Haley Thistle
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Bicorn Boyfriend: Torvald (complete)
🕑 Added 2020-08-04 19:00:02 +0000 UTC
I was always sickly and weak as a child, so it came as a surprise when my parents found me a husband on the first try. Most of my youth was spent either in bed or my wheelchair, and I was always being educated in some form or fashion. Either I taught myself, or my family hired tutors for me.
I wanted to make myself useful in some way, since I was the firstborn and had very little chance of producing an heir, let alone finding someone who would want to be with me. I studied art first, thinking it would be befitting of a lady. I was terrible at it. I fared well with the piano, but I found painting or studying paintings to be dreadfully dull. I had no eye for color, and I half-suspect I may not see colors like the rest of the world. And do not get me started on form or lighting.
I studied history for a day or two. I know it is important, but it all felt like men running in place, creating the same events over and over again. To me, that was insanity, so I turned to science, and there I found my calling. It wasn’t the ‘feminine’ thing to do, but I took comfort in it. I found great pleasure in the machinations of the body. I enjoyed studying how blood flowed, how nerves fired, how muscles moved. It wasn’t something my parents thought I should be learning, but they encouraged me and my growing intellect.
They hired a tutor for me, perhaps hoping that I would lose interest once I had hands-on experience with what I so enjoyed in books. My tutor was a tad bit younger than me, just freshly graduated from university, and he was eager to show me the world I had so admired in texts. He brought in anatomy figures and up-to-date books. He offered to take me to a demonstration of surgery, which my parents thought was inappropriate.
What was truly inappropriate was what we did behind closed doors. After some months together, my tutor and I harbored a natural attraction to one another. He was young, handsome, educated, and virile. I was lovely, intelligent, and had a carnal hunger that he gladly satiated. I was interested in his anatomy - the shape of it, the feel of it, even the taste of it.
He asked for my hand in marriage, and although my family was reluctant to accept, they soon allowed us to wed. Shortly after we were married, my husband was called away for another job. We had such a short time together, although it was blissful, and being outside of my family’s estate was a welcome change. I could move around my own home any way I pleased. I worked on building up my strength, which was something my mother deemed ‘too hard’ for me to do.
My husband returned, but only for a short while. He was being called off to another job, one he promised would bring us a great deal of money. My exercises had found me in good form, and we made love as much as we could stand one another. I was curious to see the limits a body could take, even while experiencing great pleasure. Was there a limit to gratification? Could one sustain such heights of frenzy for long, or would the body eventually give out?
When my husband left again, I continued building my strength. I wanted to be able to walk without the aid of a cane, without growing weary so quickly. But when I became ill, I was worried I had found the limits to my body. I grew weak again, and would vomit without warning.
It came as such a surprise to learn I was with child, that I didn’t believe the doctor at first. I had been told all my life I was too frail to ever conceive. I felt smug in my pregnancy, having proved so many people wrong. I was excited to tell my husband the good news, but when I received a letter from the estate he was working for, rather than him, I lost a great deal of joy.
The letter came with his salary, as well as extra for his loss. His employer, a man named Torvald Rothschild, invited me to come live with him on his estate. He kept correspondence with me throughout my pregnancy, and even sent some of his own doctors to look after me. I was suspicious of his efforts - they seemed like an admission of guilt.
I gave birth to a daughter on a particularly horrible day in the fall. A storm was raging, and the screams of the wind matched my own. She was a breech birth, and as her feet emerged, lightning struck a tree outside, which started a fire. It spread in the yard, and smoke started to fill the house. My daughter was a miracle, coming out healthy, screeching, and covered in my blood. I named her Carmine.
After she was born, I was moved back to my family’s estate. Almost immediately, my mother started to take Carmine from me. She attempted to rename her, only allowing me to hold her when she needed feeding. I was growing weary of her treatment of me, of my child.
I wake one morning to see a strange creature standing over me. Long horns jut from the figure’s temples, curling upwards to end in sharp, deadly points. I blink a few times as I gaze at this dark shadow. I don’t believe in an afterlife, but perhaps this being is here to take me to it.
“I am Torvald Rothschild,” he says in a voice that could shake stone. “I’ve come to take you back with me.”
I sit up in bed weakly, and he places his large hand on my back to support me. His long hair falls off his shoulder, shining silver in the dim morning light. I hear Carmine crying in the distance. She isn’t in her crib beside my bed.
“Get my daughter,” I say to him, “and I will go anywhere with you.”
“As you wish.” He props my pillows behind me before he leaves my side. As the doors close behind him, I hear my mother screaming. A moment later, I am holding Carmine in my arms.
“You didn’t hurt her, did you?” I ask Torvald.
His face is a mottled chocolate brown and milk white. “Did you want me to?”
I open my nightgown to feed Carmine. She instantly latches on to my breast and grunts happily with her meal. “No,” I murmur. “I want to do that myself.”
Torvald sits down beside the bed. His sharp brown eyes look over me, then down at Carmine. “I got word of what happened at your home. It will take time for repairs. Would you rather be here with family?” He says the word with some hesitation. “Or would you like to come with me?”
I meet his eyes with a steely gaze. “Did you kill my husband?”
He grins, showing me that his teeth are much sharper than I thought. “Is that what you think?”
“I find your kindness suspicious.” I say it as bluntly as I can. “My husband dies in your employ, you send me money, doctors, and offer me your home? I find that rather a hard pill to swallow, Lord Rothschild.”
He chuckles, making the sort of sound that would come from the depths of a pit or cave. The sort of thing children fear in their beds at night. “Your husband spoke often, if not incessantly, about you. I feel as though I know you.”
“You don’t,” I reply coldly.
His smile doesn’t fade, despite my barbs. “Come home with me.”
“Why?”
Torvald taps the tips of his fingers together. He’s growing impatient. “Wouldn't you rather be near your husband’s remains than the affections of your mother?”
I look down at Carmine, and her small hands kneading away at my breast begin to slow. I remove her and pat her back so she can burp. “When you put it like that...” I murmur.
Torvald reaches out, touching the soft curls on Carmine’s head. “I’ll take care of you and the child. Your husband always said your family made you wilt, and you only grew when you were out of their garden.”
I watch him with curiosity in my eyes. His thick fingers are bigger than Carmine’s neck; with even a breath, he could snap her, and me, in two. “But why do you want to do this for us?”
“I have money, and I have grown bored with it.” He moves his hand back into his lap. “Let me use it on you.”
I look him up and down. His clothes are immaculate and cut to suit his large body. I would not call him fat, but I wouldn’t call him muscular either. He has thick rings on his fingers, and jewels in his ears. If he’s bored with his money, who knows how much of it he really has?
“I don’t believe you, but I’ll accept it.”
I leave with Torvald soon after. It’s been almost a year since my husband died, four months since Carmine was born. I travel north with Torvald to his castle, blanketed by snow. He gives me a fur coat to wrap myself in, and even has a matching blanket made for Carmine, so when I carry her I look like a mother bear with her cub.
“Where is my husband laid to rest?” I ask Torvald as I step from the carriage.
“There is a graveyard just beside the woods,” Torvald replies simply. “He is there.”
“How was he buried?” I ask. Carmine starts to fuss as the winds pick up. “Is he alone in his grave? Is there a coffin?”
Torvald looks down at me. Lately, his eyes have reminded me of my husband’s. The once-dark brown in them has lightened, and they have a more honeyed hue. “He is alone in his coffin, but the marker is not permanent.” He offers his hand to me. “You must be tired. I will take you there after some rest.” His hand slips onto my lower back. “Lady Dowling, from here on out, my home is your home.”
“I am still uncertain of your motives,” I tell him. “You're a man of means, and still young, but old enough that you should be married. Why aren’t you? Why take care of a widow and her child?”
“You assume I have never been married,” Torvald smirks.
I keep my eyes straight ahead as he leads me down the hall. “Have you?”
“I care not for what you and your husband had,” he says with a sniff. “I don’t see a point in it.”
“What?” I ask. “Love?”
“I am curious about it, but I don’t think it serves any purpose in this world. That is one reason I do not marry. I already have titles and wealth, so I do not need to marry someone for those either. Furthermore, I do not see the point in marrying someone so they can have mine and use me for their own prestige. I am not stairs or a ladder for someone to climb.”
I look at him from the corner of my eye. “But what about an heir?”
“That would be the only reason.” He opens a door for me, showing me into a room done all in green. “A garden for Rosie.”
“Only my husband could call me that,” I say sharply as I step inside.
Torvald stands in the doorway. “My staff will be at your beck and call, Lady Dowling. If you should need anything, come to my office and ask for it in person.”
I remove my hood. “I will remember that.”
“You do not need to call this home, but I ask that you find comfort here.” Torvald closes the door behind him as he leaves.
I lay Carmine down in the crib and smile at her as she stretches her legs and arms. “It’s just us, little one,” I whisper. “That’s all we need.”
I take to walking the halls with Carmine to soothe her before I put her to bed. In those halls I find a wealth of information. In the paintings, I see many different faces. Torvald says he has not been married before, and yet there are numerous women depicted in portraits, and several handsome men. It makes me wonder even more about Torvald and his life.
Every so often I have supper with Torvald, although he is usually busy when meals come around. The times I do see him, he’s quiet, and tends to observe more than he speaks. He sits back, drinking wine while I enjoy my meal.
“My staff tells me you enjoy long walks to nowhere,” he says.
“It helps soothe Carmine to sleep,” I reply.
Torvald sips his wine, dragging on the rich, red liquid slowly as if it were jelly. “You are not restless?”
“I miss my education,” I tell him. “Some literature or even directions to a library would be nice.”
Torvald sets his cup down. “Your husband said you had an aptitude for the body.”
I meet his sharp gaze. His eyes appear bright rather than dark. “Coming from you, that sounds like an invitation to be lewd.”
“I do not intend such a thing - not without permission.” He lifts his glass again. “I merely mean that your theories and knowledge of anatomy, human or otherwise, impressed your husband greatly. He spoke in poetry about your intellect.”
I smile to myself. “He was always proud of me and my studies. Even when I used him as my study aid.”
“Now that sounds lewd,” he chuckles.
I take a bite of a rather bloody steak, my absolute favorite. “I’ve been admiring your artwork,” I reply. “So many beautiful women.”
Torvald eyes me. He knows exactly what I am leading to. “My mothers.”
He has my attention, I must concede. “Mothers?”
“My father was a romantic - always falling in love, always prattling on about it,” he grunts. “He married three women - my mothers - and had a son by each of them. I was raised in a home where love ruled, but all I ever saw was a greedy man with his treasure trove.”
I furrow my brow. “So he was married to them all at the same time? I didn’t think such a thing was… acceptable.”
“It didn’t matter to them,” he sniffs.
I lick my lips, savoring the lingering taste of the meat. “And that is the reason for your aversion to romance?”
“I like to think so,” he chuckles. “But now I am in a predicament.”
“How awful,” I mock.
Torvald’s gaze becomes a touch harder. “My father has given me an ultimatum. Either I marry and produce an heir, or I secede my right as firstborn to my brother.”
I smile and let out a sigh. “So that’s why I am here. I knew it.” I toss my napkin onto my plate. “I knew there was a reason for your kindness!”
“Yes, you are much smarter than I. Huzzah for you.” He finishes off his glass so that only traces of red cling to it. “But a smart woman such as yourself would also know what that means. You would be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. Your child - nay, children - would have the world on a string. You could live whatever life you desired. You would not have to enjoy me. You wouldn’t even have to see me if you wanted, once we have a son.”
I stare him down, trying to burn holes into his head, or crack his horns from his skull. “Did you kill my husband?”
“He fell while horseback riding,” he answers. “The horse killed him.”
“Why me then?” I ask. “Because it would be easy for you?”
He raises his empty glass to me. “Exactly.”
I sit back in my seat and place my hand over my stomach. Torvald rises and stands behind my chair. He undoes the laces of my bodice so I can breathe deeper, and his fingers knead into my spine. The hair on the back of my neck bristles. I know I should not find this pleasurable, and yet I do.
“You can continue your studies,” he breathes into my ear. “You can practice them on me.” His hot breath flows down the back of my neck. “I do not make love, but I will fuck you until your eyes cross. I will help you to know the pleasures of womanhood, inside and out.”
I shiver with both repulsion and hunger. “And what will happen to me if I cannot give you a son?”
Torvald’s thick hand slips around my throat, and his mouth presses against my cheek. “That is not an option.”
I hate my body at this moment. I hate how aroused I am, and how curious I am about Torvald’s form. I imagine his cock is thick and his testicles enormous. I grow wet with the idea of him inside me, biting me, treating my tender form roughly as I come.
His tongue runs behind my ear and down the back of my neck. I wrench away from him, but his hand around my throat tightens. My lashes flutter, and a deep laugh escapes my lips.
“I know the stories,” he whispers into my ear. “How strong your appetite is. Mingled with your curiosity and intellect, sex isn’t just anything to you - it’s an education. You learn from it, and draw inspiration in the heat of fucking.” He bites the tip of my ear. “He told me everything.”
“Why would he tell you these things?” I moan.
Torvald turns my head, holding my face between his massive hands. “Think about it, Lady Dowling.” He releases me. “Marry me, and have a life you want. If not, you can return home when the repairs are finished and simply live.”
I look down, seeing the bulge in his trousers. I lick my lips and gaze back into his eyes.
“I’ll sleep on it.” I stand, and my wetness drips down my thigh.
Torvald’s smirk is wicked. “I can see the curious spark in your eyes.”
“I can see your dick,” I sneer. “Sleep well, Lord Rothschild.” I leave the dining room, and once I am in my quarters I strip naked. I throw open the windows and let the cold winter air beat down upon my body. I do not know how he is able to elicit such excitement from me. His touch, his voice are very attractive, but I can’t trust him. I want to fuck him if only to know, if only to study, but it feels so wrong.
I weigh my options all night. His question is like a blade hung above my head; it could swing and chop me to pieces, or it could hang there forever.
As I am feeding Carmine the next morning, Torvald comes into my chambers. “Did you sleep?”
I stay where I am as he kneels beside my chair. I look into his eyes, more like my husband’s than ever before. “You will adopt Carmine as your own,” I tell him. “You will take care of her just like any of your children.”
“She will know nothing else.” He stands again. “I’ll arrange for the wedding. I do not want an event.”
I sigh with relief. “Neither do I. If all I have to do is sign a paper, so be it.”
Torvald kisses the top of my head. “You made the right choice.”
“Did I?” I scoff.
“Rosemund,” he says gently, “your life is yours to steer now, as long as you bear me a son.”
I glare at him. “You seem so certain I will.”
He chuckles and bows his head. “I have faith in you. Defy me if you must, and see what happens.” He turns to leave the room. “The sooner the better on our wedding day?”
I look only at Carmine and smile at her. “Of course.” I notice she has his eyes. It is a haunting vision.
“I’ll buy you a present worthy of a Rothschild bride,” he says.
A Rothschild - that is what I will be. I take a deep breath and think to myself that it is possible I will outlive him. “I care not for gifts, but whatever you must do to feel right about this, do it.”
“How about a new bed for our wedding night?” he says with a grin. “I suspect we’ll need it.”
I lift my eyes to meet his. “That is the only thing I am looking forward to.”
