Chapter Text
It had only been two days since the kings men had brought her father the royal summon. They had sat together in front of the fireplace and it was the first time she had ever seen her father cry.
The money they had planned to use for planting had been needed for her mother. It had been in vain; it had not saved her. Since they had nothing to plant, they were on the brink of starvation and next spring they would have nothing to sell to buy new seeds. It was a cycle that would not end.
Or perhaps it would. The king was calling in his debt and it would leave her father at death’s door. He would push her to marry before he died and she would have to.
She was fortunate that Gaston arrived that morning when her father called for him. Now, as destitute as she was, she was worried he would not have her. But he’d already received her dowry. It seemed to be enough for him stay.
Her sister, Emma, had arrived only moments after, and almost immediately they were banished to the other room.
It was an hour before the door opened and her father revealed this plan to her.
Emma had seemed just as shocked and when she tried to protest, her father sharply silenced her. He’d only left not five minutes ago. The time since was spent in silence, changing into the nicest dress she owned.
What they were asking of her was unimaginable.
The king?
He would never accept her. She was but a peasant and he only had women of status… with experience.
Belle had neither.
If she was lucky, the king would only turn her away. But, if he was in a vengeful mood, she could be killed.
To resort to this, her father must have thought when she married Gaston she would forget him completely. She wouldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t.
Once she was wed, she would find a way to pay back her father’s debt. Gaston was not rich, but he had enough money to live comfortably. If they lived modestly for a few years they could pay the king.
“Are you alright?” Emma’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.
“How can they ask this of me?”
“You know that they wouldn’t, but there is no other way.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?” Belle asked on the verge of tears, “What if he rejects me? What if he takes what he wants then doesn’t—”
“That won’t happen. He’s a good king,” Emma took her hand. “And Belle, you are beautiful. He won’t reject you.”
Her father was moving around outside the door again. He was getting anxious to get going, but Belle needed this time with her sister. They no longer had a mother and matters of this nature fell to Emma.
“Just don’t be surprised if it hurts a little.”
“It’s going to hurt?”
Emma squeezed her hand at the look of concern on Belle’s face, “Only a little. And not very long.”
There was a knock on the door. Belle expected their father to look in, but the face of Belle’s fiancé peered around the door.
“Are you ready?”
With a final, reassuring squeeze from her sister, Belle nodded. Really, she was not ready. She wanted to ask Emma more, but Gaston didn’t close the door. So she stood and followed him out of the room.
Her father didn’t look at her as he led her out of their small cottage. The walk to the castle was long. It would take more than a day to reach the city and then a few more miles to the castle itself.
Belle did not try to talk to her father. She was angry at him—angry for making her do this, angry for making her feel this way.
She was nervous. It was not a pleasant nervous feeling that one gets at the thought of some kind of exciting adventure, but a tight knot that made it hard to walk or breathe. It would not be the feeling she would have gotten on her wedding day as night approached. It was different knowing the king would know her before her husband.
She’d never even seen King William—no one in her small village had ever seen him. They only spoke of his hunger for women, his history as a war hero before he’d been injured.
Nothing was ever said of his looks. The fact that he had women meant nothing. He was king. The king had as many women as he wanted. Whether he was ugly or not was of no matter. Hopefully, he would be somewhat attractive.
His wife, Eleanor, had died many years ago, before Belle was born. Her mother had spoken of the queen only a few times. From what she said, Belle guessed the queen was a good woman. She had left the king a single heir and the two hadn’t been seen together after the birth.
It was no secret to anyone that the two monarchs had not been faithful to each other after the prince was born, but it was consensual that they should take lovers.
The king had taken three different women while the queen took a single man from her home-country. Her mother had talked of the heartbreak that had been at the royal wedding. The queen was in love with someone else on her wedding day.
It made Belle grateful she had Gaston and no one else in her life.
Her father walked next to her all the way through the city. She guessed he did it to make sure that she did, in fact, go through with this. The dress she’d worn was her mother’s finest, and it was now ruined from the walk through the muddy path.
It was degrading; it was sinful. She would be seen only as the king’s mistress. She would be shunned by the parish. Would any priest marry her and Gaston?
Her father should have thought of this.
Still, he forced her to proceed. It was either keep her pride or let her family die hungry in the streets. Had she been a man and able to decide for herself, she would have never sold herself like this.
The city was bustling as they entered. It was starting to get dark and Belle’s father hurried her down the streets before it was too late to call on the king. She tried not to think of how the rest of her night would be spent. Even with Emma’s limited advice, it wasn’t enough to quell the fluttering in her stomach.
“Now, Belle, remember not to be too forward.”
“You do know what you’re asking me to do? How do I do without being forward?” she snapped.
“Just remember to be humble. And think before you speak, don’t make him angry.”
The palace was just outside of the city and the further they walked the larger it seemed to grow. He stopped with her just at the gate. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she shied away from him.
“You need only show them this and they will allow you in, so you needn’t worry about that,” he said and handed her the parchment that had summoned them here. “I’ll be waiting at the inn.”
“I know.”
“Belle, I am sorry—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted and pushed into the metal gate, opening it enough to pass through.
She didn’t look back as she walked up the gravel path. It didn’t matter if her father left immediately or if he watched her till she was inside.
Though the court wasn’t crowded, every person there had their eyes on her. Her gaze was fixed on the front door; she had to keep her confidence. It was the only way she would ever get through this.
Once she was inside, she was immediately stopped by the guards.
“You aren’t welcome here.”
Timidly, she handed them the parchment. “I’ve been summoned.”
The guard glanced at the writing and gave her a look that made her feel extremely self-conscious. It was as if he knew why she was here.
“Let me show you the way, milady.”
Belle had never been inside such a luxurious place. Everything sparkled, everything was colorful, everything cost more than what her father made in a year. She knew she must look out of place walking through these corridors. Even though she loved her mother’s dress, it looked like rags in the palace.
They met only a few others as they winded through the halls. The finely dressed men and women stared at her and when she passed, she heard them whisper and laugh.
Her courage was starting to drain from her the further they walked. But the guard put out an arm to stop her. They were in front of a large door and he ordered her to stay. He opened the door and slipped through it.
It wasn’t long before the door was thrown open and a man came stumbling out. He was dressed well but he had landed on the ground in his attempt to exit too quickly. It made him seem less prestigious.
Loud, thunderous yelling carried out into the hall, immediately followed by a glass vase that sailed over the man’s head. Belle barely ducked out of the way before it hit the wall behind her and shattered.
The man on the floor scrambled away from the door and rushed down the hallway as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Belle stared after him, but someone was at the door again, clearing his throat.
The guard gestured to her to enter. The nervous feeling in her stomach had worsened into an incapacitating terror as she crossed into the room.
The king was standing when Belle entered. He wasn’t anything she had imagined. His clothing, she expected, were casual, though it made the feeling of her plainness intensify. He had a cane, or perhaps it was more of a scepter, with a diamond head, around which his fingers clutched for support.
He was only a few inches taller than her and had a slight frame. She’d imagined he would be large and imposing, but the only thing intimidating about him was the show he’d put on a few moments ago.
His expression was a still a bit angry, but as the guard whispered in his ear, he eyed her calmly.
“Thank you, you’re excused,” he said.
Belle and the king stood facing each other until they were alone.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Isabelle Frenier.”
“Frenier? You’re French?”
“My grandfather was.”
“You’re father’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Hm,” he said and stroked his chin. “And your father…that’s why you’re here now.”
Her heart started to beat faster. The moment was here. At least he had been courteous enough for a few words beforehand. “Yes.”
Sighing, he folded his arms over his chest, “No doubt here to beg his pardon and ask for an extension on his loan?”
“I—” she started, confused. Did he really have no idea why she was here?
“I’m sorry Miss Frenier, but—”
“I’m not here to beg.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I am here to pay off my father’s debt.”
“Alright,” he waited for a long moment and watched her. “You did bring the money?”
“I’m afraid you misunderstand, your majesty,” Belle said quietly, “I am to be the payment.”
“Ah,” was all he said. He had a smirk on his face when he turned from her.
“My father doesn’t have the money,” she said.
“And whose fault is that?” he said, sitting in the large chair to face her.
“It isn’t what you think. My mother…” Belle’s eyes stung at the memory, “She fell ill and we had to use the money for her. He knows of your love for women and he thought… I’m the only thing he has to pay you.”
The smirk on his face disappeared and his expression softened only slightly. “And you agreed to this?”
She could only nod, unable to verbally confirm it. For a long moment, his gaze took all of her in. By the time his eyes returned to her face, she could feel herself blushing.
“You’re married?” his eyes returning to her left hand, where Gaston’s ring wrapped her finger.
“Engaged.”
He stood and as he walked toward her, she could tell his limp was more pronounced when he walked more than three steps. “Your father won’t request any more money from me.”
“Are you accepting?”
“I am.”
He walked past her to a door behind her. Belle didn’t move until he turned back to her and gestured for her to follow. Quickly, she scurried after him into the room, but stopped once she was inside.
“This will have to do,” the king said more, but Belle couldn’t hear him. It was a very luxurious room with soft carpeting and a fireplace with an already blazing fire. There was a large window that, had it been day, would have let in. But the large four-poster bed was the centerpiece that caught her eye.
He noticed her eyeing it, but said nothing. Shrugging off his cloak, he laid it on the arm chair next to the door.
“Come here,” he said as he made his own way over to the bed.
It felt like her entire body had gone numb as she moved toward him.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Sold myself to the king?”
He smirked as he watched her sit down on the bed. “Have you done this with any man?”
Swallowing, she shook her head, “No.”
His expression was unreadable as he silently looked her over again. He was taking a very long time. She wished he would just get it over with. But still, he watched her.
For a long moment, they just looked at each other until he finally, sighed, “Do you expect me to rip the dress off you, dear?”
“Oh!” she hadn’t thought of the matter of undressing before she’d sat down. She jumped up and he leaned his cane against the wall before pulling at the ribbons. His hands undid them easily. Within moments, her bodice fell from her and he’d pulled her skirts from her waist.
Only the thin material of her undergarments separated his hands from her. No one had ever touched the places he was touching. His hands stayed from the places she feared him touching most, but came extremely close more than once.
He wasn’t grabbing at her, as she feared he might, but grazed her over hips, her backside and her stomach. Gently, he turned her around so he could touch her back.
She was glad when she faced away from him. Every time he touched somewhere new, she winced, squeezing her eyes shut. He could most likely feel her wincing, but at least now he couldn’t watch her.
Finally, he hooked his fingers under the neckline of her chemise and tugged it from her. Though there was a fire blazing in the room, the air felt cool against her skin. Her hands curled against the top of her thighs as she waited for his hands to start exploring her again.
When she remained untouched, she opened her eyes to see him standing in front of her. Their eyes only met for a second before she looked away, fighting the urge to hide herself. He smoothed the blankets on the bed, “Lie down.”
The bed was neatly made and he didn’t go to disrupt the bedding. Perhaps she had bad information, but she was under the impression that this was done between the sheets.
She obeyed, but he told her to move to the center of the mattress. The blankets were soft and the pillows supported her head in a way she knew she would never feel again. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on that.
“I need you to open, dear,” he said.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. He chuckled and placed his hands on her knees, which where tightly clamped together.
“Oh,” she said sheepishly and let him ease her legs apart. She leaned her head back again, but the feeling of his pillows didn’t distract her as he ran his hands up her thigh.
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he’d leaned over her. When she looked, his face was above her.
“You have been kissed before?”
Normally, she would have been offended at the condescension in his voice, but she could only nod. He didn’t seem to need any other words and he gently pressed his mouth to hers. It started as a kiss she was used to. Gaston kissed her in this manner, with closed lips that barely moved.
Then, the tip of his tongue pressed to her lips.
The action was strange to her, but if it was what he wanted, she couldn’t deny the king. She opened her mouth and his tongue entered her mouth. He tasted of spices she’d never been wealthy enough to have. His tongue roamed her entire mouth, licking every tiny spot he could reach.
Just as she was getting used to him, he pulled away. Blinking a few times, she panted, finally able to breathe through her mouth again.
He was kneeling between her legs, putting most of his weight on his good leg, which made him lean a bit to the side. Leaning back again, she studied the floral pattern on the canopy above her, trying desperately to distract herself from the man between her legs.
The way he rubbed her thigh, it was almost comforting. Not even this action could prepare her for when he touched her sensitive skin. She gasped and, automatically, her legs jerked together, pinning his hand against her.
He didn’t rush her and waited until her muscles relaxed and he could make her open again without resistance.
“Dear?”
It seemed strange for him to still use her surname as he was so intimately touching her. She looked up.
“Yes?”
“You’re a very beautiful girl.”
“You think?” she said and almost laughed with relief. She knew he was trying to put her at ease. It was working.
His hand was still on her, but wasn’t moving. It was just a presence there, as her clothing might be.
“I do.”
“I was afraid you might reject me,” she said, hoping if she continued to speak she could delay him further.
“I might have…” without giving her a warning, he slid a finger between her folds and stroked up. Again, her legs clamped shut.
It was an action she seemed to have no control over.
“Why didn’t you?”
He placed his free hand on her knee, though he didn’t try and pry her open. He smiled, “You asked so nicely.”
Smiling as best she could, she nodded, “Alright…I’m ready.”
His finger continued to stroke her as he eased her legs apart. The feeling of him there was still strange, but it wasn’t bad. He stroked through her again and again, using only one finger then adding another.
Her fingers had clamped the blankets into her fists, but after the sensation of him wasn’t new any longer, she released the bedding.
Seeming to take that as a sign to go further, he slipped a finger inside her.
With a small yelp of surprise, she used all her control to keep her legs from pinning him there again. His finger turned around inside her before he pulled out and resumed stroking her.
His fingers entered her again, only a few more times. Even that she was starting to be used to.
It was doing something to her—something that made her wish he’d keep his fingers in her longer. Her entire body was tense, but not from discomfort. Why she’d ever want to delay him was beyond her.
A moan was building in her throat and she had to bite her lip to keep it down. It wasn’t ladylike to be groaning and grinding against him. The king, at least, deserved a lady.
Then his hand was gone.
Gone completely.
Her eyes snapped open to see him climbing off the bed. He took his cane from the wall and turned to face her.
“That’s it?”
Somehow she had imagined more. Emma had said it would hurt. He hadn’t even gotten undressed. It was supposed to involve both of them, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be just as bare as her. Was that really what everything was? She felt deeply unsatisfied.
He chuckled and rubbed his fingers together—the fingers he’d used on her—as if he was examining the wetness he found there. “I’m sure your fiancé would like to have you intact on your wedding night.”
He looked her over and immediately, she sat up, crossing her legs.
“And being here for that…well, it more than covers your father’s debt.”
She stared at him for a moment, not exactly sure how she should be feeling about this. From his logic, she should be relieved. It would be preferable if she still had her maidenhood on her wedding night. It wasn’t exactly how she felt. She felt rejected by him. Did he not want his own pleasure from her? Was she not even worth completing?
“Put your clothing back on, dear,” he said, “and go.”
“I…” she shook her head and rose from the bed. He stood by and watched her as he leaned against his cane.
Even as her body was covered, she felt self-conscious. She knew she was blushing and she knew if she tried to speak, she might cry. So she did nothing but focus on threading up her dress.
Once she’d finished, he led her back through the room they’d originally been in. Still, he rubbed his fingers together. He stopped at the door.
“Feel free to come back,” he said, almost sounding as if he was mocking her, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
It made her angry and she glared at him. This was one thing she could decide for herself. “If that’s all there is, I don’t think I’ll bother, your majesty.”
She opened the door, leaving him looking a little dumbstruck. She remembered her way to the front of the palace and was walking back through the town in the middle of the night.
The inn was close to the palace gates. Inside, there were a few drunkards sitting at the bar, but mostly it was deserted. The owner stood behind the bar, wiping out a drinking mug.
“Excuse me,” Belle said, “Where is Mr. Frenier staying?”
“Second door on the left,” he said without looking up.
Belle didn’t bother thanking him and only turned to go. When she knocked on the door, her father immediately opened the door to let her in.
“Belle? What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped.
“But you—”
“Your debt is paid.”
He didn’t say another word and lay back down in his tousled bedding.
She wished she didn’t have her father so close. The king had left her yearning for him. The feel of her heart was still thumping where his hands had been. It took all her will to keep her hands from herself and finishing what he’d started.
She’d told him she wouldn’t be returning, but the longer she lay in her bed, the longer her craving stewed within her, she couldn’t be so certain.
She curled around herself, knowing she wouldn’t sleep much that night.