me.
Was it a crime in Norjava to break into the King’s phone?
I reached out my hand and picked it up.
His password was our wedding anniversary. Was that a good sign? Or just a sign I was gullible and easily manipulated? I twisted my wedding rings nervously around my finger.
But I had to know.
Almost immediately I saw a message from Jewel.
Ur so naughty
Can’t wait to do it again soon
He hadn’t answered. He hadn’t said yes.
But he hadn’t said no, either.
There were other messages, too, including one from Julia. She had sent him a picture of herself lying in bed, topless, with her arm strategically placed over her nipples, her long red nails spread wide like claws.
I’m ready anytime you can get away from your wife
I felt like throwing up.
Is that what Alexander thought of me? Someone to get away from? The sweet little wife that he married out of obligation and duty .
The anger began to flicker in my belly, cutting through my pain and embarrassment.
Maybe I did need St. Constance after all. Because now I was starting to feel angry and confused. Maybe I needed the moral guidance of the patron saint of vengeance.