The Royal Affair

Chapter 20

King Francis, his voice low and insistent, walked up to Alexa and whispered in her ear, his words a mixture of reassurance and possessiveness. "Ignore them," he said, his breath warm against her skin. "They are merely witnesses. Focus on me."

But all Alexa could hear was the frantic pounding of her own heart, a drumbeat that echoed in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. She tried to control her breathing, to force herself to remain calm, but the anxiety was a suffocating weight on her chest.

Then, with a swift and decisive movement, Francis reached behind her and pulled at the strings of her gown. The heavy fabric slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her exposed to the gaze of the onlookers. Her body was pure perfection, her flawless sunkissed glew in the candle light.

Alexa's instinctive reaction was to cover herself with her hands, a futile attempt to shield her vulnerability. But Francis's grip was firm, his touch possessive as he took her hand and led her towards the bed.

He pulled back the curtains, revealing the opulent bedchamber, its shadows concealing the figures standing silently on the other side of the room. Then, he climbed onto the bed with her, closing the curtains behind them, plunging them into a world of shadowed intimacy.

Inside the enclosed space, Francis's movements were quick and demanding. He kissed Alexa roughly, his touch aggressive and insistent. He didn't allow her time to adjust when he thrust inside her, to find any semblance of comfort or ease. Alexa's reaction was one of pain and discomfort, Alexa tried to muffle her crys of pain.

Francis, his voice thick with a self-satisfied arrogance, spoke in low tones. "You feel amazing," he murmured, his words a possessive claim. "You taste so good."

Alexa, however, experienced none of the pleasure he described. For her, it was a moment of profound discomfort and pain, a violation of her body and her spirit. She endured his touch with a stoic silence, her inner turmoil a stark contrast to the King's loud pronouncements.

Outside the curtains, Derek stood as if turned to stone, his body rigid with suppressed emotion. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying desperately to block out the sounds that filtered through the fabric. The King's voice, the rustle of movement, and, most agonizingly, Alexa's cries of discomfort were a torment that tore at his insides. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms, struggling to maintain his composure.

Finally the King reached his release groaning against Alexa skin and he pushed as far as he could inside her making sure she was filled with his seed. Alexa groaned with discomfort then leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Francis, his breathing returning to normal, spoke again, his tone satisfied and possessive.

"You are mine now, Alexa," he murmured, his words a claim rather than an endearment.

Alexa, however, lay still, her body tense, her eyes closed tight. The experience had been nothing like the romantic fantasies she had entertained in her youth. It was a harsh introduction to the realities of her new life, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that now defined her existence.

Outside the curtains, Derek remained frozen, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. The silence was almost as unbearable as the sounds that had preceded it. He longed to rush in, to pull Alexa away from the King's possessiveness, but he knew he couldn't. Duty and honor bound him to his place, a silent observer in a scene that tore at his soul.

The men behind the curtains shifted, their presence a palpable reminder of the public nature of this most intimate act. The tradition demanded their witness, a cold formality that stripped away any semblance of tenderness or privacy.

After a time that felt both endless and fleeting, Francis stirred, his movements indicating a dismissal. The onlookers, their faces a mixture of relief and awkwardness, began to disperse, their whispers and glances a violation of Alexa's privacy.

Finally, the curtains were drawn back, revealing the disheveled bed and the two figures upon it. Francis, his expression triumphant, rose from the bed, his movements possessive as he looked down at Alexa.

Alexa, her eyes still closed, lay motionless, her face pale, her body trembling slightly. The ordeal had left her feeling vulnerable and violated, a prisoner in her own skin.

Derek, his heart aching with a mixture of pity and a fierce, protective anger, could only watch, his hands clenched at his sides. He longed to offer comfort, but he knew that any gesture of affection would be misconstrued, a dangerous act of defiance against the King's authority.

The night wore on, leaving Alexa to grapple with the emotional aftermath of her wedding night, and Derek to wrestle with the forbidden emotions that threatened to consume him.

The next morning dawned, casting a pale light through the castle windows, a stark contrast to the darkness and turmoil of the previous night.

Alexa awoke in the massive bed, her body aching, her mind still reeling from the events of the wedding night. She lay still for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, to piece together the fragments of her shattered composure. The memories of the King's possessive touch and the suffocating atmosphere of the bedding ceremony flooded back, a wave of nausea washing over her.

She pushed herself up, her movements slow and deliberate, her body protesting with every move. The heavy gown she had worn for the wedding lay discarded on the floor, a symbol of the loss of her former self. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, a puppet manipulated by forces beyond her control.

Outside the bedchamber, the castle was already stirring. The sounds of servants bustling through the corridors, the distant clatter of dishes, the murmur of voices - all served as a jarring reminder of the world that continued to function, oblivious to the turmoil within her.

She rose from the bed, her legs unsteady, and made her way to the window. The view outside was breathtaking: a sprawling landscape of rolling hills, dense forests, and a vibrant town nestled within the protective embrace of the castle walls. It was a beautiful kingdom, a land of prosperity and power.

But for Alexa, the beauty felt tainted, overshadowed by the darkness that lurked within the castle walls. She was the Queen now, a figure of authority and influence. But she felt like a prisoner, trapped in a gilded cage, her freedom sacrificed for the sake of political gain.

A knock on the door startled her from her reverie. It was a chambermaid, her expression polite but distant. She carried a tray laden with food, a breakfast fit for a queen.

Alexa, her stomach churning, could barely look at the lavish spread. She managed a polite nod, her voice hoarse and strained. "Thank you," she whispered.

The chambermaid placed the tray on a nearby table and curtsied. "His Majesty requests your presence in the great hall at your convenience, Your Majesty," she said, her tone formal and impersonal.

Alexa's heart sank. The thought of facing the King, of enduring his possessive gaze and his clumsy attempts at affection, filled her with dread. But she knew she had no choice. She was the Queen now, and she had a role to play.

She forced herself to eat a few bites of food, her movements mechanical and devoid of pleasure. Then, with a deep breath, she prepared herself to face the day, to step into the role of a queen, and to begin the long and arduous task of navigating the treacherous waters of the royal court.