Mithian cried for two days after her father told her.
“He’s fifteen,” she protested. “He’s a boy. I will be four and twenty in a month’s time!”
“He is a boy, but he is a Pendragon,” her father replied. “You know that we are not strong enough to protect our borders from Bayard. An alliance with the Pendragons will give us that strength.”
And so on the first day of the new moon she went to Camelot to be wedded to Arthur Pendragon.
King Uther greeted her with courteous words, and then Arthur stepped forward. He had not come into his full height or strength yet, and softness clung to his cheeks. A circlet of gold sat crookedly on his hair, and the red wool of his tunic was vibrant, too new to have ever been washed and faded. He blushed bright red.
“May I give you my welcome, princess,” he said, stumbling over the words, “and say that I—that I anticipate our nuptials bringing prosperity to both our kingdoms.” His voice squeaked on the word “nuptials.”
Mithian was torn between sobbing and laughing.
“Thank you, sire,” she said, managing to hold her voice steady.
Uther took the lead again, giving his son a severe frown before smoothing his expression into more welcoming lines. “A feast is planned tonight in your honor, Princess Mithian. Rest in the rooms that have been prepared for you in the meantime.”
She wore her second-best that evening, a rich purple cloth filled with golden threads, the sleeves embroidered with red flowers. Arthur met her in the corridor, and his eyes stuck on her bosom for a moment before jerking upwards. He blushed again.
Mithian bit back a sigh. “How may I help you, your highness?”
“I—I brought this for you,” he said, holding out a little wooden chest. “As a gift.”
It held a necklace with an emerald pendant set in gold.
“Morgana said you would like it,” he added, sounding worried.
“Morgana is your father’s ward?” She took the necklace out, holding it to the light. It was beautiful.
“Yes. Usually she’s useless,” Arthur muttered, “and annoying. But I didn’t know who else to ask.”
“I do like it, sire. Thank you.” She went to clasp it around her neck, and Arthur startled forward, setting the chest down on the floor with a clatter.
“I can do it,” he said, taking it.
His fingers trembled against her neck, and she could feel the heat of him, standing so close. When she turned, his eyes were admiring, if uncertain.
“Hawking,” he said suddenly.
“I mean, would you like to, with me, tomorrow?” He looked at his feet.
He was an inch shorter than her still, though sure to grow. “Yes,” she said, “I would.”
“I will be in my first joust this year,” he told her as they walked down the stairs to the hall. “But I can already best knights twice my age with the sword.” He gave her a glance that was half anxious and half proud.
“I am sure you are very skilled, your highness.”
During supper, a minstrel sang a long ballad about love that obviously bored Arthur, who didn’t try to hide his feelings, slumping in his chair and sighing loudly. Morgana, a striking girl who greeted Mithian with a cool nod, dug her elbow into Arthur’s side. Later, a juggler came forward, and Arthur laughed, attention captured. Then he got angry with his servant for spilling some wine on his tunic while refilling his cup.
Before they retired, he pressed a bashful kiss to Mithian’s hand.
Mithian was left with a confused impression of a spoilt, proud boy who was also anxious to prove himself and who could be sweet and unexpectedly charming.
They were married three days later.
After the ceremony, when their hands were clammy with sweat, and after the long round of feasting and dancing, she went to Arthur’s chamber—now hers as well—where her maidens dressed her in a fine linen shift and dabbed rosewater on her temples and bosom. She climbed into the bed and drew the blankets up to her chest.
Arthur came in a few minutes later, dismissing his servant with a curt word after the man had removed his surcoat and built up the fire.
“You looked very beautiful today,” Arthur said, coming to stand a few feet from where she was sitting in the bed, her hands clenched in her lap. “Would you—” he hesitated and then continued, “Would you let me kiss you?”
She nodded and after a moment of hesitation, he clambered onto the bed, scooting closer until he could brace himself with his arm and lean in towards her mouth.
Before he could kiss her, though, Mithian put her hand on his chest. “You know I’ve never…” she whispered.
His eyes were serious. “Leon told me what to do. I’m going to be a good husband to you,” he promised, and her heart softened, seeing his determination to make her happy, that innate sweetness that was so different from his father’s stern authority.
She allowed herself to want him—his boyish leanness coupled with a strength developed by hours wielding a sword, his blue eyes, the plump bulge just visible below his belt that hinted at a lusty appetite.
“Come here, Arthur,” she said, sinking down into the pillows. He kicked off his shoes and wriggled under the blanket with her. “First the kiss.”
He was hesitant initially but then grew bolder, sucking on her lower lip and letting his tongue slip into her mouth for a moment. One of his hands wandered down to her breast, and he squeezed it through the fabric of her shift. She gasped a little, skin gone hot and sensitive. Arthur groaned and squirmed against her like a puppy, eager and impatient. She pushed her shift off her shoulders, moving his hand back to her breast, her nipple puckering under his fingers.
Arthur’s mouth was open, still wet from their kiss, his eyes big. She petted his soft hair and smiled. “Let me see you, youngling.”
“I’m not a child,” Arthur muttered.
She hid a laugh at his pout. “You’re my sweeting. Aren’t you?”
He hid his face in her neck, kissing her there and whimpering a little in his throat. “I’ll spill,” he whispered, “before I’m inside you.”
“Shhhh,” she soothed, rubbing his shoulders. “I want to see your prick and hold it. I’ve never touched one before.”
It made her face hot to say such things, but Arthur groaned and rolled his hips into her, helpless.
She was finally able to pry him off her and help him undress. His prick was fat, poking up towards his stomach. When she went to touch him, he gripped her wrist with trembling hands. “Please. I’ll come.”
“But you’ll grow hard again, won’t you?” she asked. “And then you can…” she trailed off, unable to say it, swallowing against the clench of her sex.
He nodded, almost frantic, letting go of her hand and splaying his thighs. She touched his sack first, curious, and he squeezed his eyes shut. She petted the curly hairs growing around his shaft and then took it in hand. Barely a minute later, his seed squirted all over her fingers.
“Oh. Oh, God have mercy,” Arthur gasped, hips jerking, more seed spilling in a gentle arc.
He couldn’t get on her fast enough after that, ripping her shift as they got it over her arms and then touching her belly, holding his breath as he brushed the soft curls on her mound. She felt awkward suddenly and wanted to turn away, pushing her thighs together.
“Please, Mithian,” he pleaded, kissing her again. “I know what to do. I know I need to get you wet first. Let me touch you there. Please.”
She nodded and moved closer into his arms so they were lying on their sides. Arthur lifted her thigh, getting her leg to rest on his. She leaned into his chest, distracting herself with kissing his shoulder while one of his fingers slipped between her folds. At first he pressed a little too hard, but then he stroked upwards more lightly, and she turned her head, trying to muffle the noise she made.
“How is that?” he asked. She could see his prick stiffening again, but he kept his stroking slow.
“A little…dry,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want you. I know I should—”
“Could I—” He paused and then asked softly, “Could I put my mouth there and—and lick you?”
“Oh.” She had never thought… “Yes. Yes, try that.”
He looked so serious as he got between her legs, spreading her open with her fingers. She watched as his pink tongue lapped out, the muscles of her stomach tightening in anticipation. This time she couldn’t contain the sound she made.
Arthur licked wide stripes at first, and then he became more focused, tongue flicking and testing to see how she reacted. Whenever he found a particularly good spot, she dug her toes into his side. Sometimes she accidentally hit a ticklish place, and he laughed, the sound thrumming against her. Then he pushed his tongue inside her, and she cried out, gripping his hair.
“Did that hurt?” he asked, looking up, cheeks flushed, breath coming in quick pants.
She shook her head. “Go back up higher, though. Please.”
He grinned and obeyed. Sometimes he sucked his mouth into a little kiss, right against her, and then went back to moving his tongue in circles. Her pleasure tingled in her cunt and then rushed over her, sex spasming against his mouth.
Arthur nuzzled her curls and then crawled up her body. “Can I?” he breathed. “Are you ready now?”
She didn’t know if she was or not, but she said yes. Arthur rested his sweaty head on her breast for a moment, gathering himself. His hips were already moving, prick sliding against her wet, sensitive skin.
“There, youngling,” she whispered. “Put yourself inside me.”
He made a noise that was almost a sob and rutted faster, finally using his hand to slide the head of his cock into position. He pushed inside too quickly, and she tensed, squeezing her eyes against the pain.
Arthur grunted, thrust twice, and came, mouthing at her neck as he did.
Her body started to adjust as he stayed in her, not moving. Her muscles relaxed, and the pain faded somewhat.
“It was too much for me,” he whispered, sounding shamed. “I didn’t please you as I should have.”
She hushed him. “Next time. Next time you will.”
He nodded, and it stung when he pulled out. But she had been told it would hurt the first few times.
Arthur looked sleepy, hair all tangled and damp with sweat. He leaned down and latched at one of her nipples, sucking, his other hand rubbing soothingly over her abdomen and mound. She sighed, holding him.
At last his mouth went slack, and his eyes closed. Mithian hummed a soft song, thoughts wandering idly, his breath warm against her breast.