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Of all the wives and consorts, Gabriel is the least favourite - traded for access to a budding port after his cousin unexpectedly elopes, he fulfils the terms of the wedding contract almost as begrudgingly as his new husband.
The King leaves him under no illusions as to his affections: he does not even bother getting married face-to-face. Down the aisle Gabriel goes, his first day in Notton, in all the wealth and worry his kingdom could muster, only to be met at the altar with the bishop, a contract, and a quill. It is all perfectly proper, the bishop assures him, when there is no ceremony - no flowers - no other witnesses.
'Proper?' Gabriel says. He has not had much time to learn the language; he smiles to soften his accent.
'Yes!, yes!,' the bishop insists, 'this is all customary for the chaste-wife.'
The King's people have a thing called a 'chaste-wife', apparently - it is a title usually granted to a first wife set aside. A cold idea for a cold people, Gabriel thinks. The last time someone from the shores was set aside as a chaste-wife, she humiliated the Crown and was sent home in shame. But no one will be paying him any mind at all, his third handmaiden Ioni assures him. (The first two have an impolitic sense of humour.) This means he will be given certain allowances that other, higher-ranking wives and consorts will be denied, so long as he follows certain rules which restrict him and him alone.
He is to keep himself hidden, for example, and dress in subdued colours, to signal that he will never be touched. Not that it was not obvious just to look at him - he is much too tall and strong, not to the King's taste at all, Ioni says briskly.
'Of course not,' Gabriel says, smiling. 'But I am nothing if I am not the King's.'
'Hmm. Your accent is getting better,' Ioni tells him. 'It's your smile that could use some work.'
In a suite of forgotten rooms, Gabriel looks out at the constellations - the Peacekeeper, the Tigress, and the Loving Hope - and resolves to get himself sent home.
During meals, Gabriel is always seated far and facing away from the King's table; he has long given up on straining to see the man who is now his husband. Staring is considered quite rude, apparently, even from under a damnably long veil. But how are you supposed to see if you do not stare? Gabriel has never understood.
A flash of copper-blonde hair is all he has ever caught of the King. Tonight the Queen is a vision even from afar, gleaming in all her gold, with dark braids forming a crown around her head. The Raven performs one of her acrobatic dances while the people eat. Gabriel wonders that she does not get tired; he claps politely when she finishes.
Beside him sits the bishop, who has been a constant companion these past few weeks, with all his many stories about the oh-so-wonderful King, and the many prophecies preceding him.
'His Majesty has a heart for the people,' the bishop gushes, 'he cares for even the poorest and most pathetic of creatures, even for the orphan--'
'Well, I am onesuch pathetic creature,' Gabriel says. His ridiculous veil has dipped into his soup yet again - with a flash of impatience, he pulls it down and around his shoulders. 'So I suppose the King and I are well-matched!'
Beside the bishop, the Widow-Duchess of Branchal and her son Lord Oris Din look up.
'Why, how spirited you are, Your Virtue,' says the Widow-Duchess, with a laugh. 'And what a beauty!'
'I, well,' Gabriel looks to the bishop, face gone stiff with disapproval, and becomes uncertain of his misstep, 'my veil went into my bowl, you see--'
'Never mind that, Your Virtue,' says Lord Oris, with a wink, 'we certainly shall not tell anyone. Now did I hear correctly from the bishop that you come from Ersto? I have never been so far south - is it true you grew up right by the sea?'
Gabriel has not spoken to anyone but Ioni and the bishop, these past few weeks. He forgets himself and all those finicky rules. On and on he speaks of Ersto - the deep and dazzling ocean where he once caught a clam with a pearl, the old church ruins where he was near hostaged by a pirate, the dormant volcano he and his cousins would clamber and climb, the small castle with his four cousins (now three, his mind reminds him), his aunt the Regis and his other aunt the Victo, the cook Ari, the priest-witch Lussia, the two dogs that always came when Gabriel whistled--
The Widow-Duchess tuts sympathetically, handing him her kerchief to wipe his face when he pauses. 'You must miss them very much, Your Virtue,' says Lord Oris.
The bishop has been silently staring this whole time. Gabriel shrinks into himself, a little.
'Oh, I am-- I am truly fortunate that my new home has people like you,' he stutters.
That night he dreams of Ersto - down he drifts in the dark, above his home, lamps lit to guide the priest-witch and her patrol. He tries to float down closer, to say her name - but the townscape slides before him, like someone yanking a sheet away. To the mountains he goes, helpless in the wind, the sound of the ruins like a rattling gasp in his ears. North again, he flies, shivering, to Andide, the sleeping volcano - he sees the smoke, the red-orange-white of magma.
He wakes in a fever. He does not notice that Ioni has not woken him; he is still not used to his own maidservant. His room is drafty, with large, airy windows - it is barely light when he rises, barely light when he finishes his letter, barely light when he dresses himself and realises something is wrong.
A guard stops him when he tries to leave his rooms. 'Excuse me, sir,' Gabriel says, 'I have a message that I must send my family.'
The guard does not look at him directly. 'You are to remain in your rooms, Your Virtue.'
Perhaps Gabriel was not clear. 'No, you do not understand,' he says, trying to evade the guard's grasp, 'I have a message-- it is, ah, quickly-bad? I am sorry, I do not know the word in your tongue--'
The guard lowers his weapon, and strikes him in the face. The veil is little protection. 'You must remain in your rooms, Your Virtue, please,' says the guard, not unkindly.
The word is urgent, Gabriel remembers, when he slinks back into his room - urgent.
He loses hold of his letter - he collapses upon the edge of his bed. He is lost to the world.
A finger grazes his face; he stirs, he opens his eyes. All is darkness save the moon.
A man sits on his bed, staring down at him. Something encircles his head - his eyes glimmer as Gabriel blinks at him. He smells of fine, rich things - sandalwood, musk, and honeyed apple... and oil? Is Gabriel smelling oil? Oh, what a funny thing.
The man's jewellery makes soft clanging noises when he raises his hand. He touches Gabriel's face again - his cheek, swollen and bruised now. There is an odd stillness to him; almost like a kind of violence.
Wariness overtakes Gabriel in waves - he begins to shake his head - he pulls back from the man's reach. The man lowers his hand to the bed, and regards him.
Gabriel notices that he is in his sleep things - had he dreamt waking up before? There's something... something he needs to remember, but he cannot quite think what.
'Who touched you?' asks the man, interrupting him. His voice is surprisingly low. Gabriel's mouth is very dry, his head is still pounding. Is the man asking a riddle?
'You did,' he replies, puzzled, tongue slow. 'But I do not know you.'
The man stares at him. 'You accuse your lord and master?'
Gabriel simply stares at him, at a loss. What does the King have to do with any of this? The room begins to blur and fade. The man slaps him softly, twice, on both sides of his face, waking him. Gabriel moans aloud, dizzy, eyes watering.
'I came to punish you for your impudence, in exposing yourself to my Court,' says the man, 'but I see I have been preceded. On your belly, wife.'
'No, I,' Gabriel mumbles, as he is manhandled onto his front, grabbing at the man's body for purchase, 'it was a misunderstanding, the guard did not-- he did not mean it unkindly, I think.'
The man pauses - wife, he had said - he grips Gabriel tight by the back of his neck and pulls his head back till he is strained, bent into a bow. Gabriel still cannot see his face, oh it hurts...
He had said wife!
'It displeases me, to see you cry over another,' says the King, releasing him. The room swims before Gabriel's eyes. He is pushed again onto his front, half on the bed, half over the man's muscular thighs. The King pushes up his sleep things easily, and tugs down his smallclothes till they are tangled about his thighs. Gabriel is no shrinking flower, no small thing - he tries to struggle away, but he is feverish, and bewildered, and the King is patient, and much more used to violence. He eventually becomes so dizzy he has to clutch onto the King for balance. The King's large hand slides unerringly up his legs and backside.
'Please,' Gabriel shivers. 'Please.'
'It had not occurred to me that you would cry this prettily,' the King says, thoughtfully. The first smack against his ass is a surprise. Gabriel jerks in his hold, and tries to crawl away. The King drags him back easily, then hits him twice more, sharp and painful and blistering heat. 'Next time I will need to tie you, I suppose,' he says. 'Don't bite your lip, I want to hear you.'
'Please,' says Gabriel, panting, not sure what he is begging for, trying to hold back his tears, 'please, please--'
The King spanks him again and again, relentless. He tries to kick him off and just gets his balls slapped for his troubles, and he is soon smacked again all along his thighs. He closes his eyes, trying to hold in a gasp, and exhales into a full sob.
'Oh, there you are,' says the King, pleased. But it is still not over, even though he has bullied him into crying, whatever sort of penance he thinks that proves. No, he keeps spanking Gabriel, again and again, till Gabriel forgets to try to kick away. His entire world soon narrows down to the strange sound of his own sobs, his endless half-formed apologies - the grunts of his husband - the cracks of the man's hand against his ass and thighs, shaking his whole body - the strange, fuzzy cloud that settles over his senses.
On and on it goes, till Gabriel realises that those deranged moaning noises he's hearing are coming from him - he is rocking back against the King's hand, chasing for more of that sticky feeling crackling up his spine - wanting more, more, more.
But the King stops. He drags him up - Gabriel looks at him muzzily - he burrows in against his chest with a sigh: he wishes he hadn't stopped!
'Wicked thing,' the King says, amused, stroking the low of Gabriel's back, 'this was meant to be a punishment, you know. Though I suppose this means I will not need to tie you next time at all.'
Gabriel barely registers the words, warm all over, he spreads his legs easy when the King nudges them apart, though they tremble and burn. The King spears him with two oiled fingers, pumping them in and out, inside of him - the pain drips over his senses like syrup - at some point he begins to cry again, it feels so good - the King shushes him sweetly, re-arranging him wholly, dripping oil all over the girth of his cock - he pushes up into Gabriel - his belly trembling and molten, his face burning hot - clutching to the stranger in his bed - not knowing the ends of his body anymore, just the sparks behind his eyes everytime the King fucks into that impossible spot inside of him - his feet curl up, his King soothing him, kissing him, urging him and owning him - he cries, he cries, he comes so hard he faints dead away.
He dreams: he is overflowing, he is spent, he is melting beneath himself.
He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. Thus does his fever break.
Gabriel awakes in his husband's arms, his eyes swollen and almost crusted over from tears. He cracks his eyes open - he sees the King staring down at him - he remembers it all.
An icy wave of horror washes over him - he stumbles out of bed, and immediately falls to the floor, every part of him heavy and aching in protest when he attempts to stand.
The King leans over the edge of the bed and smiles at him, eyes twinkling in pleasure. He is much more handsome, much more terrifying in the light of day.
'Wife,' he says, with slow relish, 'do you need help up?'
'M-my family, Your Highness,' Gabriel says, crawling slowly away from the bed on his hands and knees, his heart racing in fear, 'they are in grave danger - I must make haste - the volcano Andide is due to erupt--'
The King's brow furrows. He stands to his feet - even his sleeping gown is lush and intricately patterned with gold and jewelled-twine. The absolute wealth and waste of this upsets Gabriel.
'Did no one tell you?' says the King, sounding puzzled. 'The volcano Andide erupted two days ago, during the worst of your fever. Ersto has been destroyed.' Gabriel stares at him in shock. 'Do not worry, I have already dispatched a contingent of soldiers to see if there are any survivors.'
'Do not worry?' Gabriel chokes out, grabbing at the legs of the bed and dragging himself to his feet. 'I, I should be there, my family could be--'
He loses his balance and nearly falls. The King catches him by the waist, and steadies him with a stern look. Gabriel is quite nearly his height, so why does he feel so small before him?
'I am your family now, wife,' says the King coolly, 'and Notton is your home. I have already told you not to cry over others in front of me. I will not remind you again.'
Gabriel sucks down a hopeless breath. 'Please,' he begs, grabbing for the King's hands, 'let me travel south.' He alights upon the details of their marriage contract. 'Your Highness, you must know that the port of Ersto has been destroyed.'
'Oh, almost certainly,' says the King, mild, pushing Gabriel gently back, to lean against the bed. Were his people borne from trees, Gabriel wonders, for him to be so damned big?
'So there is no need to preserve this marriage,' Gabriel says, desperately, 'it could be annulled, and I could be sent--' he chokes down his tears, '--could be sent--'
Home, he cannot say. Oh beautiful, unlucky Ersto - if only he had been there. If only he had dashed himself on the rocks when his cousin first ran away!
'Annulled?' says the King, sounding amused, of all things. 'I do not know what coastal courts and churching you are used to, in the south, but you cannot annul a consummated marriage.'
Gabriel feels as though the conversation is spinning entirely out of his control. And it occurs to him that there is a strange fuzziness falling over his eyes, not entirely unlike a veil. 'You are a cruel, unkind man,' he says breathlessly.
'I am that,' the King agrees, pressing him back down onto the bed, embracing him firmly, and worrying at his neck.
'I could, I could,' Gabriel says, reaching up his hands to grasp at the King's shoulders, 'I could sue you for divorce.'
'You could.' The King shrugs. 'But it would be denied, in the end,' he says pleasantly. 'And I would not advise you try.' He kisses Gabriel deeply, covering him with that big warm body of his. He withdraws after some time, he abandons Gabriel to be left alone on his bed. Gabriel looks up at him with tears in his eyes.
The King's eyes darken. 'Do not tempt me with your sulking or you will never be rid of me,' he murmurs. Startled, Gabriel blanks his face at once. Like a shudder of warmth within him, the King lets out a laugh. 'Oh, you did that too quickly, it wounded my pride. Come over my lap, you wicked thing: let me punish you again. I promise you will like it.'