Page 18
Story: His Forbidden Princess
The betrothal celebration continues below, music and laughter drifting up from the great hall. By now, Prince Aldric will be deep in his cups, accepting congratulations, perhaps boasting of his good fortune in securing such an advantageous match. By tomorrow, negotiations for the marriage treaty will begin. By next month, preparations for the ceremony. By next year...
I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes against the future rushing toward me like a charging horse.
A soft knock at my chamber door startles me. "Enter," I call, assuming it's a maid come to help me undress.
The door opens, then closes with a decisive click. No rustle of skirts, no murmured "Your Highness." Just silence, heavy with presence.
I turn—and my heart stops.
Dain stands with his back to my door, still in his formal guard uniform, sword at his hip. But this is not the controlled, professional Captain Vorex who stood watch today. This man's eyes burn with something wild and dangerous, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his scar.
"Dain?" My voice emerges as a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
"Tell me you don't want him." The words are rough, almost guttural. "Tell me the thought of his hands on you doesn't make your skin crawl."
I should order him to leave. I should remind him of his place, of protocol, of the thousand reasons he shouldn't be in my chambers making demands.
Instead, I take a step toward him. "I don't want him."
"Say his name." Dain pushes away from the door, closing half the distance between us. "Tell me you don't want Prince Aldric of Westland to be your husband."
"I don't want Prince Aldric." Another step. "I don't want any prince or king or noble they might choose for me."
"What do you want, Lirien?" His voice drops lower, a dangerous rumble that sends heat spiraling through me. "Tell me what you want."
We're close enough now that I can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, can smell the faint scent of leather and metal that clings to him. Close enough to touch, if I dared.
"You." The admission falls from my lips like a stone into still water, creating ripples that can never be undone. "I want you, Dain. Only you."
Something breaks in his expression—restraint shattering like glass. He moves with the lethal speed that makes him such a formidable guard, closing the remaining distance between us in one stride. His hands cup my face, tilting it up to his, eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.
"There is no going back from this," he warns, giving me one last chance to retreat.
I don't want to retreat. I want to advance, to claim, to possess as fiercely as he does.
"I don't want to go back." I lift my hands to his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath my fingers. "I want to go forward. With you."
His mouth crashes down on mine with none of the restraint he showed in the alley. This kiss is possession, claiming, marking. His hands slide from my face to my hair, fingers tangling in the loose strands, holding me steady as he devours my mouth.
I match his intensity, opening to him, my arms winding around his neck to pull him closer. Our bodies press together, his armor hard against the softness of my gown. I should feel overwhelmed, even frightened by the ferocity of his desire. Instead, I feel liberated, exhilarated, finally free to want without reservation.
He walks me backward until my spine meets the solid wood of my chamber door. One hand leaves my hair to fumble with the lock, securing our privacy without breaking the kiss. The other slides down my throat, my collarbone, hovering at the edge of propriety.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my lips, "and I will."
My answer is to guide his hand to my breast, arching into his touch with a soft gasp. "Don't stop."
A growl rumbles through his chest as his palm covers me, thumb brushing over the peak that tightens beneath the layers of fabric. His mouth leaves mine to trace a burning path down my neck, teeth scraping lightly over sensitive skin.
"I watched him touch you today," he says against my throat, voice raw with remembered fury. "Watched him put his hands where mine should be. Watched you smile at him like a dutiful princess while your eyes screamed for escape."
"I hated every moment," I confess, head falling back against the door as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot beneath my ear. "I felt nothing when he touched me. Nothing but revulsion."
"And this?" His hand squeezes gently, making me gasp. "What do you feel now?"
"Everything." My fingers dig into his shoulders, seeking purchase as sensation threatens to overwhelm me. "I feel everything."
He lifts his head to look at me, something almost reverent entering his expression despite the heat still burning in his eyes. "I have wanted to touch you like this for years. To hear the sounds you make when pleasure overtakes you. To know every inch of your body better than I know my own."
I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes against the future rushing toward me like a charging horse.
A soft knock at my chamber door startles me. "Enter," I call, assuming it's a maid come to help me undress.
The door opens, then closes with a decisive click. No rustle of skirts, no murmured "Your Highness." Just silence, heavy with presence.
I turn—and my heart stops.
Dain stands with his back to my door, still in his formal guard uniform, sword at his hip. But this is not the controlled, professional Captain Vorex who stood watch today. This man's eyes burn with something wild and dangerous, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his scar.
"Dain?" My voice emerges as a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
"Tell me you don't want him." The words are rough, almost guttural. "Tell me the thought of his hands on you doesn't make your skin crawl."
I should order him to leave. I should remind him of his place, of protocol, of the thousand reasons he shouldn't be in my chambers making demands.
Instead, I take a step toward him. "I don't want him."
"Say his name." Dain pushes away from the door, closing half the distance between us. "Tell me you don't want Prince Aldric of Westland to be your husband."
"I don't want Prince Aldric." Another step. "I don't want any prince or king or noble they might choose for me."
"What do you want, Lirien?" His voice drops lower, a dangerous rumble that sends heat spiraling through me. "Tell me what you want."
We're close enough now that I can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, can smell the faint scent of leather and metal that clings to him. Close enough to touch, if I dared.
"You." The admission falls from my lips like a stone into still water, creating ripples that can never be undone. "I want you, Dain. Only you."
Something breaks in his expression—restraint shattering like glass. He moves with the lethal speed that makes him such a formidable guard, closing the remaining distance between us in one stride. His hands cup my face, tilting it up to his, eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.
"There is no going back from this," he warns, giving me one last chance to retreat.
I don't want to retreat. I want to advance, to claim, to possess as fiercely as he does.
"I don't want to go back." I lift my hands to his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath my fingers. "I want to go forward. With you."
His mouth crashes down on mine with none of the restraint he showed in the alley. This kiss is possession, claiming, marking. His hands slide from my face to my hair, fingers tangling in the loose strands, holding me steady as he devours my mouth.
I match his intensity, opening to him, my arms winding around his neck to pull him closer. Our bodies press together, his armor hard against the softness of my gown. I should feel overwhelmed, even frightened by the ferocity of his desire. Instead, I feel liberated, exhilarated, finally free to want without reservation.
He walks me backward until my spine meets the solid wood of my chamber door. One hand leaves my hair to fumble with the lock, securing our privacy without breaking the kiss. The other slides down my throat, my collarbone, hovering at the edge of propriety.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my lips, "and I will."
My answer is to guide his hand to my breast, arching into his touch with a soft gasp. "Don't stop."
A growl rumbles through his chest as his palm covers me, thumb brushing over the peak that tightens beneath the layers of fabric. His mouth leaves mine to trace a burning path down my neck, teeth scraping lightly over sensitive skin.
"I watched him touch you today," he says against my throat, voice raw with remembered fury. "Watched him put his hands where mine should be. Watched you smile at him like a dutiful princess while your eyes screamed for escape."
"I hated every moment," I confess, head falling back against the door as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot beneath my ear. "I felt nothing when he touched me. Nothing but revulsion."
"And this?" His hand squeezes gently, making me gasp. "What do you feel now?"
"Everything." My fingers dig into his shoulders, seeking purchase as sensation threatens to overwhelm me. "I feel everything."
He lifts his head to look at me, something almost reverent entering his expression despite the heat still burning in his eyes. "I have wanted to touch you like this for years. To hear the sounds you make when pleasure overtakes you. To know every inch of your body better than I know my own."