Chapter 4: Rosemary Babe

“All celebration to Sol!” King Meyrick exclaimed, throwing a kiss up to the faceless statue. It loomed overhead without moving, for there was nothing there but solid gold and a soulless excuse to justify molesting a young woman’s body.

Orpheia cringed, though she did not know why. She was far too distracted by the king’s excitement as he sang his praises in a hearty baritone to notice that the priest had not been paying attention to the tilt he held the candle at. Orpheia’s flesh was fully aware when two, then three heavy droplets of molten wax dripped from the candle’s tip. They fell perfectly in line with a special fold of flesh and nerves that topped Orpheia’s womanhood. She had avoided touching the bud all her life, for just the tiniest bit of pressure upon the skin would erupt her with sensations that she did not understand. Thus, something as violently hot as melted wax sent the neglected flesh roaring to life. Its ire throbbed through Orpheia’s body until she shot straight upright and shrieked. Black tears streamed down her cheeks, and she struggled to regain her frantic breath.

Father Grimshaw glared in suspicion, for he no doubt believed Orpheia’s pain arose from the king’s prayer, but Meyrick wasn’t so easily swayed. He shooed the priest away and embraced his bride in his thick arms, gently shushing her cries. Orpheia allowed her head to rest against the king’s wolfskin coat, listening to the heartbeat underneath. She became so entranced by the rhythm of it that she hardly noticed Meyrick’s fingers exploring the gap between her legs.

“Candle wax,” he deduced, scraping his fingers up Orpheia’s excruciatingly sensitive fold. He peeled the wax off of her and tossed it to the side. “Are you alright, my little phantom?” He whispered into Orpheia’s ear, running his fingers through the spiderweb strands of her hair. His other hand cupped her sex.

Orpheia nodded, sniffling between tears. “I can’t bear it...”

“Can’t bear what?” Meyrick whispered, even gentler than before. He pressed his thumb to her fold, holding just enough pressure to feel the muscles in her chest contract. “Can’t bear this?”

Orpheia chewed on her lip to keep from groaning. Orpheia was unashamed to admit that she feared that which she did not understand. And there was much about the folds and holes between her thighs that she was too frightened to probe. Being that she was a spectre, she thankfully had no reason to grow accustomed to such curiosities. But now that she was to be wed, Orpheia was overcome with trepidation, knowing she was to be forced into a world she did not wish to explore.

“Are you afraid?” Meyrick whispered.

Orpheia froze, not wishing to admit her innocence so brazenly. Much to her dismay, her silence spoke volumes all the same, and Meyrick chuckled with delight. He growled softly into her ear, nibbling her lobe until it bruised as black as her tears. Orpheia whimpered in pain. Meyrick’s fingers returned to the fold.

“Your little bud is untouched,” Meyrick mused. His fingertips slowly began to grind the fold into dust until Orpheia’s chest blazed and her loins began to throb. “It’s so sensitive. I wonder how easy it would be to make you burst for me...”

“Burst?” Orpheia whispered back. She tried to ask what the king meant by this, but his fingers burrowed deeper inside her nerves and began twisting, which sent Orpheia jerking forward with a screaming moan.

“You are in the house of Sol,” Father Grimshaw scolded.

Meyrick only chuckled. “Isn’t it poetic, Father? To sacrifice the virgin orgasm of an Umbran Spectre at Sol’s feet? Wouldn’t he revel in knowing that his chosen king could bend such a creature’s will so easily with just a fingertip?”

“You can’t bend my will,” Orpheia snapped back, chewing on her bleeding lip to keep from moaning again.

“Your body betrays your tongue. You’re trembling, pet,” the king whispered. “Try as you might, though your mind is as tough as iron, your womanly body is still delicate. I’ve had my fair share of women, you know. Through my many years, I have found exactly what it takes to make them submit to me with only a few strokes.”

“Nnngh ... You’re disgusting...” Orpheia mumbled.

“And you’re wet,” Meyrick whispered back.

Sure enough, Orpheia’s loins began glistening with the same slick elixir that had coated her the night before. Sensations she could not parse enveloped her flesh. And just as the king had told her, her body was betraying her. Orpheia’s voice sang the same birdsong that she had sung for Reith. Her hands gripped the back of Meyrick’s head, gathering fistfuls of his golden curls as he massaged her fold faster and faster, ensuring that his fingers were as deep into her flesh as they could manage. Petrified tears streamed down Orpheia’s face as she sobbed into Meyrick’s shoulder. He hardly cared, as he was beginning to mimic her noises with pleasure of his own.

“By my order,” he began, teasing Orpheia’s nerves as she found herself at the precipice of a mountain she had never before ventured up. “Come for me.”

Possessed by the demon of lust, Orpheia’s body obeyed the strange order without question, even though it had never done so before. Her loins opened up with an explosion of euphoria, dousing the altar in sickly sweet juice, slightly tinged lavender in color. King Meyrick pressed his lips to Orpheia’s petals as she allowed the walls of her floodgates to come down. He lapped up every droplet of her bounty like a hungry dog licking the ground for crumbs. Orpheia’s eyes fell back into her skull as she studied the way King Meyrick’s long, slender tongue raped her insides. Her body flew into a fit of convulsions, rendering her limbs useless and weak. A pain began blooming inside of her womb that grew and grew until the intensity of each throb broke Orpheia’s lips open with an agonized scream.

“My king!” Father Grimshaw shouted. He leapt forward and ripped King Meyrick out from between Orpheia’s legs. Both men turned to her with a mixture of fear and confusion in their eyes as Orpheia continued to writhe. She stopped only when her torment hit its peak and then instantly disappeared. Orpheia collapsed against the altar in a fit of groans. Sweat poured from her face and breasts. When Orpheia struggled to lift her head and gaze upon the trembling men, she found that her view was obstructed by her own body.

“What has happened?” King Meyrick asked, his mouth hanging open in a gape.

Father Grimshaw couldn’t answer, for he was too awestruck with the sight before him, for Orpheia’s belly had swollen to an impossible size. Something was buried beneath her skin, writhing around her womb.

“She is ... with child already?” King Meyrick gawked. “But I haven’t even fucked her!”

The priest’s face was well contorted with rage by then, as his mind had cleared enough for him to deduce the truth. “This girl has laid with a demon!” he exclaimed, throwing an accusatory finger in Orpheia’s face. “Her womb is swollen with evil spawn! Quick, slice open her belly and remove the creature before it devours us all! Slaughter the whore, for she wishes to bring ruin upon your kingdom!”