The Bitch Princess

Kyrene stared at her reflection in the ornate golden mirror, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the way the lacey white fabric hung on her thin frame. Granted, white looked wonderful against her deep mahogany skin tones and her long, wavy black hair, but the dress was loose and heavy. A four-inch-thick ribbon of white lace wrapped around her neck like a poorly-drawn scarf, draping over a flat piece of fabric that hung over her back and chest. The skirt was held up at an odd angle by her petticoat and the hoop skirt underneath, the quilted pattern offset by two large poufs on each hip. A fat bow sat right on her belly button, and the skirt only came down to her ankles, exposing the only good thing about the ensemble: a pair of glittering silver-and-white heels.

She couldn’t believe she was meant to be married in this dress.

Kyrene was eighteen now, and as the only child born to Redd and Bellamy Marigoulde, she was being married off to a prince from a kingdom across the river. Yearwood Mulholland and his parents, King Graves and Queen Flora, were good rulers, but they were overbearing and intimidating. Yearwood in particular. He was a short, stout man, just a few inches taller than her – which wasn’t saying much, considering Kyrene’s petite frame – but he was aggressive, having cornered her earlier today in the halls of the castle. She shivered as she remembered the incident.

“Thou art so beautiful,” he had murmured as he pinned her against the nearest wall. “Hence… bawbling and fragile.”

Kyrene had looked away, flustered and nervous. She wasn’t attracted to the fat blonde in the slightest, but their fathers’ will was strong. “Do not, Master Mulholland. If someone sees us, they may regard ‘tis improper.” But they had been alone, their quiet voices echoing through the marble halls.

Yearwood had laughed at her. “So childlike! ‘Tis amusing to no end, dearest. Yet thou won’t be so pure for much longer.” His lips curled in a greasy grin.

“What are thou saying?”

Yearwood had lowered his head, his breath hot and smelly on her face and his yellow teeth showing in a wider smile. “After this evening, we shall be married. Then thou shall be mine, and I fuck thou every night.” Kyrene had gasped, gaping at him in offense, but he paid no mind to her reaction. “I shall be slow and gentle, so thou are sure of exactly whom thou belong to. I shall be sure thou feel it all, down to the last inch, so that thou ne’r forget that I am thy master.” He touched two fingers to her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Thy maidenhood shall be so sweet to crush under the weight of mine cock.”

Kyrene had been lucky enough that a handmaiden had stumbled upon them at that very moment, separating the two. Yearwood had bowed to her like he hadn’t just been threatening her deflowerment in the most sinister, creepy way possible, and had fled.

Shaking her head to bring herself back to the present, Kyrene sighed and turned to look out of the window. She could just run. She could run away and never come back, and not have to be married to that brute. But another of the handmaidens entered her dressing room to fetch her for the ceremony, so with one last look in the mirror, Kyrene resigned herself to her fate.

—–

The ceremony was such a blur. Redd Marigoulde’s arm was tight around hers as he practically carried her down the aisle. The crowd rippled with comments about her ugly dress, and how lucky she was to be marrying Yearwood. Her mother beamed at her from the frontmost row of the pews. Her soon-to-be in-laws glared, uninterested in the semantics of the union. Afternoon sunlight beamed in through the stained glass windows of the castle’s ground-level church. Yearwood – the man who would be her husband in just a few minutes – grinned at her with a hidden malice that she knew no one else was privy to.

“We are gathered under the eye of The Lord today to bray out the union of Prince Yearwood Mulholland and Princess Kyrene Marigoulde.” The pastor’s booming voice startled her. “After today, the Kingdom of Astrandia and the Kingdom of Clouden will be one, forever joined in…”

The words seemed to trail into nothingness as Kyrene turned just a little to gaze out of one of the colorful windows. She could run. Run away and never come back. But where would she go? Did it matter, if she was free? Did it matter where a trapped princess ran to, if it meant she escaped the fate Yearwood planned for her? She cringed at the threat he had left her with.

“Doth thou, Prince Yearwood, take Princess Kyrene to be thy wife, to hast and to bear…”

She glanced to her right, where the portly little man was standing proud and arrogant. She just knew his manhood was small, just from the way he talked and carried himself. She had seen the peasants around the castle changing and bathing and even walking around naked while under the influence of strange herbs and mushrooms. She knew what a real cock looked like, and she knew Yearwood was not a very well endowed man. The thought of him holding her down and sliding gently in and out of her made her sick. Did she really want this for the rest of her life?

“I do.” Yearwood’s voice snapped her out of it this time.

“And doth thou, Princess Kyrene, take Prince Yearwood to be thy husband, to hast and to bear from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, ‘i infirmity and ‘i health, to love and to cherish, till perpetual wink thou doth part, according to God’s holy law?”

Something was wrong, and the entire church could tell. Her father held his breath. Her mother’s eyes widened and she clutched her ornate necklaces to her chest.