Hermi sat atop her bridal bed, watching the maids flutter around the chamber like anxious moths. They were busy preparing the room for her first night with her husband, whom she had only met three days ago.
"Remember, Your Highness," the head maid whispered, leaning down to her ear. "You must pretend you possess no knowledge of the intimate act between a man and a woman. You must remain still, say nothing, and for heaven's sake, make no lustful sounds. Let His Majesty take the lead."
Hermi glanced at the older woman, merely sideways. The lecture was as unwelcome as it was absurd. "Oh? And what should I do if he stops halfway through to complain that I'm not quite 'pure' enough for his tastes?"
The head maid's expression remained painfully solemn. "You must not doubt. You have never borne a child. As long as you feign innocence, His Majesty should not be able to tell."
Hermi nodded the way she imagined a royal princess would. Either the head maid was too rigid to detect the sarcasm, or she was simply too old to care. At the very least, the woman had finally stopped talking. The assured tone she spoke with brought Hermi no comfort, only a rising tide of stress.
A princess's purity was a matter of immense value in royal marriages across the continent. If Hermi's husband discovered she wasn't pure, he held every right to reject the union on the spot.
As for Hermi, being the fake princess she was, rejection would not simply mean social disgrace. It would mean certain death, at her own father's hands.
"My dear Herminia, I'm truly sorry for keeping you waiting," a melodic voice drifted from the doorway.
Hermi turned around toward the voice. The maids had vanished as if by magic. At the door stood Cassian Malaspina, the seventh king of Ferramonte. He was smiling at her, the same gentle smile he wore when they stood together at the altar.
Cassian's physical presence was, frankly, an environmental hazard. At seven feet tall, he loomed like a mountain of golden-brown muscle and flame-red hair. And no matter how many times Hermi had seen it, the rare garnet hue of his irises was still a rare sight to her eyes.
"It seems any outfit suits you well," he mused, his gaze sweeping over her. "Whether it's the wedding gown or this nightgown, you still take my breath away."
"T-thank you," Hermi managed, her voice slipping just once.
It was the least cloying response she could come up with. Having known the man for only seventy-two hours, Hermi had no idea whether his flattery was sincere, or merely a well-rehearsed script. Still, playing the part of the virginal bride, Hermi forced a gracious smile onto her face.
"Please, just Hermi is fine, Your Majesty. After all, we're now husband and wife."
Cassian's smile deepened as he approached the bed. Though his demeanor had been gentle since his arrival, the long scar crossing his left eye made him appear frighteningly fierce in a way that no smile could dully soften.
"If so, then you must call me Cassian as well," he said, brushing off her formality. "After all, I possess no truly majestic blood. My ancestors were merely kings of a wasteland. I am no better than they were."
The reply sounded breezy, yet it left Hermi uneasy. Steadying her nerves, she replied, "Your Majesty, I would never dare harbor such thoughts."
Cassian's chuckles followed suit, as if he was the only one getting the joke. He stopped just before her, then sank to one knee with more royal grace than he claimed to have.
"I'm certain you hold no ill thoughts," he said. "What I meant was that, I feel ashamed of myself. How could a king of such low standing like me have your hand in marriage, the Orchid of Aurellanza?"
A kiss landed on Hermi's hand, sending a shiver across her skin. Though Cassian was only inches away, she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.
The Orchid of Aurellanza? Hermi nearly scoffed. The poor king didn't even know he had been deceived. He thought he was getting a rare jewel; in reality, he'd been handed nothing more than King Maximian's bastard daughter.
"Am I frightening you?" Cassian asked, his voice cutting through her internal tally of his misconceptions.
Startled, Hermi forced herself back into her role. "No, Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice a sugary silk. "I'm not frightened. I'm merely... nervous. This is, after all, my first time."
For a fleeting second, Hermi thought she saw amusement flicker across Cassian's face. Then his features softened, the long scar across his eye creasing with his smile.
"I told you, just Cassian," he whispered, his tone dropping into a velvet register. "Since it is your first time, allow me to act as your guide."
Their lips met, and Hermi's mind went blank; not from passion, but from the sheer shock of the contact.
Unlike his gentle demeanor, Cassian's kisses carried a hint of eagerness. He pecked and sucked at her lips, coaxing them slowly apart. Before she could even count to three, the silk laces had slipped from her shoulders.
His touch was careful, as though he were handling antique porcelain. But no matter how hard Hermi tried to summon the required reaction, arousal remained stubbornly out of reach. Cassian's skin radiated a sweltering warmth. It was too strange, if not too hot against her own skin. Worse still, the more Cassian touched her, the more Hermi was reminded of Lucian.
Her poor lover was currently rotting somewhere in a palace dungeon, likely enduring the exquisite tortures of Aurellanza. If Hermi didn't endure this, Lucian would soon become a corpse. Just as Hermi's mother had, four days ago.
"My dear Hermi, you are distracted," Cassian noted from below her. The previous velvet was gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp edge. "I don't enjoy seeing my wife distracted, especially when I'm down on my knees for her benefits."
Cassian was attending to her with his tongue, his face buried between her thighs. Her legs were spread wide before him, her gown already discarded on the floor.
At once, Hermi understood why Cassian voiced such a complaint. This entire time, she hadn't offered so much as a stray moan; only a thick, awkward silence that was clearly bruising his royal pride.
"Oh… I am not distracted," Hermi claimed. "I am just… not used to the sensation."
An understanding smile instantly spread across Cassian's lips. "My wife is still an innocent soul, I see."
"Please, my King," Hermi insisted, "I wish to have my innocence taken by you."
For a long moment, Cassian went still beneath her. Hermi could only pray he didn't understand what she truly meant was, Please, hurry and end this. I can't endure this anymore. Or had she been too hasty, no longer sounding virginal to his ears? Before Hermi could sort it out, Cassian rose to his feet.
He eased himself out of his shirt, then shed his long trousers in a fluid grace. His manhood was revealed before her, unmistakably ready.
Hermi's face drained of color. Shock, terror, and dread warred across it. Given Cassian's sheer physique, she had expected something unbearable, but never had she quite imagined... this.
"I promise I'll be gentle," he murmured, his voice a reassuring tone.
True to his word, Cassian began to enter her with agonizing slowness. Hermi writhed in pain the moment his tip slid inside. The stretch was overwhelming; she didn't even have to pretend to be a virgin.
Above her, Cassian was still smiling. He appeared unusually calm for someone in the midst of an intimate act. Whether his wife was truly shocked by his size, or merely acting too well, Cassian couldn't tell. However, one thing he knew for sure was, the woman was nowhere as innocent as she claimed.
With a single breath against her hand when they first met, Cassian had already caught a foreign scent. She had been intimate with another man, roughly seven days ago, by his estimate.
Any normal human husband might have been blissfully fooled by her tears and her pained gasps, but having lived for two thousand four hundred and thirty years, Cassian Malaspina was no one's fool.
Still, the King maintained his calm mask, pretending he had noticed nothing at all. Whether Herminia Solari of Aurellanza was a maiden or a seasoned seductress, it didn't interest him in the slightest.
And yet, when he spoke again, his voice was a masterpiece of husbandly concern.
"Are you comfortable, my Queen?"
"Q-Queen…?" Hermi's voice broke into cries.
Noticing her distress, real or otherwise, he adjusted the rhythm of his hips to a slower pace.
"Yes, my dear Hermi," he said, chuckling along with his own honeyed words. "Now that our marriage is consummated, you are truly the Queen of Ferramonte."