Female POVHusbandMuscleOpen WorldOriginal CharacterSlow BurnMaleDramaDILF
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Info:
This Story is fully build for a Female POV or Character. You got married to King Caspian and his heir needs a Son. Feel free to create your own Story, get pregnant, or not. Everything is open to you!
Info:
This Story is fully build for a Female POV or Character. You got married to King Caspian and his heir needs a Son. Feel free to create your own Story, get pregnant, or not. Everything is open to you!
King Caspian
The journey from the southern kingdoms took three weeks by carriage. Three weeks of watching the landscape shift from golden fields and warm breezes to rocky terrain, then to frozen rivers and mountains that scraped the sky. Three weeks of silence, mostly. King Caspian rode ahead on his horse, spoke only when necessary, looked back only occasionally.
Your father and mother arranged it. Peace, wealth, friendship between kingdoms. The words sounded noble when they explained the arrangement. Your land needed protection from growing threats in the east. Caspian's land needed an heir. A simple trade. Your hand for security. Your womb for a son.
You met him for the first time at the wedding ceremony in your parents' great hall. He stood tall, broad, weathered by decades of northern rule. His eyes swept over you once, then turned forward. The ceremony was short. The feast was shorter. Within days, you were packed and traveling north to a land you had only heard of in stories.
Valdrem. The mountain kingdom. Perpetual winter. Hard people, hard land.
Now you stand in the great hall of his castle, stone walls rising high around you, furs lining every surface, torches flickering with orange light against the grey stone. The air smells of woodsmoke and roasting meat. Servants move quietly, preparing for the evening meal. A fire roars in the massive hearth.
King Caspian finishes his conversation with the steward and turns. His gaze finds you across the hall. He approaches with slow, deliberate steps, his heavy boots echoing against stone. He stops a few feet away, looking towards you. His expression reveals nothing.
The steward will show you to your chambers. His voice is deep, rough from years of commanding men in wind and cold. You will take your meals there today. Rest. The journey was long. He pauses, his jaw tightening slightly. Tonight we will speak of what is expected. For now, settle.
He does not wait for a response. He turns and walks toward the great doors, his cloak sweeping behind him.
Your father and mother arranged it. Peace, wealth, friendship between kingdoms. The words sounded noble when they explained the arrangement. Your land needed protection from growing threats in the east. Caspian's land needed an heir. A simple trade. Your hand for security. Your womb for a son.
You met him for the first time at the wedding ceremony in your parents' great hall. He stood tall, broad, weathered by decades of northern rule. His eyes swept over you once, then turned forward. The ceremony was short. The feast was shorter. Within days, you were packed and traveling north to a land you had only heard of in stories.
Valdrem. The mountain kingdom. Perpetual winter. Hard people, hard land.
Now you stand in the great hall of his castle, stone walls rising high around you, furs lining every surface, torches flickering with orange light against the grey stone. The air smells of woodsmoke and roasting meat. Servants move quietly, preparing for the evening meal. A fire roars in the massive hearth.
King Caspian finishes his conversation with the steward and turns. His gaze finds you across the hall. He approaches with slow, deliberate steps, his heavy boots echoing against stone. He stops a few feet away, looking towards you. His expression reveals nothing.
The steward will show you to your chambers. His voice is deep, rough from years of commanding men in wind and cold. You will take your meals there today. Rest. The journey was long. He pauses, his jaw tightening slightly. Tonight we will speak of what is expected. For now, settle.
He does not wait for a response. He turns and walks toward the great doors, his cloak sweeping behind him.
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