[Credence, through circumstances he's long since accepted as fact, has less than no say in what happens in his life. As the oldest son, a prince, he's always known that there would come a time when he'd be more valuable in the form of an exchange. Either through marriage or something less fortunate - a pretty bauble for a foreign royal's court. His eyes were never shrouded and reality never painted in unrealistic coloring. He didn't, however, expect to be handed off to the family who his own has fought with for longer than he's been alive. Prince Consort to a man who he's never met and he's heard stories of, terrible and frightening tales spun of a warrior, a king, a leader.
He's offered up to gain peace and this King gives his family gold, joining there two houses and making it impossible for either side to enact any kind of fight without being labeled treacherous. His mother, the Queen, will behave, acting the part peacefully because she's had a taste of what this marriage could give her and she'd bleed it dry before doing anything reckless to ruin it.
It's a progression, a show. A parade of their entire family in their best clothes, but no gifts, no belongings. Nothing to be given to this King except for Credence's hand in marriage and his body. The proceedings are awkward, uncomfortable, but over more quickly than he could have anticipated. Everything is signed and sealed and stored away - then, and only then, is he finally left alone. The solitude is brief. Short-lived.
They take his robes, everything, bathe and change him, help him settle into the middle of the bed, then they wait beside the door. Credence assumes it's so that they can attend their king when he comes, which he will, he'll have to. He shifts to the edge of the bed out of nerves, feet hanging off the edge, hands clasped in his lap. The knock at the door startles him, but the servants don't acknowledge his action, a kindness he doesn't deserve but one he appreciates all the same. He licks his lips, unable to look up at the handsome, dark, powerful man that's come into the room for one thing - to consummate their union. To make it official, binding.
His mother explained the process. How the King would push into him and take what he wanted. That he'd feel no pleasure, only pain. That it was his duty to bear it, not seek enjoyment.]
Yes, thank you.
[A wave of nerves crash over him. He's heard stories of Graves in battle, how he fights and how he wins. He's formidable, strong, and it doesn't matter if he's the most beautiful man Credence has ever seen - he's here out of duty and he'll have to endure it. The servants continue to flit around the King and as he comes towards him, steps light on the stone floor, Credence's hands twist in his lap and a flood of words spill out.]
Don't let them stay. Please. I couldn't bear it if they stayed. [An unsteady breath.] If they heard - if they saw.
[His mouth falls open, eyes wide, but he forces himself to carry through. Credence pushes the blankets aside, lays back on the bed with his legs sprawled apart, the thin fabric nightgown covering him settling just above his thighs.]
You can do whatever you want. I won't complain. Just make them go.
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He's offered up to gain peace and this King gives his family gold, joining there two houses and making it impossible for either side to enact any kind of fight without being labeled treacherous. His mother, the Queen, will behave, acting the part peacefully because she's had a taste of what this marriage could give her and she'd bleed it dry before doing anything reckless to ruin it.
It's a progression, a show. A parade of their entire family in their best clothes, but no gifts, no belongings. Nothing to be given to this King except for Credence's hand in marriage and his body. The proceedings are awkward, uncomfortable, but over more quickly than he could have anticipated. Everything is signed and sealed and stored away - then, and only then, is he finally left alone. The solitude is brief. Short-lived.
They take his robes, everything, bathe and change him, help him settle into the middle of the bed, then they wait beside the door. Credence assumes it's so that they can attend their king when he comes, which he will, he'll have to. He shifts to the edge of the bed out of nerves, feet hanging off the edge, hands clasped in his lap. The knock at the door startles him, but the servants don't acknowledge his action, a kindness he doesn't deserve but one he appreciates all the same. He licks his lips, unable to look up at the handsome, dark, powerful man that's come into the room for one thing - to consummate their union. To make it official, binding.
His mother explained the process. How the King would push into him and take what he wanted. That he'd feel no pleasure, only pain. That it was his duty to bear it, not seek enjoyment.]
Yes, thank you.
[A wave of nerves crash over him. He's heard stories of Graves in battle, how he fights and how he wins. He's formidable, strong, and it doesn't matter if he's the most beautiful man Credence has ever seen - he's here out of duty and he'll have to endure it. The servants continue to flit around the King and as he comes towards him, steps light on the stone floor, Credence's hands twist in his lap and a flood of words spill out.]
Don't let them stay. Please. I couldn't bear it if they stayed. [An unsteady breath.] If they heard - if they saw.
[His mouth falls open, eyes wide, but he forces himself to carry through. Credence pushes the blankets aside, lays back on the bed with his legs sprawled apart, the thin fabric nightgown covering him settling just above his thighs.]
You can do whatever you want. I won't complain. Just make them go.