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They hauled the woman by her underarms, letting her go sprawling on the stones.
“You've had too much, Miss Fin,”Cecily told her.
Fin bared her teeth, face flushed a drunken red. “Don't you have anything better to do than to pick on me?”
“Stop getting in fights, and I won't have to,”she shrugged. “Maybe then they'll let you stay a night.”
Shaking her head, Fin clambered to her feet and stumbled off towards her house down the road. “Have a good night,”Cecily called, narrowly resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Across the alley, she spied Brennon crouched low, dressed in his home spun apron and dusted with flower. As he allowed a mangy dog eat from his hand, he glanced up at her. “You know she's been lonely lately,”he said, “Must you pester her?”
“Just because she's lonely doesn't mean she's allowed to start brawl over one of the serving boys,”drawled Cecily. Brennon hummed noncommittally, and booted the dog off down the road.
“My mama says it wouldn't happen if they didn't let the boys work there,”he mentioned, “There's no one to fight over if they aren't there.”
She snorted. “Your mother doesn't understand basic economics.”
Brennon laughed, hazel eyes aglow in the fading light. “Don't let Mama hear you. She still doesn't want me talking to you.”
Cecily sighed. Brennon’s mother was the least sensible person she had ever met. Ever since she arrived in town, the woman had done nothing but glower whenever Cecily was so much as on the same street as her son. It was as if she wanted him to never marry.
Still, Cecily smiled. “I'll convince her yet, you'll see.”
Brennon bit his lip, glancing over his shoulder. “I might be late tonight, ”he whispered, “Mama wants me to start preparing the bread for tomorrow.”
“That's okay,”Cecily assured, “I don't mind. I'll wait up for you. But make sure you keep your shoes tied,”she added coyly, “I don’t want you falling for anyone else.”
He smiled, shyly reaching for her hand. Still, his touch sent zings of butterflies through her insides. Cecily squeezed once, half a promise. She finished it with a kiss to his cheek. Eyes fluttering shut, Brannon leaned into her, the smell of yeast and grain still clinging to every inch of him. She couldn't enter a kitchen without remembering this alley, with the apartments above fracturing the sunlight.
If someone happened to round the corner and catch them, Brannon could very easily be labeled loose at best, and a whore at worst.
He never seemed to care. No one really came into the alley, only left when Cecily had to throw them out. Nonetheless, every time they were within touching distance, she kept her ears pricked for the sound of approaching footsteps. As hardtacked as Brennon's mother was, her concerns weren't unfounded.
From inside, someone called Brennon's name. He bid a hasty retreat, even wiping off the bit of wet from his cheek. Much to her discontent.
“I'll see you later,”he whispered, and vanished inside. The door slicked shut with a silent hiss, courtesy of the oil Cecily had rubbed into its hinges. She eyed it, her hand clenching around his fading warmth. One of these days, she was going to kiss him silly. With or without his mother's permission.
After a recent string of bear attacks in the area, they had to change their meeting place. It wasn’t safe for a young, unaccompanied man to be wandering the streets, let alone traipsing through the woods. So, they settled for an abandoned shack just a few meters from Cecily’s own dwelling, barely beyond the town’s main road. It was a common place to hunt for shallots and wild potatoes, so it wouldn’t raise too much suspicion for Bren to be seen heading this way.
Curtained by the foliage, Cecily sat still as stone. Her time in training in the capital city was still fresh in her mind. It was barely two months since she was stationed in the little town of Ozryn, a two forked village built around a spring. It was a pleasant enough place, if you could ignore the bandits that prowled and the wolfs that liked to stray too close to the livestock. It meant more work for her, at least. The waiting, the boredom, those were the worst part of being a guard.
It hadn’t even been a week before Cecily had found herself enthralled with the baker’s son. A tall, wiry thing with bouncy blond curls and eyes that crinkled so delicately at the corners whenever she made him laugh. He was well within marrying age, Cecily couldn’t quite understand why his mother was so aghast by the idea. Young, healthy, in a well paid position of respect; Cecily should have been everything that woman dreamed of.
She sighed, willing the residual chill from her hands. Watching the path, the shops beyond it, Cecily bided her time fiddling silently with a dandelion stem. Sometimes Brennon was unable to come despite their appointments, but he usually managed to send word, leave the bakery’s lantern glowing with the green paneled glass instead of the normal transparent. She saw no green down the ways so she stayed where she was, and pondered what breakfast would be.
When Brennon finally made an appearance, the moon was directly overhead. Cecily loosed a relieved breath, catching his eye with a quick flash of her coat’s white lining. He made a bee line for her, hood drawn far over his face. Together they pressed beyond the treeline, to the small grove of weeds and beechwoods.
“I meant to ask you earlier,”Cecily breathed, when they were beyond the threat of exposure. “Do you have a map?”
Brennon blinked, hand flicking to his breast pocket, then his hip. “I-- no? Not on me.”
Her face burning against the chilly night, Cecily presents him with the bouquet of hastily picked wildflowers-- daisies, aster, tickseed, and dandelions because she’s pretty sure they’re his favorites-- and says, “It’s okay. I just keep getting lost in your eyes.”
He chokes, somewhere between a cackle and a cough. Her heart flutters at the sound. “That’s awful,”Brennon snorts. “Where did you get these?”
“No where,”she hums innocently. His brow flicks up, and it’s his turn to blush as Cecily grabs one of the dandelions and tucks it behind his ear.
His smile goes wan, white knuckling the bouquet. “This is… very sweet, thank you.” He turns, hides it behind an old stump, with the other ones.
Cecily looks him over. There’s flour still dusting his cheeks, his hair still drawn back with a pair of pronged hairclips she bought him for the solstice. “Bren,”she murmurs, not liking the taut line of him. Closing distance, she’s quick to loop an arm around his middle, and he’s quick to let her, the weight of him pressing fully into hers. A soft body against stone. Warmth that seeps through the armor she had yet to discard. Cecily tucks her nose against his temple, breathes in the scent of the forest around them. “What is it?”
His bottom lip catches on his teeth, plump and red. She wonders if he’s ever kissed someone before. He must have, even if Ozryn was one of the more traditional villages. He inhales once, the following exhale loud in his ears. “Mama was talking with Miss Lillia. I think she wants to sell my hand.”
For a moment, part of her stammers. Mind skipping, loose pebbles sprayed over tin, and she grunts, “She won’t let you court a guard, but she’d sell you to a spice seller? Your mother is--” Cecily bites back the words that press at her tongue. “She doesn’t care what you want?”
Brennon scoffs, but it's a wet noise. “She knows I want you, and she’d sooner die than give me to you.”
“ Why?”
“‘Guards die too fast’ she says.” Brennon shrugged, his fingers toying with the hem of her jacket. “they get bored quick.’ And you have no family line…”
“Except I do. They’re in--”
Brennon just shook his head. “They aren’t here. That’s what matters to Mama. Miss Lillia has a whole line of merchant mothers and grandmothers to vouch for her. Her family helped settle Ozryn.”
There are tears in his voice, it swells the anger already heady in her chest. “You could just marry me, damn what your mother says,”she suggested, barely a jest, a joke meant to fall flat. Brennon sniffled,
“You know I can’t do that. I’d be a pariah, a-- a deserter. She just wants what’s best for me.”
“She wants the dividends,”Cecily quipped, “She just has to let the whole town to know how great her family is.”
Something wet hits her cheek. Brennon sucks in a breath, grasping her arm and pulling her body flush to his. “I can’t-- if she marries me-- I’m not a whore ,”he whispers. “If she marries me off, I can’t see you again. I won’t even be allowed to speak to you in public, and I--” He’s choked off by a sob that makes Cecily go raging and frigid all at once. All he had to do was give her the word. She was honor bound, sworn to protect by the blood of her and her kin, and yet she didn’t care. One word from Brennon, and Cecily would finally christen her blade.
Lillia was barely more than a girl. The only thing of merit was her Line. She was a nobody made somebody by the work of people a dead a decade before she lived. She didn’t deserve him.
“Come here-- sit.” She tugged him to the ground, settling against a tree with him still to her chest.
“You have to talk to my Mama,”he wept. “Show her that you’re strong, that you’d be a good wife. I don't even know Miss Lillia, I don’t think I’ve ever said a hello to her.”
Cecily shushed him, purring in approval when he obeyed. Even as her own throat ached. She couldn’t imagine not having these nights together. Their time had been short, but Brennon had quickly become a staple in her life. She never considered what would happen if he was married off to another woman, not really. It always seemed like this vague, impossible notion. Two moons in the sky, no tide.
She freed his silken tresses, looping the leather band over her wrist and combing out the knots with her fingers. “I’ll think of something,”Cecily promised. He hiccuped in reply. She tightened her grip, earning a startled gasp. It was better than a sob. Not quite gently, Cecily tilted his head back, butted her cheek against his. “I will think of something, Brennon. You’ll be mine.”
More tears welled in his eyes, following in two steady lines. Glinting silver in the broken moonlight. He swallowed hard. “Promise me? Can you promise that?” She loosed her gripped, smoothed a hand over his brow. Then his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart.
“You have my word. On everything I am, I give you my word.”
A breath. No quite a sigh, but something equally resigned. Brennon slumped against her, at last going lax. Cecily tucked him beneath her chin, let him resume fingering her cuffs. Some gross ache began to form in her chest. Premature grief. Cecily realized with a sinking sensation in her chest, that she had already begun thinking of Brennon as hers. Her husband, her lover. Hers to defend and cherish. But unless she could convince the harpy to let her son be happy, things were going to end up far less joyous than they should. She would have to begin planning quickly. There was no price that his mother-- her name might have been Ruth-- could set that Lillia wouldn’t be able to pay. Cecily was going to have to find a way to not only turn the game in her favor, but circumvent the entire thing.
It could wait. For now, she just wanted to enjoy the moment. With her boy, her boy, held close. Safe. Who knew when they would have another chance.
The next few days were a misery. Cecily didn’t see Brennon for a moment, not even in a glimpse. She tried to speak to his mother just once while buying a loaf of bread, and had been yelled out the door. Needless to say, she was no closer to keeping her word. And after the third day, it was obvious what was going on.
Brennon was being cloistered.
It was an old tradition that probably only still occurred in the rural villages like Ozryn. Men were considered particularly vulnerable to being ‘spoiled’ right before their wedding, so they were kept away from the general populous. Which meant that Brennon was probably locked away in his room, praying to the hapless gods that she would get things together in time to save him. Fed only lentil soup and tea to purify the body, drilled on etiquette.
His room overlooked the alley. Cecily found herself staring at the window more often than not, but it had been shuttered closed. There had been another bear attack in the area, which meant any free time she had was spent searching for the beast with barely more than a posse. She half wished she could have just gone off on her own.
The victims were an old couple that lived along the lake, well into their forties. The wife had gone first, the man attempting to defend her and nearly getting mauled in turn. He lived, just barely.
She tried to imagine a man wielding a weapon. It was necessary for the rural workers, and some the neighboring countries seemed to believe men could have the same affinity for war as their wives.
Her boy certainly didn’t. There was no bite to him. On more than one occasion since their night spent in the grove, she had to feed that dog. It just sat outside, waiting and whining for someone to pay it mind. It was an ugly thing too, with matted shaggy fur the color of fresh earth and teeth so yellow they might as well have been orange. Only a special sort of someone could love something like that. Cecily couldn’t imagine Brennon holding any sort of weapon. Maybe a knife to cook with, but anything beyond that was just wrong.
As she moved, Cecily had to push the image of him from her mind. Together, curled in her small shack. It would become a real house soon enough, with the money she was making. Maybe room for a babe.
No. She wouldn’t think of it. Couldn’t think of it. Things that were not meant to be.
The cart had been overturned on the road that bridged the two parts of the village. The fruits the poor farmer and her husband had collected were all gone, scavenged by the bear or other wild animals. She talked with the husband, shell shocked and grief torn as he was. He didn’t have much to offer, except that his wife had managed to swipe the thing across the muzzle with her blade before being torn apart.
Cecily paced around, counting the bear tracks left in the mud.
As one of the only guards in Ozryn, her backup naturally consisted of volunteers. Sometimes they were halfway decent-- most women went through some sort of self defense training during their adolescence. Today it was just two women, chattering like morning birds. She didn’t even know their names.
“He keeps making the same thing every night. How many meat pies can one woman eat before she goes mad?”The one with the shorter hair was saying. Her companion hummed, fiddling idly with the ring around her finger.
“Just wait until your little one is old enough to eat with you. You’ll be happy to eat anything everyday if it’ll end their whining.”
Fingering the edge of one of the tracks, Cecily grit her teeth. She wouldn’t think of it.
Guards die too fast .
Ruth had no faith in her strength, which meant she had no reason to think she would be a good wife. Lillia was a gifted fencer, Cecily has seen first hand. But how often would you have the chance to draw your sword with an attacker bearing down on you? Most fights would be a matter of fists, and hidden daggers.
Cecily was good at that, spent most of her life training to be good at that. Unfortunately, most only saw one type of fighting as a skill. Or a worthwhile one, at least.
There was a dandelion in her pocket. The one Brennon had pulled from his ear when he finally had to leave. He’d given it a kiss, then her, pressing it in her palm as he rocked into her. It was dried and shriveled now, but she didn’t want to get rid of it just yet. Cecily ran a thumb over it’s center, eyed the tree line.
The tracks formed a line in her mind. A winding path that she examined, binding the dark curls of her hair up and out of the way. Could she take a bear? Her posse would be no help. And while her training training missions often included hunting down some sort of animal, rabid dogs, rabbits, a boar on one occasion, there had never been anything like a bear. Her hands rested on either side of her neck, feeling for a pulse. The ripples of her jugular as she swallowed.
Claws, teeth, power. One swipe from a bear’s claws could turn her to red ribbons, or a pile of sludge. Her armor was useless; it could buckle and break more bones, maybe pierce a lung. Bears were big, and they were fast. It was a ratio of speed to power that no human could match.
“You two, go home to your men,”Cecily commanded, “I can handle the rest.”
She was going to have to go straight for the throat.
Trailing slow alongside the tracks, Cecily paused to sniff the air. The sky stood heavy, dark with rain; the prior night’s rain had allowed the tracks to be left, but the next would destroy them. She couldn’t wait for another attack. Cecily moved forward, easing over a log. Armed with only her rapier, her armor abandoned at the edge of the woods. Her initiation into the Guard had left her in the woods with only a blade and the clothes on her back, surviving wholy on her own for a week.
Every few meters, she fingered the dandelion. Reminding herself that fear was temporary. That fear was the gateway to the greatest rewards. If Ruth wasn’t satisfied with this, nothing would work. She wasn’t a bad woman, she wanted the best for her son. Cecily was the best. She would prove it.
Eventually the tracks ended, and her heart sunk. They led to the edge of a small pond, a spattering of blood speckling a stone here and there, from where the woman wounded it, but no sign of the beast. It must have entered the water, and walked within. The mud probably would have been dry by then, so she couldn’t even begin to guess which was it was going.
Cecily sunk to a low crouch, cupping the water in her hands and taking a heavy gulp. The ache began again, as if she took a blow right to the sternum. Brennon was going to be heartbroken. She gave him her word, and she wasn’t going to be able to keep it. The wedding was going to happen within the next few days, maybe sooner.
She eyed the light spot in the sky that indicated the sun, lower than when she first started out. Maybe Ruth could be reasoned with yet. Maybe if Cecily could dodge enough stale bread rolls, the woman might be more agreeable to a talk. Even as she had the thought, Cecily knew it was a lost cause. Brennon’s mother wanted nothing to do with her. This was her chance to prove her worth, and she failed. The forest conspired against her, and now Brennon was going to marry a woman he didn’t love. Cook, and clean, and deliver children for another woman.
Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t care. There was no one to watch, save for the careless gods. Her companions from earlier would have mocked her for the weakness, over a man no less. They would never understand. They were the ones like Lillia, awarded their men for nothing.
Cecily stayed there for a long minute, her heart and throat burning in equal measure. At long last she rose. She needed to speak to Brennon’s mother while she still had the chance. She couldn’t just give up. Even if she knew it was hopeless.
Just as she was about to head for the woods, Cecily heard it. And froze.
Heavy, panting grunts. Sloshing water.
Slowly, she turned. It wasn’t as massive as she expected, barely mature. Muddy brown fur scattered with leaf litter, mere meters away. Heedless, it slurped the water. The gash across its muzzle still fresh pink.
She wanted to laugh. Or scream, and run. Cecily did neither, because the bear noticed her regardless. It grunted, shook out its massive coat. Eyeing her as she did it. Then, she took a step towards it, then two. It grunted again, tossed its massive head from side to side.
“I’m sorry it has to be like this,”Cecily told it, as she drew her sword. “It must be done.” She advanced another step, sword outstretched between them.
The bear charged.
She dodged, sand flying, and whirled. It came again-- she landed a cut to its nose, twin slashes. It roared, going high and heavy.
The paw caught her off guard, four deep lines down her shoulder. Blood sprayed, and Cecily bit back a shriek as she went sprawling. The bear darted near, claws glinted with her blood.
Cecily rolled. Sword still in her hand she sprung to her feet and dove, getting in close enough to gouge a massive wound across its chest.
It made a sound like a shrieking man, threw its head against her belly. She gasped, gave ground, and when the bear lurched for arm she whacked it with the hilt of her sword.
It did nothing. The next thing she knew, Cecily was whacked to the ground. Water splashed, and her eyes crossed. Red blurred the sky. Through it she watched as the bear rose onto its hind legs, shaking out its head, pawing at the wounds. Then it came at her, maw spread, jowls wet with slobber. A mighty paw slammed to the earth besides her head. The bear went for her throat.
Cecily plunged her blade into its skull.
The head landed on the counter with a heavy thud.
“What is this?”Ruth snarled, her arms crossed. Freshly bandaged and aching, Cecily set her rapier on the edge of a nearby table.
“This is the bear that’s been causing so much trouble around town,”she wheezed. The track back had been hell. “I killed it. And I’ve come to ask for Brennon’s hand.”
The woman’s lips curled in a cruel sneer. “Get that thing off of my table and get out of my store. I would never--”
“I killed a bear for your boy!”Cecily snapped. Her ribs twinged. “I killed a bear to prove to you that I was strong-- that I could be a good wife! Won’t you even consider it?”
“If you think I was denying you my son because I didn’t believe in your strength, you’re more foolish than I thought,”Ruth hissed.
Cecily pressed her blood stained hands to her face, tears swelling. “Then what is it? What does Lillia have that I don’t? I have a job, I have a dwelling, I’ve worked my whole damned life to--”
“You could have ruined his life!”
She paused, a hand pressed to her side. “I’m sorry?”
“You think I don’t know about your nightly escapades? Do I look like a fool to you?”she growled. Distantly, Cecily realized that Brennon and his mother shared the same eyes. “What would have happened if someone from town found out about you cuddling in the alley? Or rolling around in the dirt like a sow in heat?”
“We never did anything!”Cecily protested, her face reddening. Ruth threw up her hands.
“Do you think it matters? The second someone found out, he would have been ruined. Our lives would have been ruined because of you .”
It was difficult to process what was being laid out. She must have landed a heavy blow to the head when she went down. “So you’re telling me,”Cecily said, “that you’re denying my request because we had fun? Because we got to know each other beforehand?”
Ruth just shook her head, some callous, caustic version of sympathetic. “I denied you because you’re impulsive. That makes you unreliable. You would have lived out just fine, but he would have suffered. You’re a good woman, but you aren’t ready for a husband.”
“I would have loved him. I would have moved heaven and earth to keep him safe,”she croaked, hardly able to speak around the ache in her throat.
“You’ll find someone else. Arla’s young lad is almost ready to--”
“He doesn’t even know Lillia!”Cecily cried. “You’re marrying him to a woman he doesn’t know, because what? I make choices, and I follow through. I’ve worked hard every single day of my life to get to where I am. And you chose a woman he doesn’t know, who hasn’t done anything beyond be born.”
Gently, Ruth reached for her hand, telling her, “Brennon will be happy. You don’t need to know someone first to come to love them. Lillia is a good woman, she and hers will take care of him.”
Cecily snatched her hand back. Every inch of her body hissed, pain and wrath a fire setting her body boiling. “I’ll prove you wrong. Whatever it takes, I’ll prove you wrong.”
“It’s too late. They’ve already begun to wedding,”said Ruth, nodding in the direction of the towns quaint little chapel. Cecily choked, hacking out a wet laugh.
“You were going to miss your boy’s own wedding?”
Ruth shrugged, “I came to get the desserts, but considering how long you’ve held me up, I very well might have.”
Shaking her head, Cecily wept, her heart breaking as he grabbed for her sword, “You-- you cow. You’ve spent too much time fretting over my ruining your son’s life that you’ve gone and done it yourself. I’m going to--”
“Do what?”Ruth sniped, her patience clearly waring thin. “Go cut everyone down? Murder Lillia? What can you do, Cecily?”
As she held her sword, Cecily ran her thumb over the fuller. She thought of Brennon in his finery, a flower pinned to his breast, wearing a ring with Lillia’s family name carved on the inside. It made her nauseous. She caught sight of herself in the gleaming steel; dirt smeared and across her face and through her hair, the white shirt of her guard’s uniform ruined with plumes of red. Her knuckles worn raw.
Something curled within her. A resume of fire, flint scraping, sparks in the night. Her knuckles paled, tightening.
Quietly, Ruth said, “What do you plan to do, Cecily?”
Cecily said nothing, and, pivoting on her heel, she ran. Through the door, across the town square. She vaulted over a fence, body singing, pain forgotten, as she dashed up the chapel stairs and kicked open the doors, the whole room booming with the echo.
Everyone was there, staring now, families on one side, the unwed women on the other.
At the front of the stone room, on a little dais, stood Brennon. Red rimmed eyes, gilded hair tucked back with a sapphire hairpin. Next to him, Lillia whirled, face ablaze as she took a defensive step forward..
“What is the meaning of this?”The priestess demanded.
Brennon swallowed, “Cecily…”
She didn’t listen. Didn’t care to pause as she stormed down the aisle, dirty, battered, and armed. Another guard moved to intercept her, but Cecily just jabbed a finger in Lillia’s direction.
“Lillia, of Ozryn, I challenge you to a duel.”
“Let it be known that both parties have consented a duel for Brennon of Ozryn’s hand in marriage!”called the priestess.
They stood in the town center, the sky a hazy orange as the day faded. Around them, the town whispered. They glared, and they hissed under their breaths. Cecily only had eyes for Brennon, pinned between his mother and Lillia’s.
Weddings were supposed to be sacred. Even in times of war, it was expected that either side honor the couple, allowing them one day and one night. This wasn’t war, but if she failed this fight, things would be over. She would have to write to her commander immediately and deliver the letter herself, requesting a new station.
She wouldn’t fail. Not after everything.
Lillia, eyes viperous, stood fifteen paces away. The priestess stayed between them, one hand lifted for peace.
“Let the parties declare their terms.”
“To first blood,”said Cecily.
Lillia glowered. “Anything goes.”
Cecily sucked in a breath, tried not to smirk. She wanted a quick fight, but Lillia was out for her guts. That was fine. She did feel some sort of… regret, over ruining the woman’s wedding. But she would be fine. There were plenty of other men for her to elevate. Brennon was hers. As sure as the sun belonged to the sky, he was hers. She would fight for him, even if it meant risking her guts.
“Begin!”
The priestess stepped away, protected by the crowd. Lillia bared her teeth, a feral smile, and began to circle. Cecily followed suit, lazy hand rested on the hilt of her blade while Lillia held hers fore.
One circle, their steps overlapping in the dirt. Then another. Cecily kept her face impassive, breathing slow. Sweating the game. Her skin thrumming with wrath, her mind cooled with peace. Wait. Like a mantra, a prayer. Wait. Wait. Wait.
“Coward!”Lillia spat.
“Make the first move,”Cecily replied.
Lillia scoffed and spat on the ground. They made one more half circle, air heavy with mounting thunder. One of the women in front shouted,
“Run her through!”
Two more steps. Lillia struck without warning, blade low, aimed straight for Cecily’s exposed side. Cecily strafed, beyond the reach of the blade, and landed a cracking punch to Lillia’s jaw. Something broke. Lillia staggered back, hands cupped over her mouth, eyes wide as her sword clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Cecily kicked the abandoned blade out of reach, while the priestess dove forward to grab Lillia’s hand and raise it to the sky. Blood stained her palm, running down her lip.
She declared, “First blood! Cecily of the West is the the Victor.”
There was a long, pregnant silence. Lillia snatched her hand away and dashed to her mother's side, in hysterics and leaving a crimson tail.
“Wretched skank!”the woman hissed, as she held her daughter still for the healer.
Cecily cracked a grin, her vision beginning to pulse. “I didn’t call for a free fight, Miss. That was her. I just wanted first blood.”
And then she was turning, as Brennon dashed for her, tears streaming down his face. “You did it!”he cried. Cecily gathered him in her arms, heedless of the burning in her chest. She squeezed him, ran a finger through his hair.
“I did it,”she whispered, “I did it. You’re mine.”
He looped his arms around her neck, letting Cecily brace an arm under his legs.
“We’ll begin preparing for another wedding,”the priestess said, eyes narrow.
Cecily hummed, “Take your time.” She gave Brennon another squeeze, and started off towards her home. He was so much lighter than she expected. He barely put a strain on her wounds.
“What happened to you?”Brennon asked. He rested his chin on her shoulder, tracing a lazy circle down her spine.
They passed the old house, the grove where Brennon had abandoned all of her bouquets. “I killed a bear,”she said simply.
“You what ?”
Cecily shook her head, fiddling with the key on her belt before opening her door. “I’ll tell you later. We have more important things to think about.”
He giggled, and kissed her cheek. Her dwelling was all one space, just enough room for a sleeping area, a wood stove, and a table. The bed was sectioned off by a curtain of patchwork, which she cast aside to lay Brennon down. He hummed, arched and wiggled.
“Bigger than the one back home?”
He grinned, “Twice the size. You were ready.”
Cecily laughed, “It came with the house.”
She settled down besides him, a polite distance between. Content to breathe the same air, free to entangle their fingers together. He was hers.
His hand was so warm, his thumb rubbing idle circles across her bruised knuckles.
Then, “May I come closer?”
She cracked open an eye, surprised to find him staring at her. Had he ever made such direct eye contact before?
“If you’d like,”Cecily agreed. He smiled, giddy, an indulged child, and tucked himself under her arm. Laughing, Cecily held him close. They remained that way for sometime, until the hand slowly rubbing her belly became a little more precise. It roamed, going higher and lower than was distinctly appropriate. When a knuckle skimmed the swell of her breast, she grabbed his wrist.
Brennon gasped, instantly frozen. “I'm sorry,”he blurted, “I'm sorry, I don't know what I was--”
She shushed him, bringing his fingers to the buttons along her front. “If you're going to touch me,”Cecily whispered, “you're going to do it right. Undo them.”
He swallowed, face a beautiful shade of pink. “It's improper,”he whispered. Cecily scoffed.
“Brennon, you're already mine. You can get the ring later. Just do it already.”
But the harshness of her tone seemed to quail whatever courage he'd managed to muster. He withdrew his hand, gnawing at his bottom lip, “I can't.”
Sometimes she forgot how limited men were, especially in rural towns. In the capital, where she’d been raised, things ran a little more wild. But here, in the small town that rarely got any visitors? Brennon might have punished for looking too long at a lovely lady, let alone explore the pleasures of his own body.
She rose to her knees, saying, “Why don't we try something else,” as she urged Brennon to lie fully on his back. He obeyed, watching all of her motions with a mixture of rapture and trepidation.
Cecily eyed him, the ashen white of his shirt, the rose pinned over his heart. She didn't bother asking if she could remove it. It was unspoken rule between them, and between couples on general, that the man would only complain if it was urgent. Plucking the flower from its roots and discarding it to the floor, Cecily began on the ties. Like her buttons, they ran the length of his shirt, tied strategically so that they would unravel with the pull of either tail.
Four ties revealed the bare chest beneath, flushed a burning red. Six showed his taut core, pale from inexposure. She went for the final two, when Brennon suddenly grabbed her hands.
“What is it?”she asked, alarmed to find his eyes squeezed shut and his skin pale.
His hands were clammy, fingers grasping hers. “No one's ever seen,”he whispered, “It… it feels wrong.”
Cecily considered that, sitting back on her calves. At last, she said, “You're my husband. I'm the only one allowed to see this.”
“But we arent married yet and--”
“What is it that you fear?”she asked. “That I will use and discard you?”
“I…”
Ah.
“Oh Bren,”whispered Cecily. “After all this time?”
Hands retreating to cover his chest, Brennon sucked in a breath. “I didn't-- I don't--”
She pressed a finger to his lips, immediately quieting him. Those eyes, wide and nervous and wet, fixated wholly on her. She understood his fear; being spoiled was something that haunted every man's nightmares. But they would be wed shortly. She needed to have him trust her fully. Circumventing his fears and expectations was a good place to start.
So Cecily unbuttoned her own shirt, cast it aside. The wrap beneath, a cotton band that protected her breasts from any rough textiles, came undone with a few released knots.
And then she was bared chested, nipples peaked. Brennon turned his head in some false formality. She knew this because he was more than eager to stare when she brought his head back to center.
“It's okay to look,”she assured. “I'm your wife. You can look at me.”
"... you're very beautiful,”Brennon whispered.
Cecily smirked. When he moved to touch her, she batted his hands away. “Now now,”she chided, “Not without a kiss.”
Brennon's nervous expression warmed into a grin. He moved at the same time she did, lips on lips. She probed, he surrendered. Then it was tongue to tongue, teeth on teeth. Wet, panting breaths as she explored, mouthing along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. When his shirt slipped away, released by her deft fingers, he hardly seemed to notice. She urged him to cup her breast, allowed him a tentative squeeze. Curious, then with more enthusiasm, spurred by her hum of approval.
“It's so odd…”he whispered, heedless of her twitching insides as he thumbed her nipple.
“Don't call my breasts odd,”Cecily huffed, pleased when he seemed to catch the jest.
Brennon leaned back, touch gliding to her hips, not even flinching as she moved to straddle his thighs. “I only meant that they were two of the most lovely things I've ever had the privilege of seeing, my Lady.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cecily unlaced the bow at the top of her breeches, then did Brennon's. Apparently, he could have cared less, because the next words out of his mouth were:
“I am… allowed to see?”
She chuckled, “Bren, I didn't kill a bear and duel your fiance for you to not see.”
“I can't believe you hit her,”he said with a breathy laugh. “How did you know she'd call for anything goes?”
Cecily shrugged, running her finger down Brennon's chest. “I didn't. If she hadn't, I would have gone for her fingers. But she did, so I punched her.”
“You would have played dirty? It could have ruined your reputation as an honorable woman! You might have--”
“I can move anywhere and make a new reputation,”Cecily whispered, “I just need you with me, and I can go anywhere.”
He blinked, mouth popping open. It was so adorable that Cecily couldn't help but laugh, leaning down to kiss at his breastbone. “You know,”she murmured against his skin, “if I were a cat, I'd want to spend all nine lives with you.”
“Oh-- be quiet,”he cackled. “May I see the rest of you?”
She obliged, rising up to her knees and rolling her pants down, then kicking then away to the edge of the bed. Still grinning, his eyes roamed. From her breasts, to the apex of her thighs. To the scars across her body, and then finally to her face. He didn't have to say anything for her to know exactly what he was thinking. What eighteen years of chastity was currently doing to him.
She could see it well enough.
“Think of it as a pre-consummation,”Cecily explained, as she watched him cast aside his own clothes at her behest. “A promise. We'll have to do it again afterwards, of course.”
He smirked, even as he eyed her with wariness. “I don't know how to please a woman,”he admitted. It wasn't much of an admission; she’d anticipated it.
Cecily glanced at the length of him. Pleasantly shaped, not nearly long enough to cause trouble, maybe bent a little bit to one side. And pink.
“Is it… is it weird looking?”
She quirked a brow. “Hm?”
“Well… you're staring at it. Is it like the other ones?”
“And how would I know what other ones look like?”she teased. “Are you presuming I've done this sort of thing before?”
Brennon made a helpless gesture. “I-i thought you had? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--”
She rolled her eyes, giving his thigh a light flick as she told him, “It's fine, Bren. Everyone is different. This is the one thing in which a man has no standard to uphold.”
He nodded, seeming to relax again. “So, are we going to…?”
“In a minute,”Cecily laughed. She took his hand, positioned it between her thighs with his thumb on her clit. Taking the hint, Brennon gave it a light nudge. The small touch was barely enough to earn a low sigh. “Almost,”she encouraged, “Try again, little more.”
He curled his fingers, running them experimentally along her folds. But then he narrowed his eyes, “I think I want to try something else.”
“Oh?”breathed Cecily, “What?”
“I’ve heard some of the other men say that their wives enjoy… their mouths,”He hedged. “I think I would be better at that.”
She beamed, more than happy to slide forward and lift herself over his mouth. Brennon sighed, a warm stream of air that set her insides churning, and pushed himself up to give her a tentative lick.
Cecily purred, grasping his hair. “That’s it-- keep going, just like that.” His answering laugh rumbled through her.
Nose to her mound he licked again, sucked experimentally at her clit while grasping her hips, drawing her closer. Groaning, Cecily dug her nails into his scalp and ground against his probing tongue. “Good boy,”she hissed, “Don’t you dare stop until I say you can.” Brennon hummed, lapping wildly, as she reached behind her to run a hand down his cock. He gasps, thighs splaying wider. She squeezed, then threw her head back in a moan. Brennon added a finger, rubbing her clit in earnest as he suckled at its head. He was panting, ragged breath cool against the sweat on her belly.
A tightness began in her belly, a coiling heat hedging towards its peak. Cecily arched, ready for the throws of it, when she yelped. Brennon froze, leaning back to stare up at her. He rasped, “What did I do?”
She clutched at her side, feeling the cracked in her ribs. Each touch ached; she was going to need to see a healer after all of this. “It’s not you,”she whispered, “I hurt my side earlier, that’s all.”
“Should we stop?”
“No,”Cecily said, as she waited for the stars blacking her vision to fade. “No, we just need something a little less rigorous.” Still tentative, she shuffled backwards on her knees until Brennon’s cock pressed against her thighs. Still catching her breath, she asked, “Are you ready?”
He was watching her very carefully, one hand resting on her hip and the other along her side, lightly skimming the purple bruises. “Are you?”
Cecily nodded, “I’ve been waiting for this day for months, Bren. I’m not about to let some bruising ruin it.” He smiled, nodding his agreement and bracing his hands on her thighs.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Just lay there,”she said, “Let me satisfy myself.”
He choked, “You want me to do nothing? Isn’t that the worst thing a husband can do during sex?”
“Different women want different things,”She said, smile rough. “I’ll teach you what to do later. Right now, I don’t have the patience.”
Keeping her back straight to less the strain on her side, Cecily pushed herself up, and steadied him beneath her. As she began to slide down, Brennon knocked his head back and cursed.
“Naughty,”she laughed. He only groaned in response. Taking his length was no difficult matter, and soon Cecily had him wholly within. His scrambling hands, unsure what to do, were becoming a bit of a nuisance though. So she wound their fingers together, letting him grapple and squeeze. “Take a breath,”she commanded, “I won’t move until you’re settled.”
They stayed there for a long minute, letting his breathing even out. When his eyes at last opened, Brennon gave a nervous laugh. “Sorry. This is just-- it’s better than I ever imagined.”
He might have said something else, but Cecily had run out of patience. She moved, riding the sensation, white hot pleasure ripping through her core. Brennon groaned, a chorus to her own cries. The muscles of his belly flexed. Sweat beaded across his brow, down her breasts, along their jointed thighs.
Brennon moaned, low and guttural, hips jerking to match hers. Rasping breaths, nails to skin. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him halfway upright, capturing his mouth in a kiss, nipping at his lip, his ear.
He gasped, body curling-- “Do not ,”Cecily snarled, heady and ragged. “You will wait for me.” She nuzzled down his neck, tasting the sweat as he struggled to nod. He was going to try, but it was a losing game.
Cecily quicked her pace, chasing fire, and roared as the orgasm crashed into her. Brennon shouted in tandem, body taut and writhing.
Then it was over. Careful of her rib, Cecily rolled down besides him. The sheets were soaked with sweat; she was definitely going to need a bath. Besides her, Brennon panted. Wide eyed, face still slicked with her fluids.
“So,”she wheezed, grabbing her ruined shirt to wipe down her thighs, “How was it?”
“Incredible,”Brennon whispered.
Cecily smirked, cleaned his face in turn. “The best you ever had?”she teased. He chuckled, turned to nuzzle into her side. She brushed some of his hair out of the way and kissed his cheek, content for the moment to just lie there together.
They were quiet for a long minute, before Brennon murmured, “You know my mother is never going to speak to you, right?
“You say that like its a bad thing,”she snorted.
“And Miss Lillia is going to go out of her way to cause you trouble.”
“I’ll just beat her in another duel.”
He scoffed, "Maybe not? You almost gave me a heart attack."
Cecily smirked, kissed his forehead, "Poor doll, all that bread work has left you fragile."
"... I just don't want to see you get hurt."
Her expression softened. She found his hand, squeezing it within her own. "You don't need to worry about me, Bren. I'll be okay."
"You did kill a bear,"he sighed, not sounding convinced. "I guess you can handle a duel."
"I did kill a bear. And I'll kill fifty, if it'll ease your mind."
"It won't-- trust me, it won't."