Warning: sexual references and consent negotiation in this chapter

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Ellen," said King Peter, bowing before her. "Your stepmother thought it might be a good idea for us to speak informally together, without all that official nonsense getting in the way. May I sit down here?"

Ellen nodded, rather curtly, so Peter sat on the heavy wooden chair next to her, grateful for the furs thrown over it, and the warmth of the fire near them. It was another chilly autumn day in Everwick, and tomorrow would be Winter's Eve.

Nobody spoke, until Ellen at last asked, "Why?" She hurled the question at Peter as if it were a weapon.

"Why do I want to marry you? Well, it's because you cut my foot off, you see."

"That's the oddest reason for marrying someone I ever heard," Ellen retorted.

"And when you took off your helmet to give me a piece of your mind, your eyes were so bright and your cheeks so flushed, and your hair looked so golden, like a field of ripe wheat, that my heart was struck as if by a lightning bolt," went on Peter.

Ellen tried not to flush again, and failed quite dismally.

"I thought I had delivered you a crushing blow," she said in a low voice. "I thought you would slink away after being injured."

"A king doesn't need a foot to rule," said Peter cheerfully. "Only a head, to wear the crown, you see. Now, if you'd cut that off, it would've been a different story."

"Doesn't it hurt?" asked Ellen.

"It does, rather," Peter admitted. "But I expect I'll get used to it, and your excellent Everwick craftsmen have made me a new foot out of iron, so I can walk. They do wonderful metalwork in this kingdom, I've noticed. Quite exquisite." His hand went to his pocket in an unconscious gesture.

"Then I'm sorry," said Ellen stiffly, "for I've caused you lifelong pain, and made you want to marry me."

"It's even worse than that," said Peter with a sly smile. "We were losing the battle, and I was close to surrendering until I saw you. You are single-handedly responsible for the defeat of Everwick, and I'm afraid you must pay the penalty."

Ellen looked stricken, and Peter asked, "Is it such a terrible thing to have to marry me? I've been told I'm one of the more eligible kings of Europe since I inherited the throne of Lindensea from my Uncle Gerald. Got quite a good write up from the chroniclers."

"It's just ... being forced into it," said Ellen bitterly. "As if I'm a piece of livestock you saw in the market. Now I must have a halter put over my head so you can drive me home with a stick."

"Hey, that's a bit dramatic," said Peter in alarm. "I don't want to force you into anything. I was vain enough to think you might rather like the thought of being Queen of Lindensea."

"The things they say about the women of Lindensea!" Ellen muttered.

"And what do they say about the women of Lindensea?" asked Peter, genuinely baffled.

"That ... that they think about nothing but clothes and parties, like empty-headed little dolls," said Ellen reluctantly. "And that a Lindensea wife must kneel and bow before her husband, and call him master, and be subject to him in all things."

Peter roared with laughter, until he was actually wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"For the first part, it's not just women – people in Lindensea, both gentlemen and ladies, do seem to care a lot about dressing up and going to parties," he admitted. "It's not all they think about. We have many ladies in Lindensea who are wits and intellects, scholars and writers, artists and philosophers. Not empty-headed at all."

"And the other part?" Ellen asked.

"I promise you, Lindensea wives are no more under their husband's thumb than anywhere else. It's nothing but propaganda. Or some man's foolish fantasy," said Peter.

Ellen didn't say anything, but sat with her head bowed, as if in thought.

"You poor girl, so you thought I came to tame you and force you to my will, grabbing you by the braids and hurling you into the mud to bring you to heel?" said Peter with a grin, taking the end of one golden braid between his fingers and stroking it.

"Don't ... don't touch my hair," said Ellen, turning red, and tugging her braid back.

"Of course. It is for the lady to say when and where she is touched," said Peter softly. "But you see, Ellen, I want a wife to sit beside me as my equal, to be a companion and helpmate in ruling the kingdom. Not a silly little doll, or a slave prostrating herself before me."

"And what if I didn't want to be a wife? Will you bring Everwick to its knees and oppress its people if I refuse to marry you?" asked Ellen. She didn't accuse him, only spoke as if she was interested in his answer.

"No, the peace deal would still proceed," said Peter. "Although naturally I would not be paying your father quite so much money. I greatly wish Lindensea and Everwick to be friends and allies. I just thought it would nice if we could be kinsfolk as well. And ... forgive me if this sounds conceited, but I wouldn't give up all hope that you might change your mind one day. Is that wrong of me, Ellen?"

He looked at her, his brown eyes, rather small, crinkled up, and a little half-grin on his face. Ellen suddenly realised that his grin went sideways, and that made her want to press her finger against it, and straighten it. It was a maddening smile, it mocked her, and she felt her face get hot.

It was insufferable that he had put her in this position. He had placed her in a trap, and now he opened the door to let her out, all the while hoping that she would willingly walk back into it. In fact, confident that she would, because she had few other places to turn.

She made a sudden impatient movement with her hand, until she realised with embarrassment that she had flung it at Peter. He took her hand, and linked his fingers between hers. He did it easily, as if their hands belonged together.

"Look, I probably wouldn't be much of a wife," muttered Ellen. "I'm not like my mother, who managed all this castle herself. Or like my stepmother, who does fine embroidery and illuminates manuscripts, and reads and reads and reads in many languages. I like the outdoors, I like to ride and hunt. I like archery, and swordsmanship - "

"That's understood," smiled Peter. "I love riding and hunting too. I have forests and parks just for that purpose. But you are clearly intelligent, and I think you would learn law and economics soon enough, so that we could discuss the ruling of the kingdom together. Being a queen can be dull work a lot of the time, unfortunately."

"And I suppose my daughters would be brought up to wear lovely clothes and act perfectly all the time," said Ellen mournfully.

"I'm afraid so," said Peter. "Lindensea princesses are famous for their beauty, their elegance, their style. They get snapped up as soon as they poke their pretty noses out of the schoolroom."

"Then I shall concentrate on my sons," said Ellen determinedly. "I want sons who will be strong, who will be men of action, who go forth across the earth and discover new things."

"Aren't you getting rather ahead of yourself?" queried Peter. "You're planning our children without ever agreeing to marry me."

"I never will," said Ellen proudly, getting to her feet, although somehow still holding Peter's hand. "You will have to marry me without my agreement, and take me by force on our wedding night, and every day of our marriage you must try to win me anew."

"By the gods, my lady, I begin to think you actually want to be taken against your will!" Peter said in shock, staring up at her. "Good luck convincing anyone that you were violated in your bridal chamber by a cripple."

"You are quite capable of overpowering me when we are both off our feet," said Ellen, and she dragged Peter from his chair until they were lying on the bearskin rug in front of the fire.

Ellen was strong, not a dainty little thing like her stepmother. Her face looked pink in the firelight, and her braided hair strawberry blonde. Her golden eyes were fixed on Peter, her lips slightly open.

"People are going to say I have brought home a mad, wild princess from the grim north," said Peter, gazing at Ellen hungrily.

"Will you care?" asked Ellen.

"No. You're so beautiful, Ellen," said Peter, his fingers twisting into her braids and pulling them loose, almost roughly.

Her hair fell around her shoulders, in stiff waves from being bound. He gently caressed her face, and kissed her forehead.

"Your smile is all crooked," said Ellen hoarsely. "I want to push it back into place."

She ran the tip of her finger around his mouth, until he grabbed her hand, and kissed her fingers, before rolling on top of her, and pinning her arms between his powerful shoulders.

"Is this really what you want, Ellen?" he panted. "For me to take you here, on the floor of your father's chamber, on the skin of a bear that he killed?"

"I killed it, actually, Peter," said Ellen.

He barely had time to register that she had used his name for the first time, before he realised she was pulling her skirt up, and opening her legs to him. He made a deep growl at the back of his throat, and then his mouth was over hers, kissing her passionately as one hand went between her thighs, pulling her skirt still higher. His lips were on her throat, her neck, almost biting at her in his savagery. The drawstrings on her dark woollen dress came loose, exposing more of her breasts.

The door of the chamber was flung open, and Orla's voice screamed, high and loud.

"Help! Help! He is dishonouring the Princess Ellen in my lord's chamber!"

Orla's ladies-in-waiting swarmed in, like crowds of witness, squeaking in indignant horror, and going to Ellen's rescue. They helped her sit up, pulled her dress down, stroked her hair comfortingly, and looked daggers at Peter, who stood up in a daze, using the chair behind him to keep steady.

"You have to marry her now," said Orla imperiously. "No man will take her once it becomes known she was ravished by Peter of Lindensea. And the wedding needs to be held very soon."

Peter looked down at his bride-to-be, the ghost of a smile on his lips to acknowledge how she had trapped him. Ellen gave a satisfied smirk as she absentmindedly twisted the sapphire and diamond betrothal ring Peter had slipped upon her finger while they lay before the fire.

"You came not a moment too soon, my lady Orla," Peter whispered, leaning toward his hostess. "Another minute, and I believe she would have had my virtue."

~~~THE END~~~