A little, and mercifully, yes

For what felt like an eternity, but was probably a mercifully short amount of time Christine endured the humiliation of Prince Henry's oral ministrations. To her surprise, as much as she hated being **** by a man who did not love her and who fully intended to defile her on her own bed, she found her sensitive body responded to the man's caresses. She could feel her insides melting and even the start of a tingling that she had heard her ladies-in-waiting giggling about but had never understood.

It was not something she enjoyed; being slobbered on by the man that betrayed her father's hospitality, killed her guards and stripped away her dignity along with her nightclothes, but had it been someone else …

Once again her back arched as she attempted to dislodge the Bastard Prince and get a moment or two to marshal her resistance; this time the attempt did little more than grind her womanhood against the man's mouth. His tongue was no longer as aggressive in its exploration of her sex, but the feeling of her delicate petals mashing against the Prince's nose still made her tremble.

Twice more she jerked against Henry's face feeling the hardness of his teeth pressing against her most sensitive spot, each time the tingling in her core grew like a morning glory blossoming in the sunlight. She expected to hear Henry's sardonic laughter as he realized how eager she was for a man's touch when it occurred to her that her attacker had hardly moved at all for a while.

She ceased her struggles and lay perfectly still with his strong arms still wrapped firmly around her thighs and to her relief, she found that Henry was as still as she. It took a few more moments to free her legs from his grasp and slide out from beneath him, but soon enough she was standing by the bed staring down at a passed out Prince Henry. His chest rising and falling slowly, so she had not murdered the man, but that was a small consolation considering her predicament.

With Henry's men in control of the Gerard Castle, there was little chance that she could escape the fate that awaited her. He might choose to marry her or not as he saw fit, but there was no doubt in her mind that he would have her again and again until he tired of her. Christine could not forget his comment about making his victims respond like whores. She had not thought it possible, but the heat in her belly was only now starting to subside and she wondered if he could have made her submit just by claiming her maidenhead.

His other threat to turn her over to his men for them to play with was also fresh in her mind and Christine knew that she could not live with that shame. If the vial of medicine had not all been consumed she would happily end her life right now. The Prince's men could find her cold body laying on the bed next to their Lord in the morning and she would trust her soul to the Heavenly Father and the mercy of the Blessed Mother.

Who else was there to turn to? The fact that the arch-bishop was traveling with Prince Henry made it clear what the Church's position would be if she tried to appeal for sanctuary. All her life, Christine had been protected by her father, but he could not help her. In fact, it was clear to Christine that her father would never hold a position of power in the King's new court. Bartholomew Gerard was many things, but he was not a man to forgive this kind of betrayal and Henry knew that better than most men. It might not be tonight, but as long as Prince Henry lusted after her it was only a matter of time until he claimed her maidenhead.

Her gaze fell on the silver-handled dagger and a new thought crossed her mind. What if Henry believed that he had claimed her as she cried out under him? Was it possible? She wished she knew more about what a virgin's first time was like, but everything she had heard agreed that the man's fleshy sword had to stab deep within the maiden's sex. Her mother had stressed since her first cycle marked her how important it was for a husband to see the bloody evidence of his mastery of his bride's chastity on his bedding.

How much blood? Christine wondered as she unsheathed the steel blade and touched the point to her palm. It had to be enough to be convincing - and judging by Henry's coarse threats, she imagined the he prided himself on his masterful deflowering of his victims. With a tightening of her lips Christine drew the blade across her palm, and as the blood started to flow she let it drip onto the bed sheets. With a newfound resolve born from desperation, she rolled Henry onto his side and slathered a red smear along his flaccid member. The penis felt like a fleshy uncooked sausage and not nearly as big or hard as she remembered from when he had her pinned to the bed. Touching the shrunken member made it twitch and she quickly rolled the muscular man back onto his belly and covered him.

In the hallway outside her door she could hear a couple of Prince Henry's henchmen waiting for him to finish. Judging by the bored tone of the muffled voices, it did not sound like they expected that to be for a while. Hopefully, they wouldn't even try the door until well into the morning.

Christine dressed the best she could without her maid. The lacings on the back of her gown needed to be tightened and a few of the fasteners were left open as well, but sooner than she thought possible she had on a simple travel dress and cloak with the dagger firmly strapped to her side.

All she had to do now was find a way to get out of this room and get to safety.