Chapter Tags: forced marriage, major breeding kink, forced breeding (ish), insertion of objects, pain depicted, hints of suicidal thoughts/feelings, angst
Chapter WC: 2441
The King’s Blessing Masterlist
Your POV
“Y/N?” John’s voice calls across the dining table.
You look up from your plate, dabbing the corners of your mouth with your napkin. “Yes, my beloved?”
“My chambers in twenty minutes,” he instructs, rising to his feet.
“Of course, your majes–” You stop yourself mid word and clear your throat. “My love.”
You force a smile at your king and watch as he leaves the banquet hall, looking down at your dinner and no longer feeling hungry for it. You sigh heavily, glancing to the empty seat where Sam would usually sit if he hadn’t been away on a trip for the last week. It, understandably, took Sam a little time to mourn his mother’s death, and for a while he took that out on you. But over time he began to warm to you. It started off with being polite, addressing you accordingly even though you hated being addressed as queen, and offering you soft smiles if you ever looked his way. It then turned into small conversations at the table once the king had left the room, until they became longer conversations if you happened to see each other in the courtyard.
Sam had taken to looking out for you, asking how you are, offering himself as counsel should you ever need it. While he could never bring you the comfort that Dean’s presence would’ve done, it was reassuring to have someone who seemed to be on your side. He didn’t much like his father, especially in recent months. You can sense from brief conversations with him that he still resents his father’s quick recovery from the queen’s death, enough to marry you not even twenty four hours later. You can also sense that Sam doesn’t much care for his father or agree with the way he chooses to rule his kingdom. And you’re fairly confident that, given half a chance, he’d make a wonderful king. Though you recognise that wishing Sam to be king would bring doom to not only your husband but the prince you were once betrothed to marry.
Your feelings for Dean have become complicated over the months, and the longer time you’ve spent without him in Lawrence, the easier you’re finding it to forget that you even loved him to begin with. Because how foolish would you have to be to love a man that could leave you when you need it most? You had trusted Dean, opened up to him about your worries and heartaches, he was there through your blessing, he knows how much it affected you after the fact, too. Yet, according to your husband, he blamed you. He couldn’t stand the thought of marrying a woman who had laid with his father. He didn’t want you. He saw you as dirty and used. He saw you in all the ways you saw yourself and he’d decided to leave.
He didn’t fight for you.
And now you are a queen, married to a ruthless king. But you’re married, nonetheless, and the king will be your husband until the day you die. This is your life now, and John is the centre of that. God’s will intended for you to serve John, and serving him is what you know you must do. Serving him doesn’t stop at being dutiful and polite, it doesn’t end with sitting by his side and supporting every bad decision he makes. Serving him even goes beyond giving your king your body to do with as he pleases. The king wants another heir – one you are yet to give him – and you know he’s growing tired of waiting.
You wonder if he will grow so tired that he will rid himself of you in some way. You often wonder what happened to Mary. You know she was alive and well the night before your wedding, you saw her with your own eyes in the king’s chambers, and you know that she and the king had altercations. Now knowing your king more intimately than before, you can’t be sure that it was God who struck her down. The thought that your husband could do such a thing only makes you more desperate to please him.
No longer hungry, you rise to your feet, and begin to make your way towards the king’s chambers, knowing exactly what he’ll want from you tonight.
“Fuck, that’s it,” John grunts, his fingertips pressing into the flesh on your hips harder.
Over time, having sex with your husband has hurt less and less, but it’s never been truly comfortable, and you’ve never gained as much pleasure from it as he clearly does. You whimper as he pulls your hips back towards him, sending himself deeper. You rock backwards on your hands and knees, fisting the sheets when he hits a sensitive spot inside you, and lower your head between your shoulders, closing your eyes.
“You take it like a whore now, my love,” he chuckles, “it’s just a shame you’re no longer as tight as those virgins I bless.”
You clench your jaw at his words and try to shut them out, letting your mind wander to something else instead, but every time you do that, you always end up in your old chambers with the prince you were betrothed to, green eyes sparkling into yours and freckles dusted across his cheeks and nose.
You open your eyes and force your attention back to your husband, not wanting God to know you’re thinking of another man in this intimate moment.
“Only thing that makes you better is, I get to put a baby in you,” John grunts, forcing himself deeper again. “Get to watch that stomach swell, get big and round.” His hand begins to smooth over your stomach, rubbing at it as if there’s already a baby inside. “You want that, don’t you, my love?” he asks, bringing his mouth right up to your ear.
“Yes, my king,” you whimper, feeling him pistoning in and out of you, your arms and knees growing tired.
“Then beg me for it, c’mon I wanna hear you say it.”
“I want you to put a baby inside me. Please, my king, please fill me with your seed,” you repeat, knowing exactly what he wants to hear.
“That’s it,” he grunts, his large hand pressing down on the back of your head, forcing your face into the mattress beneath you. Your screams become muffled as he fucks you harder, almost painfully, and John laughs. “You’re so much tighter like this,” he notes. “Perfect for keeping my seed deep inside that cunt.”
You can’t deny that while it’s painful, there is a small hint of something good inside you too, a sensation that makes your insides feel warm and tingle. You wonder if that’s what John feels when he fucks you, if that’s why he makes so many noises of pleasure, but you can’t be sure and you’re certainly never going to ask him.
You feel John grab your wrists, pulling them out from under you so that your shoulders crash to the bed and are the only thing keeping you from falling completely. Your hands are brought to your ass.
“Spread them,” he orders.
You grab your own flesh and pull apart, feeling him take advantage and push that final inch inside as you clench hard around him and scream into the mattress in pain.
“Fuck, that’s it,” John chuckles. “Just like that, your body is begging for my seed, my love,” he tells you.
His whole body shakes and stills deep inside you, and he grunts and groans and scrapes his nails up the backs of your thighs as he releases his spendings inside you. He holds himself inside you for what feels like hours, but the reality is it’s probably only a minute or less. You’re just eager for him to remove himself from you so you can redress and retire to your chambers once again.
When John finally pulls out, he instructs that you stay where you are, and so you hold yourself in the same position, your shoulders aching and your legs tingling from the lack of blood flow.
Eventually, you hear the permission you’ve been craving and are able to bring your legs out from underneath you, rolling onto your back for some reprieve. Your chest is heaving and your head is spinning as you wait for the feeling to return to your legs so you can start to redress again. But before you can sit up, your husband is standing over you, holding some kind of small rag out in front of him.
“What’s this?” you ask, reaching for it.
“Put it inside you,” he commands.
You frown slightly when you take the fabric from him, feeling its coarse texture beneath your fingertips. “How?”
“The same way I put myself inside you,” he explains matter of factly. “And do it quickly, before you waste my seed.”
You look at the rag and then back at your husband, wondering if he’s serious, but he just stares at you, waiting for you to comply.
“Will this help me to get pregnant?” you ask, a little confused.
“According to the doctor,” John replies flatly.
“You talked to a doctor?” you pry.
“You gave me no choice, you have yet to bear my child, and by now, Mary was already pregnant with Dean.” His eyes darken as he stares you down, his jaw beginning to clench as you realise just how angry he’s getting. “Now put that rag inside you.”
You swallow, nervously bringing the rag between your legs, starting to press against your opening with the rough fabric, and wince in pain as you try your best to get it inside.
Tears stream down your face as you try your best to hold in the cries of pain, reaching between your legs to pull the rag free. It’s all you’ve been able to feel since John forced you to put it inside you in his chambers a few hours before, and no amount of wine with your husband after that helped numb the pain. He had ordered you to keep it inside you until morning, telling your chambermaids not to allow you to bathe until then, either. But you can’t bear it anymore, especially not when you consider what this rag could mean. It could mean you will get pregnant, it could mean that you give John another heir. You don’t want that to happen, no matter how much it is your duty or God’s will. You almost welcome God to strike you down for the disobedience, you almost hope the king will grow tired of waiting and see to it that you are no longer queen.
Death is far more favourable to you than the thought of this man being your king for the rest of your life.
You gasp for air as the rag finally comes out, tainted with blood and the white stuff John calls his seed, and you feel between your legs throb in discomfort. You hide the rag under your mattress, intent on making sure none of the chambermaids find it, and then head over to your wine, hoping a few more glasses before bed will help you sleep easier.
You pour yourself a healthy amount and take a long gulp, drying your cheeks and sucking up the remainder of your tears. A knock at your chamber door makes you jump, and for a moment you fret that maybe it’s your husband, come to check you’re obeying his orders, and you wonder what will happen when he looks to find you empty. But the knock sounds out again, and then you realise that your husband has never knocked on your chamber doors before. In fact, he rarely comes to you, he always sends for you to go to him, so it can’t be him.
You take some deep breaths to calm yourself and head towards the door, opening it. Your heart stops and wedges in your throat as your eyes fix on green ones, and you realise who you’re staring at.
“Dean,” you splutter out. He glances around himself nervously, and you realise that your usual guards are not at your door.
“Can I come in?”
You’re still in shock as you step to one side and allow him to enter, closing the door behind him as you just stare at him, wondering if he’s real or another of those dreams you have about him.
“What are you doing here?” you finally think to ask.
“I wanted to be sure you’re okay,” he explains. “And tell you that I’m going to get you back.”
Instantly you laugh at his comment, deciding this must be a dream after all.
“I’m married to your father, I’m your mother now,” you tell him, taking a large sip of wine. “I’m your queen.”
“Not if the king was to die, and I was to take his throne,” Dean tells you simply.
You just stare at Dean for a long moment, wondering if he’s insinuating what you think he is.
“It would be unwise of you to talk about treason in the presence of your queen, boy,” you tell him sternly, your jaw clenching as you feel all the anger you’ve held for the prince begin to bubble to the service.
Dean’s brow pulls into a frown at your words, and he swallows noticeably. “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?” you pry. “Like a queen? My betrothed left me the eve of our wedding and allowed his father to take me as his own bride. He disappeared for six months. He didn’t fight for me, he didn’t fight for my honour, he didn’t even write a letter. He told me he loved me, made me promises that he would protect me, and then he vanished.”
“My love…”
“I am not your love,” you tell him through gritted teeth, stepping back. You bite back tears, so angry and hurt and confused to see the man you loved for so long standing before you again after all this time. “Get out of my chambers, before I tell the king your intentions.”
Dean swallows once again but then slowly nods his head, turning around and leaving without another word, and you take a shaky breath, realising you’d been holding it. As soon as the chamber doors close behind him, you feel yourself crumble, tears streaming down your face.
All this time you’d convinced yourself you hated the prince, and yet all it took was a few minutes alone to realise you have never stopped loving him.
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