Chapter 16 #2
The crown is like something out of a fairytale story with fur trim and a velvet cap under gold bands that are dotted with gems.
“I call up the head of state,” the archbishop says.
A woman in a bold green dress and jeweled headband carries another large sword, this one even grander than the one Craig carried in.
“As the head of state,” she says, gently tapping Rhys with the flat of the blade on each shoulder, “I pledge to you the power of the great people of the Isle of Saints.”
“I call up the Head of the Judicial Courts.”
A man in formal dress carries up another sword to stand before Rhys.
“As the head of the Judicial Courts,” he says, tapping the flat of the blade on each of his shoulders. “I pledge to you the power of the courts.”
“Lastly,” the archbishop says, “I pledge to you the power of the church. May you lead and govern with grace and mercy.”
The weight of this ceremony is pressing down on all of us. I’m beginning to shake in my seat as I watch my husband carry the charge of his nation on his shoulders like he was born to do so. I remind myself that he was.
“You kneeled before me a man, but you may now rise a King,” the archbishop says and Rhys rises gracefully to his feet.
He walks a slow circle around the dais so that everyone can see the gifts he has been bestowed by his nation. When he stops in front of the archbishop, I know that I’ve run out of time.
“I call up our Queen Consort, and bride of our blood King.”
On shaky legs, I stand and make my way to where they stand. I bob a heavy and dramatic curtsey to Rhys for all to see that I do not usurp, I serve. I turn to the archbishop and nod that we may begin my portion. I am ready.
“Do you promise to love and honor our people the way you do your husband, our King?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to rule at his side in all the ways that benefit this kingdom of the realm?”
“I do.”
“And in doing so, do you promise to do everything that you can to conceive a true heir and ensure the bloodline, chosen by God himself, continues to reign?”
“I do.”
“My King, you may take your rightful place on your throne.”
Rhys turns and steps toward the large throne that is just off to the side of where the archbishop stands. He turns and two pages help him arrange his cloak over the back of the thrown before he takes his seat.
“Pages, please raise the screens for the anointing,” the archbishop commands, and orchestral music begins to play at a louder than normal volume.
Four beautiful silk screens are raised on tall staffs to give the illusion of privacy for what comes next.
But there is none to be had because even if the audience cannot see, they can hear.
And Craig, the heads of state and the judicial courts, the archbishop, and several others are inside the screens to witness what comes next.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs and close out everything else around me aside from Rhys.
When I open them, I step before him and see that his eyes are heated.
He sits proud and tall on his throne, his rightful place, Having claimed his country, he’s ready to claim me.
My hands shake as I reach for the ties of my cloak and pluck them, letting it fall to the floor.
I step out of my shoes and reach for the ties at the shoulders of my dress.
They slither down my body and the cups in the bodice of my dress dip, giving Rhys a peek at my breasts.
I reach behind and slide down the short zipper at my waist, letting the heavy fabric pool at my feet.
Then I tuck my thumbs into the elastic of my lace panties and slide them down my legs until I stand before my King wearing nothing at all.
“Eyes on me, hen,” Rhys commands softly, and I look up from the floor to see him watching me. “Good girl.”
“Now you may prepare your King for the anointing,” the archbishop says, and I move closer to my husband.
I untie his cloak and let it fall behind him, a page scoops it up to place it out of sight and I reach for his shirt, unbuttoning it.
He’s momentarily relieved of the Scepter and Orb in order to slide each arm free, but the relics are immediately handed back.
I kneel before him and pull each shoe from each foot.
Then the long white stockings, leaving only the ties of his pants for me to pluck at.
Rhys stands so that I may push the breeches down his legs and his cock springs free to hang thick and heavy from his body.
I swallow against the lump in my throat as I realize he’s already half hard. I’m shaking like a leaf.
He sits back down and the archbishop hands me a small bowl filled with the sacred oil and a small silver teaspoon.
I begin dripping the oil all over his body, dribbling it over his muscular chest covered in dark hair, down his strong arms, and then over his thick thighs and cock.
When the oil splashes him, his length stands hard and long from him.
I bite my lip and hand the bowl and spoon back before stepping closer to Rhys, to stand between his spread thighs.
I begin rubbing the holy oil all across his shoulders and chest and then kneel before him to spread the oil down his legs and over his belly.
When I reach for his cock, my hands are slick with oil and he groans as I stroke him.
“You’re killing me, hen,” he whispers.
“That’s the idea,” I remind him. “Fast.”
“We’ll see,” he says and his eyes flash with a challenge.
The way he’s looking at me, down on my knees with my hands wrapped around him, steals my breath in the best and most unexpected ways.
I didn’t think I wanted this, but I do. This is my legacy too.
This is my husband and mine only. I want the world to know that while he wields the world, I wield him.
I feel moisture pool at my center and my breath catches in my chest when he quietly commands, “Come here, hen.”
I stand and then climb onto his lap. His cock is thick and hard as it presses against me, trapped between us. As I straddle him, I rise up on my knees and rock against him so that I can get him right where I want him and then I slide all the way down his cock to the hilt.
“Breathe, hen.”
My mouth hovers just over his and our breaths mingle as I adjust to his size and then I begin to move.
Slowly at first, cautious not to fling myself off this chair while he’s helpless to stop it because he’s holding priceless artifacts.
But as I rock against him, his pelvic bone scrapes my needy clit, and I become more and more turned on.
With the hot wet slide of our bodies, thanks to the oil, I’m hurtling toward a climax with Rhys right behind me. Fucking him has never been a hardship and today is alarmingly no different.
“Harder,” he groans as I slide up and drop down hard over him. “Fuck yes. Just like that.”
I do it over and over and each time, he hits that spot inside me. I begin to feel the flutters around him.
“Yes. Again,” he demands as I ride him, forgetting that we’re not alone. It’s just Rhys and I in the world. Like always, he consumes me and I’m helpless to focus on anything other than him.
“Rhys,” I pant as I press my hands to his chest for leverage.
As he did in our practice, he arches back in his chair with his arms out at his sides, thrusting his hips up to fuck me in an intimate dance. One that’s perfectly choreographed as I drop down on his cock over and over.
“Fuck! You’re fucking perfect,” he pants. “I need to feel you come.”
“Yes!” I call out as he plunges up into me again and again. Arching, so our main point of contact is where we begin and end together, pushes me closer. “I’m… I’m…”
“I know… Fuck… Fuck…” he chants as I ride him.1
I drop down one last time and shudder as my climax rips through me and I squeeze tight around him as he follows me over the edge, coming inside me with sharp hot spurts.
We sit there for a while, me draped over him and around him, while our breaths saw in and out of our lungs.
Afterward, the pages step forward to take the Scepter and the Orb from Rhys and he lifts me up off his cock and sets me on the throne.
My cheeks are on fire, my humiliation complete, as my husband pries my thighs open for everyone behind the screens to see the cum that drips from my pussy.
I want to cover my face and hide. I want to run away, to push him away, but I don’t.
Instead, I sit there like a lamb to slaughter as he dips two thick fingers inside of me.
He holds them up for everyone to see the cum that’s seeped from my body before painting it in an X across my chest, making sure to strike both of my nipples.
Then he swipes up what’s spilled onto my thighs and shoves it back inside of me, pulling a gasp from me.
He intentionally strikes that spot inside, moving his fingers in a come-hither motion over and over until I’m panting and clinging for my life to the armrests of the throne.
When his thumb presses down on my clit and circles, I’m done for.
I can’t hold it back anymore and I arch into him and begin to shake as my orgasm takes over me.
When it’s passed and I open my eyes, I find myself looking into the cool depths of the man I married. He holds my thighs open wide again, so that men can come forward and stare at my most secret place to verify that the anointing has taken place.