Bride of the Revolution Read Online Free

with blue lights. Her oval face was perfectly formed although its beauty was hidden beneath the grime. Her skin was unblemished beneath the filth; pale and smooth as moonstone. Round eyes were startling in her dirty face, and although dull from lack of nourishment, were a dark verdant green sometimes warming to hazel, flecked with shimmering gold. Despite the hardships she suffered her soft lips often curved in a beckoning smile or pouted deliciously in a perfectly round and inviting O.
    The girl sat upon a low stool by her mother’s bed, cooling the older woman’s fevered brow with a scrap of rag dipped in a cup of rainwater.
    â€˜Promise me!’ The woman’s cracked voice was barely audible above the sound of the rain on the roof of the makeshift hut which served them as their home.
    â€˜Oh, mother,’ sighed Grace. ‘The aristos will not listen to one such as me.’ She smoothed a wisp of hair, white from suffering, not from age, from her mother’s forehead.
    â€˜They will, ma cherie !’ cried the older woman, her claw-like hands clutching her daughter’s arm. ‘I heard a rumour before I became…’ A cough, debilitating, rattling in her throat cut off the words and left her breathless and weaker than ever. ‘A rumour that a girl, such as you, beautiful and young, was required at the palace,’ she went on, long moments later. Grace smiled, but the expression on the lovely face was disbelief despite the upward curve of the soft, tempting lips. The gentle eyes with thick lashes fringing them, glossy as ebony, looked sadly down at her mother. The sweet features were drawn momentarily tight with bitterness.
    â€˜There are always rumours, maman ! Rumours that the palace is giving away food, that there is wine by the barrel, a gift from the king!’ She shook her head and dipped the rag into the small bowl of rainwater and used it, once again, to try and cool her mother’s brow.
    Unable to believe that any aristo, any blue blood, would look at her, Grace was entirely innocent of her own beauty. On the very brink of maturity she occasionally felt strange stirrings between her thighs; a swelling warmth between the silky raven fronds which protected the still closed gateway to her body.
    An unbearable irritation began between the plump folds hidden betwixt her thighs. Intrigued by this, oft times when her mother slept, Grace opened her legs and, with trembling fingers, touched the quivering swell of her little belly and would allow her hands to drift down to the heated soft, silky pleats. These she parted, searching for the source of the irritation.
    What she found was a bud of flesh, hard as a little nut, inflamed to a dark flush and jerking eagerly from a tiny veil of fine skin, smooth as silk and bathed in warm creamy fluid which seemed to come from nowhere. When her tentative fingertips touched this, Grace heard herself gasp with wonder. A feeling too glorious to describe surged through her body. Again she rubbed, harder this time and the feeling came again; a wave of glorious sensation which spread like ripples upon a pond, drifting over Grace until she felt that she would go mad if it was not appeased. The bud of flesh burned under her fingertips and she noticed the satin-smooth skin become slicker with the creamy exudation. Her whole body glowed, trembled, shuddered with an indescribable joy. Wave after wave of this pleasure surged through her, until she sank back, exhausted, on the thin pallet upon which she slept.
    â€˜Always there are rumours,’ Grace repeated, her pleasant daydream fading.
    With a sudden reserve of strength the claw-like hand grasped Grace’s wrist and dragged the girl closer. ‘Promise me!’ The wizened, sick face glared at the girl in the rainy gloom, the eyes suddenly bright, fervent. ‘You are exactly right for the aristos.’
    Grace flung herself to her knees on the dirt floor, hugging her mother’s