A Wife of War (derrobael and chelseacraig)

[derrobael]

Alexander Karandor, Warlord of Marn, Captain of the Red Host, conqueror of Vannonia, Candia, Stanor and Gizand, and the acknowledged Battle-King of the Eastern Marches, rode nervously towards his wedding on a bleak autumn day.

He had known women a-plenty, but only in brothels, with the occasional mistress from a respectable background thrown in for good measure. Not that he feared the princess he had agreed to marry. Simply that he had little appetite for social niceties such as small talk and dancing. And marriage seemed to require a great deal of that, as he recalled.

Behind the grizzled warlord trailed a small column of men-at-arms headed by his chief lieutenant, Barduk, who had been riding alongside Alexander in silence for some time. "Milord, she likely will be attractive, if not beautiful," his subordinate finally ventured as they trotted along. "All the reports cannot be wrong."

The warlord grunted in reply, scratching at the bright red scar that cut across his face, his pale blue eyes narrow with irritation. "She's likely a virgin, too," he spat. "I can't abide virgins. Too many of 'em are cold fish in bed."

Barduk had no reply to that. Instead he peered ahead into the autumn gloom. "I believe that is her party, lord."

"She'll likely want me to bathe everyday," Alexander rumbled on. He grunted again as he squinted at the column of riders atop a hill some distance ahead of them. Then he sighed.

"Let's get this over with, Barduk," he said, kicking his horse into a gallop. He reminded himself that the wedding would secure a treaty that would in turn secure his southern flank, allowing more opportunities for further conquests.

 

[chelseacraig]

Her ladies-in-waiting kept telling her not to frown. She frowned, rolling her eyes as she propped her chin on her elbow. "Princess," the eldest one, Amelia, scolded her. Catalina's shoulders sank and she looked at the woman who had been taking care of her since she was a baby. "But Amelia, I don't want to get married to some warlord!" Catalina never whined but this certainly wasn't one of her happiest days. "I'm so sorry, your Highness, there is no other way." The Princess covered her face with both hands as she sighed in exasperation. Her maidens, however, gasped, they had put a lot of work in her appearance today and her childish ways are ruining it.

A few minutes later, they heard a party approaching. The ladies forcefully straightened her up. "This is it," they smiled at her. She shook her head sadly. A general walked to her carriage, a bright smile on his face. "Princess, we wait for their Prince to dismount and then we shall let you out. The ceremony will be very quick, just an exchange of rings and the signing of the treaty." Catalina grunted with a nod of her head.

Soon, the Prince and his men were close enough to her own party. The soldier signaled that the Prince had come down and now her own carriage door was being opened. She emerged from it, as careful as she could and with all the grace she had been taught. Catalina wore a deep red gown that was tight around her small waist. Her breasts looked healthy but lace covered the cleavage, afraid to let the Prince think she was offering herself too much. She was short, a mere 5 feet and four inches. Her shoulder-length brown hair tied up into a bun.

Catalina sighed as she stood outside her carriage, looking down at the ground instead of her husband-to-be. She just wanted to get this over with.

 

[derrobael]

She was a sight to behold. Alexander had to admit that much. He liked attractive women but his tastes ran to all types. He liked them buxom, he liked them sleek, he liked them blonde and he liked them raven-haired. In the end he cared more about how they were in bed than anything else.

But there was something about this princess, something about her petite form...she was looking down at the ground but when these noble dressed up they could radiate their own beauty.

Alexander had washed his graying close-cropped hair and donned a new surcoat. But otherwise he wore plain battle attire, leather and mail and dented plate. He dismounted nimbly then strode over to her.

"Princess Catalina," he grunted, bowing with ill grace. He had mastered sword and steed and lance, but not the niceties of court. "Umm... a great day for both our peoples..." What a load of horse manure. Thank the gods this ceremony would be short.

 

[chelseacraig]

She looked at him briefly. He was handsome indeed. About two to three years older than she was, the warlord looked absolutely dashing and strong. Catalina glanced at Amelia who only widened her eyes and motioned for her to speak to him.

She straightened her stance, looking at him and then at his men, "Prince Alexander," she bowed her head slightly. She was born and bred to master all the movements a princess must know but she didn't feel like doing them today, not when she was about to be wed to somebody she has just met.

"It is indeed. Peace shall be ours," she smiled at him. It was true, she did wish for peace.

"Very well, let us exchange the rings, Your Highness," her general spoke as she was given the ring to be worn to the Prince's finger. He walked briskly to offer the other ring to Prince Alexander. Taking a step forward, Catalina held out her hand for him to put the ring on.