Whenever council meetings were over and affairs of the kingdom settled for the day, I would instruct one of my men to find the queen. Sly smiles would be exchanged, which I would pointedly ignore. My bride and I were not granted the luxury of the traditional honeymoon period, when for a month it was expected for us to enjoy each other's company without distraction.
By the time I'd return to our chambers, she would be waiting for me; normally, she'd be stretched across the bed without a stitch of clothing on. It was a joy, watching her blossom into the sexual creature she became. She became much more confident and skilled at pleasuring me with her mouth, and enjoyed it when we could pleasure each other simultaneously. She would straddle my face so I could lick her pink wetness while she leaned forward to suck on me. It was a joy, knowing that she enjoyed our various couplings as much as I did.
With this in mind, imagine the dismayed surprise I felt when within three months of our marriage, I returned to our bedchamber one afternoon to find that she wasn't there. I waited, thinking that some matter or another had detained her. I paced the floor; the dragon inside me roared, demanding satisfaction. I had spent the morning fantasizing about us pleasuring each other and could hardly wait to find blissful oblivion inside her.
After a quarter hour, however, she still hadn't appeared. I decided to look for her; perhaps she hadn't gotten word that I was finished my work and wanted her.
I found her in her own chambers, sitting in a circle with her handmaids. They were all laughing together over some bit of gossip or another; I had no idea what women discussed when they were together, to be honest. As soon as I strode into the room, all of the women jumped to their feet and dropped their heads in deference. All except one.
I waved a hand at the other women, signaling them to stand straight. "My queen," I said with a smile, "I had given word that I wanted to meet with you. Did you not receive my message?"
I noticed a few furtive glances from one woman to the other. I thought I heard a tittering laugh from one of them, poorly stifled. It mattered not to me, however, that everyone knew what was going on behind our closed chamber door.
Anabelle looked up at me, the picture of innocence. "Yes, I did, my lord and husband. However, as you can see, we are very busy here." She indicated the pile of fabric pooled around her on the floor. The women were embroidering various sections of this cloth, it seemed.
I couldn't suppress a frown. "My queen, isn't this something you could come back to when we're finished our meeting?"
She smiled again, serene and sweet. "Is our meeting not something that could wait until I am finished with my work? After all, my king, I wait patiently for you. But I do not expect you to come to me at the snap of my fingers."
My face turned to stone, and I could sense the growing terror of the women still standing in between us. Rightly so; my blood was boiling. It was enough that I was aching for satisfaction in the form of an afternoon in bed with my bride; now here she was, defying me openly, in front of others.
"May we be alone to continue this conversation?" I asked her, and she glanced at her ladies and dismissed them with a graceful nod of her head. They practically fled the room. The door had not finished closing behind them before I exploded in rage.
"Do you forget to whom you are speaking?" I asked, furious.
"Of course not," she said, her tone never changing from the sweet, placid one she'd been using since I entered. "You are the King. A Celtic dragon. You rule the kingdom and have all of Ireland behind you. You are my lord and master. And I must lie about, waiting for you to come and use my body at your leisure. Isn't that correct?" Her eyes never left her work.
I was flustered, but tried to quickly recover. "You are right! I am the King! And when I request your presence, I expect to get what I want!" I was practically roaring from fury and frustration. What was the worst was her blithe attitude; she didn't appear to care that she was defying me.
No one defied me.
I picked up fabric from where it sat at my feet; I jerked it toward me as hard as I could, pulling it out of her hands. She looked up, eyes blazing. "I was working on that!" she shouted.
"Damnable thing, I'll set fire to it if I want to!" By now I was practically screaming, my blood boiling. The dragon roared within me; it was not accustomed to being told what to do.
"That's right," she said, rising from her chair. "Set it on fire. Destroy anything that gets in your way. You're nothing but a child who's angry that he didn't get his way at exactly the moment he wanted it!"
Her eyes were blazing, her cheeks flushed, and her breast rising and falling rapidly. Even in my infuriated state I couldn't help desiring her. I wanted to take her, right there on the floor.
And she knew it. She read it in my eyes. "Yes, certainly, assert your power over me by throwing me to the floor and using me! Fuck me until I succumb to you. Isn't that what you want? You don't want a wife, a partner, a companion. You want a body you can fill with your seed! You want … a thing!"
It was too much. I was boiling over. I was afraid I'd harm her if I stayed like this any longer. I began stripping, rapidly, never taking my eyes from her.
"What are you doing? Do you really think I want you right now?" she asked, backing away.
"Get out … of the way … " I grunted. Once every last bit of clothing was off, I unleashed what I'd been holding back until then. I practically exploded out in all directions as I shifted.
Anabelle stood, facing me defiantly. My brave little mate, I couldn't help thinking with grudging admiration. Then I turned, exited through the tall doors leading to the courtyard and took flight.
I'm sure my roars could be heard for miles in every direction. How dare she defy me like this? She was mine. My wife. My queen. Mine. Mine to do with as I pleased, to use as I saw fit. I had been gentle and loving toward her thus far, even though my baser nature screamed out to fuck her like a ragdoll and toss her aside once I was satisfied. But I hadn't. She had kindled my affection as well as my passion.
And now she wanted … what? More? More respect? More tenderness? Hells, did she expect a seat on my council? Who did she think she was? This was what I got for treating her fairly. She believed she could walk all over me.
I breathed column after column of fire into the air. And worse yet, she had defied me openly, in front of others. I was certain that by now there wasn't a set of ears in the castle that hadn't been treated to a retelling of our little scene. I rankled at the idea of being seen as a weak, pitiful excuse for a husband and king. It was clear to me now that my wife needed to be taken in hand. I had let this go too far already.
We would see if she'd dare defy me again.
And yet … as I flew and circled and swooped and vented my frustration … I recalled my father laughing at me once. I was not yet 13 and had gotten into a fight with one of the girls with whom I'd grown up. Lasair was the daughter of the head baker and had apprenticed in the kitchen. She'd been almost like a sister to me.
Then we grew up, and I saw her as less of a sister and more of a young woman. She had blossomed and ripened before my very eyes; her lustrous chestnut brown hair spilled over her firm, high breasts, her hips and backside widened enticingly, and her full mouth begged to be kissed. Many was the night I'd wake from dreams of her to find my sheets soiled with spilled seed. I knew that I was betrothed to someone else, someone far younger than myself, but I wanted Lasair in my bed. I told myself that people our age were married all the time; we were at least of age to do the things I'd imagined doing in my dreams.
But when I made a move in this direction, she had recoiled in horror. We were walking together, as we had done so many times before, and I took the occasion of our passing behind a large, gnarled tree to back her into it and kiss her. She had slapped my face and raged at me for gods knew how long. Then she stormed away, muttering curses in Gaelic.
I was stunned. Why hadn't she wanted me? I was just beginning to shift, then, and for many hours I flew high above County Cork. I was both frustrated and embarrassed. I knew she would tell her friends, and didn't want them to know that she had rejected my clumsy attempt at seduction.
Eventually my father found me. I saw him from a distance, flying toward me. I knew I was in for an earful of reprimands.
I landed at the edge of a nearby loch and shifted to my human form, then dove into the icy water. My father followed suit. The cold never bothered the dragons; our blood ran hot enough to keep us warm, and protected us from even scalding water.