The Gangbanged Princess

Princess Amaria's birthday celebrations began with a family breakfast, which she almost overslept, and a day in royal court. It was her first time holding royal court, but her mind could barely focus on the endless procession of courtiers offering flowery congratulations in hopes of earning the good graces of the royal family. Her mind was on the events of the night before, the book she'd read, and which men her father might have chosen for her to have a whale of a time with.

Lord Slazdale, or Lord Sleazeball as Amaria liked to think of him as, approached the throne. Like many before him, he had no real business in the royal court today. As he was passing on his birthday wishes to her, all she could think about was that he was a high-ranking lord, and single. His wife had passed away over a year ago now, so it was an appropriate time for him to consider a new one. But he was old. So, so old and, well, sleazy. The thought of doing sexual intercourse-- or fucking, as it was more commonly called (according to the book) was bad enough, but what if he were the one to get her pregnant? Then she'd have to marry him and look at his ugly slimy face until death parted them. His death, of course. Because he was older than her, not because she'd off him early by serving him the wrong sort of mushrooms or anything.

Hmmm. Mushrooms. There was a book in the library about foraging mushrooms. It was written to help people choose the safe mushrooms to eat, but now she thought about it, it did have other uses. A small smile slid onto her face, just as Lord Sleazeball made a joke. Drat. What bad timing, because now he looked pleased with himself for having made her smile.

Fortunately, she only had to hold court in the morning. The afternoon was spent on the final preparations for her birthday banquet, which involved a lot of ordering people around. Over the past week or so, she'd hand-written place cards and agonized over seating arrangements. Now, as she put the place cards in place herself, she found herself noting the names of single lords of good standing and wondering if he'd be the one.

Lord Commander Garrick? Single. Also handsome, in a rugged kind of way, but possibly not highborn enough. Viscount Leontius? Tolerable, she supposed. Certainly, of all the Lords she needed to sit at the high table, he was the one with the prettiest face, so she'd placed him opposite her.

So while he might be tolerable for fucking, she wasn't so sure about marriage. The same for Garrick, but for a different reason. While Viscount Leontius adored the sound of his voice and spoke at great length about nothing of interest, Garrick rarely strung more than a few words together. And, Amaria supposed, one did expect to have some sort of interesting conversation from a husband.

Of course, there was one man who had good conversation, personality, looks, the whole package. Amaria placed Lord Finvel's place card down. And he was closer to her in age, but... She placed Lady Sioletta's place card down on the place opposite Lord Finvel. Lord Finvel and Lady Sioletta had been married just a few months back. Even if he were single, Amaria doubted that as a minor lord her father would deem him highborn enough for her. So, perhaps not the whole package after all.

Still, itwouldbe nice to see him again.

As afternoon turned into evening and it was time for her to change. Linnet had already drawn her a bath in her chambers. Amaria stripped, flinging her clothing into Linnet's waiting arms and then sunk down into the blissfully warm water. Soon her rooms would be full of an entourage of women ready to... todecorateher into a state that was befitting her role and occasion. But for now, she had a final moment of peace.

Linnet put away her clothing, then returned to help her wash. All too soon, though, it was time to step out of the bath and her moment of peace was gone as Elsinora, her lady-in-waiting, came bustling in, followed by a second handmaid, her hairdresser, and two junior maids. Linnet finished drying her off and Mirelle, the other handmaiden, powdered her body with soft, rose scented powder.

Then it was time for the first layers of the dressing. Nell, one of the maids, carried over her chemise. The fabric was a finely woven silk-linen blend and the chemise, like the rest of her clothing tonight, had been made especially for her birthday banquet. Linnet pulled it down over her head, and soon the soft fabric settled against her skin. Amaria was not a fan of silk directly against her bare body, but the linen in the weave helped the chemise to feel cool and gentle. Mirelle arranged the neckline, which was smocked and decorated with white work embroidery, to sit symmetrically over her bust. Symmetrically, and a little lower than usual.

Eda, the other maid, fetched her stays. These were a cream silk brocade with gold silk flossing. Mirelle pulled the stays over her head and held them in place while Linnet laced them. As they closed, Elsinora became involved, arranging her chemise and lifting her breasts to be displayed in the most pleasing way possible-- and displayed they were! The tight, boned stays lifted her modest breasts into something much more substantial and the sheer, low-necked chemise didn't leave much to the imagination!

Ah well, sharing is caring, right?

"Breathe gently while I finish tightening these laces up," Elsinora said.

"I am breathing gently," Amaria promised through gritted teeth. "Like a dainty woodland fawn." A dainty woodland fawn, which was being slowly strangled by silk, that was.

Next, she was dressed in a robe and then Dinae attended to her hair and make-up. Her hair was sculpted into something uncomfortable, but elaborate and regal, designed to support both a tiara and, Amaria supposed, the fragile delusion that she was in control of her own life. Then her robe was removed for the donning of the dress itself. A hooped crinoline was tied about her waist, and then layers of silk and tulle followed. Finally, Elsinora led her to the full length mirror.

"What do you think, your highness?"

Amaria looked into the mirror and instead of the usual girl who stood there, a grown woman looked back. Her gown shimmed. Ivory duchess satin stretched over a tight bodice which scarcely covered the bust. Thin layers of ivory organza fell in huge swoops over the full skirt. Delicate gold embroidery traced curling vines and flowers across the bodice and down the skirt, and the bodice and hem of the skirt were heavily decorated with pearls.

The whole ensemble was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and utterly impractical for anything except making an entrance, which of course was the point. Well, making an entrance and, with such a low neckline, inciting precisely the conversation which might lead toa whale of a timewhich, on reflection, was probably also the point.

Amaria swung her hips, only to watch the skirts sway with much more vigor than she expected with so small a movement.

"Careful, your highness!" Elsinora warned. "Gentle movements only, or else the pearls on the hem might catch and tear the organza!"

"Then we'd have to take the whole thing off and I'd have to attend in a nice velvet robe instead," Amaria joked, though she stopped moving.

"Don't even joke," said Elsinora, horrified, continuing with an in-depth explanation of just how many embroiders had taken just how many hours on the hem alone. The very threads had, apparently, been spun for just this purpose. Amaria could think of better things to use Temple offerings for than melting down to make the gold thread of her gown, but it was rather poetic that the whole kingdom had, in a way, contributed to her gown.

But, she mused, when it came to attire, one could have beauty, or one could have comfort. And if she were to face a room of suitors, gossips and partridge-stuffed nobility, then breeches and a linen shirt just wouldn't cut it.

"Sorry Elsinora," she said once the lady-in-waiting had paused for breath. "Everyone has done marvelously. I look like a crown jewel tonight." Elsinora beamed.

The downside of seating oneself across from a pretty face is you had to pretend to be interested in their conversation. As of now, Viscount Leontius was recounting a previous banquet he'd attended.

"We had seven courses of partridge alone, all arranged in descending weight by the steward's apprentice, who went on to become a monk. Or a blacksmith. I forget which," he said.

"Fascinating," Amaria replied, becausethere's quite a difference between a monk and a blacksmith, don't you think?seemed a bit rude.

"Indeed. Now, our current steward insists on serving trout after venison, which is, as you may know, deeply unconventional. I would dismiss him, but his brother handles our gooseberry tariffs, and it's all rather tangled."

Urgh. She reached for her glass of wine and took a large sip before saying, with some sarcasm, "Gooseberries are terribly political."

"Oh, frightfully so." The viscount appeared not to pick up on her sarcasm. "But not as much as the gooseberry cousin, the blackcurrant, which is misunderstood and underrepresented in the noble preserves market." He paused to wipe his mouth with his serviette.

How long would it take to smother him with that serviette? He would know, of course, but she could hardly ask him. It was a hard question to ask without giving away that there was an intended victim and that would never do. But Viscount Leontius was talking again and Amaria tried to pay attention.

"--underrepresented, you see, because of a disastrous oversupply a few years back and the unfortunate association with Lord Bruxley's hound's funeral. But I digress. One cannot run a proper estate on fruit preserves alone, as I often say."

"Often, I imagine."

"Quite. No, a viscount must keep abreast of land rotation strategies. My western pastures were once plagued by weeds and overrun with ill-tempered geese, but with careful work, and preservation, and dedicated years of soil rehabilitation, I've achieved near-optimal barley conditions."

He proceeded to spend a good five minutes detailing exactly what the optimal conditions for barley were. Amaria glanced around, but could see no escape from the conversation. Perhaps a server would accidentally drop a platter on her? That would secure her hasty, if dramatic, exit. But no server would be that clumsy and she'd never dare to instigate such an accident, it would surely end his career. And besides, while that might rescue her in the moment, what if the Viscount was the one to impregnate her? A lifetime of this? Perhaps she should look up that book on mushrooms after all.

"Of course, land management must harmonise with aesthetic considerations. I don't suppose you've seen the fountain at Leontis Hall?"

Amaria shook her head.

"No? Ah, tragic. It's an homage to classical geometry. There's seven tiers, each representing a virtue. The third tier represents Temperance, naturally, though the fourth had to be altered after the Incident of the Overzealous Swan."

"Naturally."

"You see, a properly balanced fountain must spout no higher than the nose of the lord of the manor when he is abreast of his horse. Any taller and it becomes... ostentatious. Water, like people, must know its place."

She was going to die here. She was going to expire next to the duck pâté, and when he stopped talking long enough to notice her death, and alerted the room, everyone would wonder why she died looking so incredibly bored.

"Speaking of balance, have you ever handled a goshawk? Splendid creatures. I keep three, all properly licensed, of course. The bureaucracy of falconry is simply appalling these days. My falcon ledger alone is thirty-seven pages long."

A boy came to refill the wine goblets.Please,Amaria silently pleaded.Spill the wine. On me, on him, anywhere! Do it for me. For the kingdom. For... for... for blackcurrants everywhere!Naturally, not a single drop was spilt.

The Viscount circled through a long-winded explanation of his ledgers, and came back to the subject of the feast.

"And what do you think, Lord Commander Garrick?" Amaria burst out, turning to the man seated nearby, desperate for someone, anyone, to rescue her from the viscount. "Which of the dishes are your favourite?"

The man shrugged. "It's all good, your highness."

"Yes, but is there one which takes your particular fancy?"

He shrugged again and, with some more prodding, offered, "The venison's not bad."

"Now," The Viscount leaned forward, to address them both, "The interesting thing about venison--"

"DONG!" The sound of the gong rang out across the hall, indicating the serving of the next remove, which was a roving remove. Important banquets, such as this one, inter-spaced seated removes where more heavy food was served, with roving removes which served lighter nibbles and palate cleansers. It was thought to aid the digestion, but right now, it was Amaria's escape.

She quickly lost the viscount in the crowd, and found herself moving from person to person, or couple to couple, accepting well-wishers and so forth.

She bumped into Lord Finvel and his new wife, Lady Sioletta, at the chocolate fountain. Amaria didn't know Lady Sioletta well at all; she was much too low born to move in the same circles as Amaria. But, her family had done very well for themselves in the spice trade, and it was likely her family's wealth that had helped secure her match with Lord Finvel.

Lord Finvel, however, she'd known quite well, once upon a time. They'd played together as children when Fin's father had been stationed at the castle. However, the friendship was deemed unsuitable as Amaria had begun to approach adolescence.

Lord Finvel began to wish her a happy birthday, but his wife cut him off.

"Many happy returns, your Highness," she said, giving her a polite-but-formal smile.

"Thank you," Amaria replied. There was an awkward silence which hung above the chatter of the banquet hall and the sound of Lady Sioletta adjusting her pink silk skirts.

"And congratulations also, on your recent nuptials," Amaria said. "And how are you finding married life, Lord Finvel?"

"Oh," Lady Sioletta answered before Lord Finvel could open his mouth. She leaned close to him, grasping his elbow. "We're happy. Very happy indeed, aren't we, my dear?"

"Of course," He answered. But an awkward tension hung in the air. Then another couple found her and wanted to share their congratulations too, and the moment passed.

Eventually, the food gave way to the dancing, as the celebrations continued late into the night.

Amaria glanced at the clock. It was time.

It wouldn't quite do for every guest at the royal banquet to know about the whale of a time. Custom dictated that no one could leave the celebrations until the guest of honour, herself in this case, left. So, the plan was for Amaria to make a pretense of retiring for the evening, but really, she would wait in the withdrawing room while her father gathered all of the eligible suitors in another room. And then she'd join them and... well. A nervous knot twisted in her gut. She didn't understand the exact details of how the next steps would play out. She'd tried to avoid thinking about it but now, so close to the event, her thoughts were becoming harder to evade.

She could feel her father's eyes on her. He probably thought she'd forgotten. Better get a move on. Amaria opened her mouth wide in mimic of a sudden yawn. She flung her hand over her mouth, like she was embarrassed.

"Oh... oh... Oh, excuse me!" She said through the fake yawn. "Do forgive me! Goodness, these festivities have been simply marvelous, but I --" She faked stifling a small yawn. "Must really turn in for the night."

A few sympathetic murmurs followed, as if she'd just announced she was dying of gentle fatigue. Perfect. There were some more formalities and niceties and so forth, but soon, she was stepping out of the banquet hall. The withdrawing room was just next to the banquet hall, she made her way towards it and paused on the threshold.

The withdrawing room was beautiful. Tapestries hung from the wall. Soft chairs with cushions rich with goldwork and silk thread. The scent of perfume hung in the air. It was beautiful, but right now, it seemed like a beautiful cage.

She needed some fresh air.

Amaria turned. She slipped down the corridor, a few turns, a short set of stairs and her lungs were full of sweet, fresh air as she stepped out beneath the night sky and into the inner courtyard. She walked for a little bit, her silk slippers quiet on the cool, flat stones below.

Her feet took her to the fountain, where she sat on the edge, trailing her fingers through the cold, clear water. Her reflection rippled back at her and she stared at the woman she'd become.

"So this is where princesses go to sleep?"

Amaria spun around at his voice. "Fin-- Lord Finvel!" She greeted him. She glanced around, but it looked like he was alone.

"May I join you?" He nodded at the low fountain wall beside her and waited for her return nod before sitting down.

"That fake yawn didn't fool me," He said with a chuckle, "I know you don't yawn that delicately." He glanced sideways at her. It had been a good ten years since they'd spoken alone, he must be testing if he could still tease her.

"So did you follow me out here?" She asked. "Care for a rematch?" she flicked a tiny amount of water at him.

"With you in that dress?" He eyed her up and down, "I wouldn't dare!" But he smiled all the same. They both sat in a moment of quiet, sharing the memory of their childhood water fight at this very fountain.

"I came out for some fresh air," he said after a time.

"Your wife didn't want to take a walk with you?" Amaria asked.

"Ah... Told her I was going to the privy," He admitted. "And you? You just wanted a break from all that in there too?"

"Well..."

She told him. Everything. About last night, and the whale of a time, and exactly why she'd slipped away so early. Why? She wasn't really sure. She'd had no one else to confide in. With her fertile window falling so close to her birthday, she'd had no real chance to really think things through, so it all just came out.

"And even now I don't really know how it will work!" She finished.

"Meaning--"

"Like--" Amaria felt heat rising to her face. But to hell with it, she'd come this far. "Like if they wait in line one at a time or--"

"Ah."

"Yes..."

"Well, that does make a difference. All at once though, that could be most fun."

"It could?"

"Sure. Different men to pleasure different parts of you. Until you're ready for them, if you know what I mean."

"I-- I do." Amaria though of last night. At first the sexual intercourse had hurt. Then the Master of Lore had said she wasn't quite ready yet and, after the ministrations of his little device, it had felt much better. But would that little device be there? "I'm not sure how much... readying I'll get." She admitted.

"Well, we could do something about that now?" Fin said with a twinkle in his eye.

"We?" Amria raised her eyebrows.

He shrugged. "Unless you want to leave that to Lord Sleazeball--"

"I don't think--"

"He's up to that challenge? I am."

"What..." Amaria knew she shouldn't entertain the question, but the thought of Lord Slazdale trying to bring her to her peak did not sit well either. "What do you have in mind?"

"This!" Before she could react, Lord Finvel dropped to the ground and in a rustle of silk, hid himself under her crinoline.

"Oi! Fin!" Amaria cried out in the most un-princess-like manner, and slapped at her skirts. His chuckles were muffled by the layers of petticoats.

"Relax 'Ria." He said. Amaria glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby, but the use of her childhood nickname did bring a smile to her face.