I Don’t Want to Be Loved

“Yes…”

Rihannan managed to answer Igor; she closed her eyes tightly.

From the first day the Queen was pronounced guilty of disloyalty to the King, no one would want a Queen around.

Rihannan expected Igor’d lash out in rage; she thought he’d take his hands off her body, put his attire back on, then get out of bed and claim their marriage invalid — their consummation had yet to be established.

But after a long time, there was no response from Igor.

Rihannan cautiously raised her head and what she saw was his purple eye infused with cold, derisive anger.

“…I see.”

He lowered his head and whispered quietly in her ear.

“Then, my wife, I don’t want it either, but endure it, even if you don’t like it. You can’t run away from this now.”

Soon as he finished his statement, Igor bit on her ear. Rihannan screamed loudly, but managed to suppress her scream in her throat.

And instead of getting out of the bed and announcing the annulment of their marriage, Igor held Rihannan’s body without a moment’s hesitation.

There was no love in his action, only pure coldness, but regardless, it was a mechanical action, a mechanical bond to prove the witness that their two bodies were connected as one.

He thrusted in her, not caring for the pain she’d feel. In and out, Igor pushed deeper inside her, feeling her more.

In this one-sided act, Rihannan could feel nothing but pain.

By the time he reached his climax, the witnesses quietly left the room and Igor laid beside her with a long sigh.

In time, only the man and woman’s breath filled the space.

Rihannan was in static shock;  she comforted her mind that this was bound to happen… finding true love was rare. There were lucky lovers — they grew up bound by love and married with love in their hearts.

Most aristocratic nobles married for political purposes.

It was natural that a mandatory relationship would be established without affection between two parties.

Suddenly, Igor’s voice rang when Rihannan had given up, her eyes shut tightly.

“You’d better not think I’ll continue to tolerate your ambiguous attitude.”

With eyes closed, he said coldly.

That was the last conversation they had.

Igor soon fell asleep while Rihannan was up awake that night with eyes wide open.

When the night passed and sunrise came, the maids walked in and took the bloodstained bedcloth, a proof of their official union. Now, there was no choice but to keep their marriage alive and intact.

Of course, there exists other methods of divorce, but that was not realistic.

Since then, Rihannan quietly isolated herself with the King and Hertia Cesca, whose conflict deepened over time.

In the meantime, their loveless act of love continued in bed. It’d be for the best if he avoided seeing her, but he was eager to produce an offspring, an heir.

This too was political.

Igor’s maternal grandfather, the late king, had no real male heir and experienced a total war of devastation after his death. Igor may have wanted to avoid that.

He visited Rihannan frequently and spent the night together, but over time, she bore him no children. Rumors circulated throughout the court that the Queen was infertile.

The burdens of bearing the King a child dawned on Rihannan and she became exhausted.

Then, one day, he stopped coming. Rather than celebrate in happiness, Rihannan’s grief rose at the thought that she was, indeed, abandoned by him.