Could it be - why yes, it is! Another historical AU from the Valkyrie!
To anyone who was looking forward to more of Harmony & Hedony, I am very sorry. After leaving that story for a while I lost my passion for it, and to be honest the plot ran a little to the ludicrous to begin with. This one will hopefully be better, both in storyline and staying true to the characters (I refer of course to the epic Chuck and Blair of seasons one and two, not the pale imitations of season three). After all - I haven't written any lemons in a while...
Enjoy.

Preface

"There is one woman in a million who finds pleasure in her nuptial bed." Eleanor's nimble seamstress' fingers (for that was what she once had been, even if such a profession lay far in the past) swiftly braided up her daughter's thick hair. "The others accept their lot. Marriage is for the making of heirs, Blair – there is no other feasible reason for its existence, except to cement alliances."

Blair's reflected eyes looked back at her from the mirror, their darkness so absolute that even someone looking closely could not have distinguished between pupil and iris. "Then why is called wedded bliss, Mother?" She asked naively.

Eleanor snorted. "It is called wedded bliss because of what comes from it. She who bears sons receives riches and titles and all sorts of pretty things." The smile on her rouged lips was calculating. "Would you not think yourself in bliss if you had a dress of every colour and fabric imaginable? If you could cover yourself from head to toe with diamonds and still have money left to burn?" She slipped a pearl headed comb in the back of Blair's coiffure, patting it into place with one pale hand and watching the young girl's face intently.

"Those women, Blair – those ones in a million? They are whores, always remember that. Any woman who enjoys the society of a man in the bedchamber is a whore."

The young Blair had looked fearful, and the mirror seemed almost to crystallize as a look of resolve formed in the back of her eyes. It would take five more years for that hardness to melt – and on that day, Eleanor would receive a letter. The handwriting would be slim and elegant on wafer thin, handsomely embossed paper. When the seal was broken, Blair's mother would read only seven words: seven words that would haunt her until the end of her days.

Then I suppose I am a whore.