"Tonight marks a new beginning," I tell myself, staring in the mirror.
My wedding gown, a deep blue adorned with silver threads, glimmers in the candlelight, each flicker reviving memories of a happier time before my father went to war and never returned. It was my mother's dress, from an era before grief engulfed us, when the plague cast its shadow over our lives, taking my mother and three of my siblings.
With all of my brothers deceased, the King seized my late father's land, leaving me with few options. At twenty-five, I was already considered an old maid, so my choices were limited. But fortune smiled on me, although slightly. The man who chose me was not wealthy, and his body was weathered from years of working in the fields, but he was an honest man.
My heart flutters as I wait in our modest bedroom, surrounded by sparse but sturdy wooden furniture. As a virgin, I am both excited and fearful of the night ahead. I trust my husband's kindness and hope he will be gentle as we fulfill our duties to each other. More than anything, I want to honor him and give him a son to carry on his lineage.
A sharp knock echoes throughout the room, startling me. I expect my younger sister to assist me in changing out of my wedding gown and into a nightgown—a simple chemise of soft linen made specifically for this occasion. But the force of the knock tells me it is not her.
"Come in."
The door creaks open, and two city guards enter, their faces stern in the shimmering torchlight. Behind them, a local priest enters, his grey robe brushing the floor with a gentle hiss. My heart sinks as I notice my husband standing at a pace behind them, his eyes cast down and avoiding my gaze.
"What is going on?" I ask, my voice rising in alarm.
The priest steps forward, his face somber as he addresses me formally. "Lady Anne, we come in the name of His Grace, the Bishop. He has invoked his right to prima nocta."
I feel my breath catch in my chest, his words striking me like a physical blow. My husband's gaze remains fixed on the floor, his slumped shoulders telling me more than his words ever could.
"But..." I whisper, my voice trailing off as the reality of the situation sinks in. "Husband," I breathe, my eyes pleading for him to look at me.
When he finally meets my gaze, filled with sorrow and apology, he takes a step toward me, but as he does, the guards grab him and pull him back, halting his advance.
After noticing our desperate looks, the priest speaks with more force. "Lady Anne, please accompany me now or your husband will be detained. Disobeying this decree will result in a fine far greater than the worth of your husband's property," he says.
That would not only leave me and him out on the street, but my younger sister and his elderly parents as well. Frozen by the priest's words, I stand conflicted, the gravity of the decision pressing down on me. I don't really have a choice but to follow him.
My heart is heavy as I leave with the priest, and my husband whispers my name but makes no plea for me to stay. We both recognize the agonizing lack of options that determines our fate.
A carriage waits outside, bathed in the cold, silvery light of the moon, ready to take me to the Bishop's residence. The journey is silent, with the carriage's wheels crunching gravel beneath us as we pass through the desolate countryside.
We arrive at a large ascetic structure, its towering silhouette standing out against the night sky—likely a part of the church grounds where the Bishop lives. Three nuns, clad in their somber habits, stand outside the heavy oak door. They say nothing as they escort me inside.
The interior is dimly lit by flickering candles, which cast long shadows on the stone walls, and the air is thick with the aroma of incense and wax from candles burning steadily in the corridors. They lead me into a room where a bath has been prepared.
The nuns quietly help me out of my wedding gown and into the bathtub. Despite the soothing embrace of the warm water, a knot of anxiety remains lodged firmly in my chest as the nuns proceed to cleanse me.
As one nun braids my long red hair, the other lathers my body with soap scented with soothing sage and gently washes away the remnants of my wedding day. It is a novel sensation to be bathed by another.
With gentle, circular motions, she spreads the foam over my shoulders, trailing down to my breasts. The nun's hands, though their touch is mechanical, feel strangely intimate as they glide over my skin. My rosy nipples harden in the cool air in response to her gentle caress, despite my best efforts to contain a shiver of pleasure.
Then two of them move to my sides, pushing my knees apart as a third approaches with a sharp knife glinting in the dim light. My heart races as she shaves my most intimate areas, the cool blade scraping across my delicate skin. Every stroke is precise, removing more than just hair—it feels like a symbolic shedding of my previous self. To be this exposed is terrifying, but I also feel this strange excitement bubbling up inside me as she continues her work with a steady hand.
As the nuns attend to me, their silent efficiency speaks of a ritual they have performed countless times. I feel like an observer in my own body, witnessing a tradition I have never chosen but have been thrust into. The knowledge that the Bishop would claim my virginity, a privilege and duty, weighs heavily on my mind.
When the nuns have finished, they gently lift me out of the bathtub. The air in the room feels crisp against my wet skin, in stark contrast to the water's lingering warmth. They pat me dry with soft cloth, their touches impersonal but gentle, as if I were a sacred object rather than a person.
After drying me off, one nun takes a light robe from a nearby chair. The fabric is delicate, almost transparent, and she wraps it around me with practiced ease. It envelops me, giving the impression of modesty and comfort, despite revealing more than it conceals.
They lead me down a long, dark hallway, with only the echoes of our footsteps breaking the silence. At the end of the corridor, we come to a heavy wooden door, its dark finish adorned with intricate carvings that speak to its age and significance. With a solemn nod, one nun pushes the door open to reveal a sparsely furnished room with a man in his forties sitting on the edge of a large, ornate bed.
I almost don't recognize him as the Bishop without his usual regalia—the flowing, rich purple robe and the heavy golden cross that hangs around his neck. His head is also bare and bold, without the traditional ceremonial mitre. Instead, he wears a simple, unadorned robe that covers his frame modestly. This unexpected simplicity removes the layers of his authority, revealing the human beneath in a way I've never seen him before.
As I enter, the nuns lower their heads respectfully and quietly close the door behind me, the sound of the latch echoing through the stone walls. I'm left alone with the Bishop, and the air is heavy with the weight of the impending event. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the darkness in his gaze as he silently takes in every inch of my body, causing my cheeks to flush pink.
"Do not be afraid, my child. This is a sacred duty," he says calmly, patting the space next to him on the bed.
Despite my reluctance, I approach him and sit beside him, the bed creaking slightly under our combined weight.
He gazes at me with an intensity that feels too heavy to bear, his hand reaching out to gently grasp mine. Despite the lines etched on his face from years of responsibility, there's no denying he's handsome—with a strong jawline and piercing brown eyes that seem to see right through me. I can't help but wonder why he ever became a Bishop. A man like him could have had his pick of admirers. What made him choose this life?
"You are so young and so pretty, Anne," he murmurs. "Each time you visited the cathedral, I couldn't take my eyes off you."
His words make me blush even more, a confusing sense of being both flattered and uncomfortable washing over me.
"I have watched you grow into a beautiful woman," he continues. "A woman I have admired from afar for so long."
My heart pounds in my ears as I struggle to find the right words to respond to his unexpected confession.
"Anne," he breathes. "The guilt has been overwhelming," he admits, his eyes meeting mine in an uneasy stare. "Night after night, I have kneeled in prayer, begging for God's forgiveness, as thoughts of you consumed my mind."
His words only exacerbate the heaviness in the air, making the room feel smaller and more suffocating.
"I did things..." he trails off, unable to meet my gaze. "A Bishop should not indulge in as I fantasized about you."
I sit beside him, frozen, the weight of his secret pressing down on me. To have such a man—a man of God—confess these feelings should feel like an honor, or so part of me thinks. Seeing him struggle with his own demons only makes me want to console him.
"God is merciful and forgiving," I whisper. "This sacred ritual will help cleanse your soul and bring you peace."
He smiles at me, the creases of worry easing from his brow. "Thank you for your understanding, Anne." His fingers lift to caress my cheek, and I stare into his deep eyes. "I had the honor of taking the virginity of many young women like yourself, but none were as special as you, Anne."
My heart skips a beat at his words, and his gaze intensifies as he leans in closer. His breath tickles my lips as he whispers, "You are truly a gift from God."
My cheeks burn as the Bishop's lips press softly against mine, his tongue tracing a delicate path along my bottom lip, a silent plea for more. His left hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek with a gentleness that speaks volumes about the depth of his desire for me.
His right hand slides down my back, pulling me closer to him. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering close as I surrender to the intoxicating sweetness of his mouth, feeling a new sense of longing awakening within me.
His hand at my lower back urges me even closer until our bodies are pressed tightly together, his heat searing through the thin fabric, and I am powerless against the overwhelming need within me that I never knew existed.