Blighted

She balled her hands into fists to hide their shaking and swallowed the knot in her throat. Fear had settled into the pit of her stomach. Anora did not think a woman preparing to be wed should feel such fear. Nervousness would be acceptable, a bit of anxiety perhaps, but not stabbing icy fear. It was not the immense audience that ailed her; nor was it her fiancé. On the contrary, she found Aedan pleasant enough; he was young, attractive, and Ferelden’s most revered hero since her father. There was simply something within her screaming in protest.

“They are ready for you, my queen,” came Erlina’s soft voice. She paused and stared at Anora, dressed in wedding finery. The pale pink gown was modest, not clinging to her features nor disguising them. Its colour brought out the soft blush on her cheeks. The sunlight played across her golden blonde hair through the thin veil, carefully arranged to frame her face. Erlina reached and pulled the veil forward over Anora’s face. “There,” she whispered. “Perfect.”

“It is not perfect,” Anora snapped. “I see no reason that I should be dressed up and paraded in this manner. I am Ferelden’s queen; I should not be hidden and presented in the manner of some foreign princess.”

“It is tradition, my lady…”

“Tradition,” Anora scowled. “Oh very well, let them have their tradition. It is but one day…”

She stood with Aedan before the Reverend Mother as the priestess read from the Chant of Light. She tried to show love in her gaze for the sake of their audience. He was not bad to look at, she decided. He was moderately tall with square broad shoulders and a muscular frame. His skin was smooth and tanned, if not slightly darker around his brown eyes, but they seemed to hold no avarice. The fear remained.

She repeated the same vows she had once spoken to Cailan and felt a small stab of pain at the memory. She tried to push it from her mind as the Reverend Mother clasped their hands and declared them forever bound in the Maker’s sight. Aedan pulled back the veil to kiss his bride. It was not unpleasant. His lips were soft and his movements experienced, but when she opened her eyes, her heart sank.

Without the veil obscuring her vision, she could see that the darkness around his eyes was actually a group of angry purple and red blotches. Parts of the damaged flesh were raised and swollen. His lips, which had felt so soft against her own, were marred by angry red cracks at their corners, and his eyes looked a flat pallid grey.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he stopped her by pressing his lips to hers. She struggled, but he held her firmly by her shoulders. His tongue pressed into her mouth, and she became acutely aware that the kiss was burning. She could feel the corruption which stained his face seeping into her very being.

Anora woke herself with a scream. She was drenched in a cold sweat, causing her white night dress to cling to her, chilling her further. She shivered and pulled the blankets around herself. She looked to her left and found the bed empty. Despite Aedan having been the subject of her nightmare, she would have welcomed his presence in the bed, if only to warm her. She peeled the wet gown off, discarded it, and wrapped herself in a thick warm robe. However, even after an hour’s time, she found herself unable to sleep.

She wandered through the palace halls until she found herself at the door of the study Aedan had taken as his own. She rested her hand on the door, searching for some explanation, when she became aware of a distinct sound coming from within the room. She froze; her heart sank.

“Ohhh Maker!” cried a woman with a thick Orlesian accent. “Ah! Yes! More like that!”

Anora crouched and peered through the keyhole.

Her husband was on his knees atop a woman whose long slender legs were wrapped around his waist. Her creamy white flesh contrasted beautifully against his tan, and both bodies were covered in a slight sheen of sweat. Every muscle of Aedan’s backside clenched and tightened as he thrust his hips forward, filling the woman over and over again.

Her hands clenched onto his back, her nails leaving thin red lines as she scratched his flesh lightly. “Yes…” she moaned, over and over, crying out in unabashed passion. His hands grabbed her thighs, pushing her legs wider apart, and he began to thrust with increased vigor, grunting with each motion. She arched her back to meet him, grinding her hips forward heatedly. The couple writhed against each other, the sound of their flesh echoing in Anora’s ears until she could not bear it. She backed away from the door and retreated down the hallway, but she was unable to escape before she heard a woman’s cry of delight and her husband’s low drawn out moan as they reached their climax.

Anora was unsure if she was angrier at him for committing the act or at herself for being shocked by it. She had never been so presumptuous as to believe Cailan was faithful, but for all his failings, Cailan had never humiliated her, never degraded her, never made her feel as she felt at that moment.

It simply would not stand.