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Better Aim

Chapter 16

When Captain Riley burst into Prince Edward's tent to inform him that his wife was missing, he wasn't certain why he should care. It was hardly the first time Delilah had run off. When Captain Riley gave him the news, he pretended to be the concerned husband and shouted, "Well, go and find her, fool! You're standing here and my wife could be dead!" But the second the captain was gone, Edward took a lazy sip of wine and hoped to the gods that Delilah had been eaten by a bear.

Not that it would have benefited Prince Edward politically. He was not of royal blood and was not in line to become king. If anything, King Athriel hated and despised him, so divorcing Delilah - or having her "accidentally" die - would mean a one way ticket back to Braymalen Province immediately (assuming he managed to escape a beheading).

For this reason, it was in Prince Edward's best interests to impregnate Delilah and have her foal as soon as possible. His mother and father had been nagging him to do so over the years, as producing an heir was the only certain way to secure his place in Aramora Hall. And it wasn't as if he hadn't been trying for four years. The problem was, he and Princess Delilah despised each other the moment they saw each other.

The day of their wedding, Edward pulled back Delilah's white veil, and though she was very young and beautiful, he still wanted to back out of the ceremony. He had the terrible feeling he was on the brink of his doom, and - unfortunately for him - he was correct. The priest told them to kiss, and they were both so disgusted that they barely managed it. Edward remembered how the hall had laughed at them, as if they were small children, disgusted by the very idea of kissing. Granted, they were sixteen at the time and both looked even younger in the face. In reality, though, they were simply disgusted by each other, and their disgust had nothing whatsoever to do with youth and inexperience.

They found each other so repellant that sex was a nightmare. The princess had never gone down on Edward, and he would rather claw his own eyes out than go down on her. But producing an heir was their duty, and so they always had sex like maids scrubbing particularly smelly linens with clothespins on their noses.

Their marriage had been desperately unhappy, to the point that they were constantly bickering, even sometimes at public functions when Edward was too drunk to contain himself. His mother - who loathed Princess Delilah - was always on about how handsome and wonderful her son was and how marrying the "spoilt, ungrateful" princess had been such a waste. Edward had to privately disagree. He was indeed quite handsome, filthy rich, and was as charming as a fairy tale, but that didn't mean every filly he met was instantly required to fall head over hooves for him. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. And as much as he resented and despised Delilah, he didn't hold her at fault for not automatically finding him a compatible partner. He hurled insults at her, they bickered and fought, but he was more angry at the situation than at her.

Over the years, Edward's arguments with Delilah escalated in verbal cruelty, to the point that she was always running away in tears, intent on joining a bandit gang, or some other nonsense, and living out in the forest. He knew it was entirely his fault, her unhappiness, but felt helpless to change his behavior. It wasn't as if he'd asked for the marriage. It was all arranged, without so much as a passing inquiry about his opinion on it.

Edward relaxed against his pillows, gesturing for Daisy to refill his glass with wine. The quiet female donkey stepped forward and silently filled his glass, and he took a sip from it, thinking dismally of what the return trip to the capital would bring: more arguing, more hurled vases, perhaps Delilah would stab him again.

Edward and Delilah had been cordially invited to a wedding in Torwall and the entire trip to and from had been a ceaseless parade of their bickering. Edward knew it was because the wedding of Delilah's cousins - happy as it was -- reminded them both of their own unfortunate wedding and subsequent unfortunate marriage, and so they took every opportunity to take a jabs at each other, culminating in frantic hate-sex against a wall in the courtyard.

It had been so long since Edward had been inside his wife, he realized with self-loathing how much he'd missed it. They always slept in separate rooms, and while they were still in her cousin's manor, he came to Delilah in her bed and plunged his throbbing way in. She awoke with a shocked cry but didn't try to stop him, didn't squirm or scream. Her face, when he had finished ravishing her, was tired, baffled, and content. But when he came back the next night - believing she would welcome his advances -- she had a knife and stabbed him in the side with it.

Edward was astonished with how expertly his wife had stabbed him. She knew just where to hit, missing all his vital organs, so that he walked away with a scar and a crippled pride but no real damage. After that, he never snuck into his wife's bed again, though they still had moments of raging hate-sex whenever she grabbed him by the mane and climbed on top of him.

Edward wasn't certain he could live this way anymore. He was tired of hiding in brothels from his wife and his responsibilities. He was tired of asking Daisy to go down on him, for his donkey slave always did it as indifferently and halfheartedly as if she would rather be dead. He knew he couldn't blame her, and yet one time he became impatient and threw her over his lap and spanked her.

"Should I pour another glass for her highness' return?" Daisy muttered unenthusiastically. She was standing over Edward with the decanter of wine, her hooded eyes as unhappy as ever. She wasn't a very pretty jenny, with bucked teeth and dull eyes. Her brown fur was so dark it was nearly black, while her nose and mouth were covered in a cup of white fur. Her dark mane was very long and kept back in a plait that fell to her likewise plaited tail. She was wearing a simple brown dress, was small and thin, and had perky little breasts that poked through the fabric.

Edward was reclined against the many pillows of his bedroll and glanced up at Daisy irritably. He hated that she was so depressed, because it reminded him of the injustices in the world and how little he could do about them in his pseudo-position of power. For some reason, he always lashed out in frustration at her, just as his other frustrations were always misdirected at his wife. He set aside his glass and slumped down in his pillows, trying to reconcile himself to the fact that his wife would be returning soon. Word had already been sent that she had been found.

". . . your highness?" Daisy whispered.

"Shut up, Daisy," Edward muttered, unbuttoning his shirt. "And get out."

Daisy quietly set the decanter on the low table near the bedroll and left.

Edward had been lightly dozing for some time when he heard someone enter the tent. He opened his eyes to find the tent was almost pitch dark, except for the few candles that had been lit while he was sleeping. Daisy had returned and was helping Delilah out of her torn and tattered gown, which had been ripped right down the middle. Delilah didn't even have her corset! Edward snapped upright and his first reaction was fury, as he'd paid for the damned expensive thing as a grudging anniversary present, but then he saw his wife's soft, naked body and went still where he sat on the bed.

While the two of them would normally have preferred separate tents, Edward had shared a tent with his wife during the journey for safety and convenience's sake. For the first time in weeks, Edward was not regretting that decision. He watched, quietly stiffening in his pants, as his wife leaned over, naked breasts shivering, to gather the nightshirt that waited for her on a chair. Normally, Delilah hid behind screens and wouldn't even let Edward have a glimpse of her body. Now she was undressing in the open, uncaring that his eyes were on her? With Daisy's help, she pulled the nightshirt over her head, letting it fall translucent over her curves with a toss of her long, pale mane and a thrust of her high breasts.

With the gown on, Delilah turned, and for the first time, looked at Edward. She halted when she saw him, and she stared at him as if she didn't quite know who he was or hadn't expected to see him there. Perhaps the bandits had hit her over the head.

"Uh, that will be all, Daisy. You can go," Edward said, waving a tired paw.

Daisy bowed her head and retreated, and Edward saw a look of fear cross his wife's face - as if she feared to be alone with him!

"Don't worry, darling wife," Edward said lazily. "I will not accost you this night. I am too tired . . . and too drunk. And no doubt the bandits had their way with you." His lip curled. "I'd rather at least wait until you'd had a bath."

A look of disgust crossed Delilah's face, and Edward thought scathingly, Ah. There's the wife I know and hate!

"Besides, darling, sloppy seconds are more Captain Riley's thing, aren't they?" Edward went on, further twisting the knife. To his surprise, his jabbing won no response. Delilah barely made an effort to care, and suddenly too tired to care himself, he turned over on his side with a yawn and closed his eyes.

A second later, and Delilah had rustled the sheets as she climbed in. Edward's eyes snapped open the moment he inhaled her scent. She smelled differently. She smelled like a stranger! Edward turned over immediately, and the stranger in the bed beside him went still as a mouse. She lay on her back, pretty hazel eyes wide with trepidation. Edward could swear they were Delilah's pretty hazel eyes, and yet the smell was all wrong. He grabbed her neck, pinning her to the pillow as he hissed, "Imposture!" To his shock, he felt the cold sting of a blade when it sliced through his fur, splitting his side in a line of blood. He gasped and let go, and the second he did, the imposture leapt from the bed and ran.

Edward was behind her in seconds. Ignoring the fierce burning in his side, he managed to reach her before she flew through the tent flap. He grabbed her around the middle and locked her in his arm, and as she bucked and struggled, he grabbed her slender wrist and shook it until the bloody knife fell on the ground.

She was wild. Wilder than Delilah had ever been. She screamed softly as she stamped her hooves and twisted her body, trying to throw him off, but her soft backside jiggling against his dick did nothing but make him more determined to hold on. She even had a better ass than Delilah! Who was this mare?

"Be still! Be still, I say!" Edward hissed in her ear. In their grappling, he managed to keep her wrist in one paw. His other arm was still locked around her, trapping her one of her arms against her side. Her breasts were heavy on his arm and were much bigger than Delilah's, perky and swollen and jutting behind her gown. It was pretty laughable that this stranger had thought she could trick someone with such an intimate knowledge of Delilah's body. He stared over her shoulder at her breasts in awe for a moment and completely forgot what he'd been about to say.

"Let me . . . let me go," she whispered breathlessly.

Edward chuckled in disbelief. "I will do no such thing! You've likely kidnapped my wife and thought you could replace her. I don't know whether to thank you or strangle you."

"P-Please . . ." she stammered softly.

"Is Delilah alive?"

"I-I am Delilah!" she whispered frantically.

Edward made a low tisking sound. "No. No, you aren't." After pausing to see if she would fight him, he released the stranger's wrist, and very slowly, he pulled on the laces of her gown, letting it sag open to reveal the swell of her cleavage. She swallowed hard as he carefully pulled the opening down around her breasts, forcing them to jut free. They were high and swollen and even had a white line down the center, like Delilah's breasts, but they were much larger, and when he lifted the right one to inspect, there was no white birthmark underneath.

"You don't have the mark," he whispered in the imposture's ear and squeezed her heavy breast in his grasp, smoothing his fingers to her nipple and pinching it. His paw slid down her trembling belly to her sex, and she clenched her thighs on him when he slipped two fingers inside her. Just as he'd supposed, a tight hymen refused him, but he fingered her anyway, pushing so deep that she gasped. "And your pussy is young. My wife was a mare, while you are a filly." He curled his fingers, jerking her hips forward and forcing another gasp from her. "Who are you?"

The girl licked her lips and stammered, "Will you h-hurt me?"

"No," he answered at once, startling her. "But I am quite intrigued." He pulled his fingers free of her tight walls and saw her sag a little in relief when he backed away.

"You aren't Delilah, but someone taught you to wield knife like her," Edward panted, wincing against the slash in his side. He staggered to the bedroll and sat heavily on it. He was surprised when the girl ran to him, and kneeling at his side, she pushed back his shirt to examine the wound. "I'm so sorry, m'lord!" she cried, like the lowliest peasant.

"It's alright," he said in amusement, even as blood oozed through his fingers. "Send for Daisy. And then you can tell me who you are - and what you've done with Delilah."

The girl nodded unhappily and got to her hooves. She was almost to the tent flap when Edward called to her.

"And if you run from me instead," he said calmly, "I'll have my soldiers hunt you down and drag you back to be my wife. I'll not lose you now."

The filly blushed prettily. "W-Why me? Why not just search for Delilah?"

Edward pulled his paw away from the wound and inspected it. He looked up again and said with a smile, "Delilah has better aim."