Betrothed to Trouble

Chapter 24 - A Line Crossed and Redrawn

I planned to publish this together with Seeing Double 2 weeks ago but I had issues with the non-consensual scene. I felt weird writing it (it gave me goose bumps) and it was hard to choose a take on the scene that wouldn’t be too graphic, clichéd or dramatic. I tried to cut it down to a minimum but I’m still not satisified with this final cut. Thanks to ANDXPANDA for messaging me, and reminding me not to give up on this story. This chapter is for you!

WARNING: Non-consensual sexual scenes ahead. If you don’t like this kind of stuff don’t read!!

The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the mad rush of blood pounding in my ears. All my senses were on guard, anticipating his first move. Yet my body was paralyzed, and in the dark room, all I can hear is my own labored breathing. Struggling to stay calm, I took a deep, measured breath before answering.

“You know I can just hit you right?” I lifted my chin haughtily in fake bravado, balling my fists to stop my hands from trembling in fear.

Sergei paused, his azure eyes slowly searching my own emerald ones, and I fought away the natural instinct to look away from his searching gaze. He can tell. He can tell that I’m scared.

“Giselle,” he sighed after a long, pregnant pause, closing his eyes as if he was the one in pain. “You know that we both don’t have a choice,” he continued in a strained voice, his eyes still closed as he slowly stretched out his hand to land a feather-light touch on my shoulder.

“No,” I breathed, my panic building like an inevitable storm. “We have a choice, Sergei!” I whispered frantically, my trembling hands clutching his outstretched hand like a lifeline. “Sergei, look at me!” I shook his hand desperately.

His icy blue eyes finally snapped open, but the man behind them was not Sergei. It was the ruthless, cold eyes of the Freyrgardian Crown Prince, hardened by his determination.

“Please?” I begged, shedding every last scrap of my pride and brave façade by uttering this same phrase twice. Princesses don’t beg and yet here I am, groveling pathetically with my fate in the hands of my husband. “Sergei?” I scanned his granite eyes for a glimpse of the real man I know, hidden behind his armor of duty and loyalty to his Kingdom.

But he was gone.

            “I don’t want to do this as much as you do, princess,” was his cold reply, before both of his arms wrapped themselves around my small frame.

           

            The scream that was bubbling at the back of my throat never came. Instead, a soundless rush of air replaced it as I felt a raw, masculine heat engulf me. Everything was a blur in the dark, and I felt strangely empty as rough hands began yanking at my nightgown. My head lolled limply on the mattress as the shock refuses to subside, and a searing pain in my chest from the lack of air as my lungs refused to cooperate.

Breathe! Giselle, breathe! Fight! I screamed inside my head, but my body simply refused to listen. It simply laid there, still and lifeless, shivering as it lay bare on the white silk sheets. Those rough hands once more traced the frigid planes of my exposed skin, leaving nothing but goose bumps in their wake. Was it just my imagination, or were those hands shaking too?