Page 13 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

H e pushed the door open, unsure what to expect.

Though Anwen had not expressly given him leave to come to her chamber, Rystan knew her well enough and had thought of nothing but this conversation since they parted in the courtyard.

However, as he stepped into the chamber, their future was suddenly no longer on his mind.

Anwen stood before the fire in a shift thin enough to catch the firelight through it.

Lovely as ever, she had matured in the years they were apart.

Her curves, more pronounced. The way she looked at him, somehow both the same. . . but different.

They’d spoken of their mutual desire for each other, all those years ago. But this eve, in the quiet of Anwen’s chamber in a place designed for warfare and subterfuge, those conversations paled in comparison to the quiet sparks between them.

Every question. Every doubt. Every day they’d spent apart suddenly mattered little. All of it was erased as Rystan strode toward her. Nothing mattered but this moment. The one he knew, without a doubt, this woman would be his.

This eve.

On the morrow.

Until the day of his death.

“Anwen. . .”

By the time he’d reached her, Anwen had turned toward him with open arms. They came together in a kiss that was a culmination of their years-long courtship. Soft and sensual, at first, Anwen met his touch with a longing he understood.

But it quickly spiraled into something more.

Her tongue now knew this dance, and she didn’t hold back. At least, not until he was so primed for her, hard and ready for something that could not be.

Nay. Should not be, he corrected.

They were not wed. Not even betrothed. But that would change this very moment. He pulled back, and dropped to his knee.

Her hand in his, not as a knight giving fealty but as a man offering his heart to the woman he loved. Had always loved.

“With my word and my will, before God, I do plight thee my troth. I have loved you, always, and will do so until my death. From this day forth, I am bound to thee, Anwen, as husband to wife.”

He’d not considered her response until now.

Rystan simply knew they were meant to be together.

But as she looked down at him, her eyes filling with unshed tears, the words she spoke initially came back to him.

Rystan had not even shared his news with her.

She had nothing but trust in him to ensure she would be safe, even if he were to meet the same fate as his brother.

He opened his mouth to share what he’d learned that day, but Anwen spoke first.

“All my life, I’ve bowed to expectations.

To duty. To silence. To my mother’s will.

But not today. I do not know what the future might hold if I am cast out, or if we should somehow be parted.

But I do know this: I will not let fear decide for me.

You offer me your name, your vow, your heart. And I give you mine freely.”

Without knowing the plan. She gave herself to him.

“And your love?” he asked, standing.

“You’ve always had it.”

He needed no more confirmation from her. They were betrothed, again. This time, they would not wait long enough for anyone to interfere with the exchange of their vows. He would do it on the morrow if Anwen would agree.

A discussion that would come later. For now, he was content to close his eyes as their lips found each other.

A kiss that quickly spiraled into something more.

This time, when he pulled away, it wasn’t to drop to his knee and pledge his life and love to her.

Instead, it was to reach down and grip the hem of her shift.

In one fell swoop, he lifted it, revealing a sight Rystan would never become accustomed to in his lifetime.

“A goddess,” he said aloud. She was bare from head to foot. Hips made for his hands, breasts perfectly formed. Dark curls that beckoned. Yet she was, understandably, shy beneath his gaze.

“There is little need,” he said, reaching down to unlace his own boots, mindful that he was fully clothed as Anwen stood before him unadorned. “To hide yourself from me.”

He wanted to simultaneously disrobe and guide her hands back from covering herself. The decision was made as Anwen hesitantly reached forward to assist him. He watched as she untied his tunic, her hands steady.

“I never imagined standing before you, nude, helping you disrobe,” she said.

“Nay?” he teased. “I’ve imagined it many times.”

With his boots and tunic shed, Rystan made quick work of his linen shirt and smiled as his betrothed admired his bare form.

“So many ridges,” she said, running her fingers from his chest down to his stomach. “And hard, unlike me.”

She had little idea. Chuckling, he disrobed completely, Anwen’s eyes widening at the sight of him.

“Does it always appear. . . as such?”

“Nay,” he shook his head. “Only in your presence.”

She began to reach out her hand, and then pulled away. He grabbed it, placing it on him, groaning with the sheer pleasure of it.

“Touch me any time you please. In fact,” he smiled. “I encourage it.”

“It is not at all what I expected.”

He wrapped his hand around hers, showing Anwen more than he’d ever expected to this eve. Closing his eyes at the sight of her, watching their hands move in unison, the feel of her on him. . .

“I never imagined,” he began, his eyes suddenly flicking back open. As pleasurable a sensation as it was, for Anwen to explore him in this way, would compare little to showing her the same.

“My turn,” he said, removing her hand.

Apparently she didn’t expect to be lifted up into his arms, her small gasp accompanied by a giggle, something he hadn’t heard her do in many years.

Lying her down on the bed, Rystan moved between her legs.

That she’d never been in such a position with a man and yet did not shield herself from him was everything to him.

Rystan worshiped her as Anwen deserved, beginning with the curve of her hip.

Kissing one while running his hand over the other, he moved methodically upward, his hands and lips exploring every curve.

When she arched her back at the first touch of his mouth to her breast, Rystan took advantage.

Circling her nipple, he suckled slowly. First one breast, and then the other.

By the time he splayed his hand on her stomach and found Anwen’s ultimate treasure, assured she was more at ease with the state of their undress—and what was to come—the sounds coming from her lips encouraged him.

As did the wetness he found when, after whispering reassuring words in her ear, he slipped a finger, and then a second, inside her.

“Your wetness,” he said. “Is your body’s response to me. Preparing you for what’s to come.”

Her lips parted as Anwen watched him above her. Trusting. Passionate. As his fingers moved, Anwen did as well. She was anything but reserved, her eyes telling him what words did not.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, knowing the answer already by her response.

“Very much so.”

“Anwen,” he said, more soberly than he’d intended. “I am going to make you mine in truth.”

He pulled his fingers away.

“I have always been yours, Rystan.”

Her words, and the sight of her, were more than he could resist. Positioning himself above her, he prepared her.

“This will hurt, but not for long. And never again.”

She nodded, her hands moving to his arms, as if preparing herself. As he guided himself into her, he watched her eyes widen. And then stopped. Her maiden’s barrier.

“We can not turn back from this,” he said, the pleasure-pain of being inside her, of Anwen’s gaze, nearly his undoing.

“I do not wish to turn back.”

He needed no further reassurance. Thrusting into her quickly enough that Anwen could not think of the pain for long, he winced as her eyes squeezed shut.

Causing her pain was as enjoyable as being unseated from his horse in a joust. Holding himself steady, Rystan waited.

Watched. Eventually, she opened her eyes.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Nay. I do not think so.”

He moved, ever so slowly. Knowing she would not find a woman’s pleasure this way alone, he reached between them, circling his thumb and taking cues from his betrothed.

When she moaned, he continued. Circling and teasing, thrusting and holding still.

Her pleasure was all that mattered, the pain hopefully paling in comparison.

“Rystan,” she clawed at his arms, as if attempting to hold onto him but finding it difficult. “I did not know. . . that feels. . .”

If she had no proper words, he was thankful for it. “Feel, ma belle. Do not think.”

She listened.

Lips parted, Anwen held his gaze. When her breathing quickened, he did not relent.

Suddenly, there had never been anything more important in his short life than seeing Anwen succumb to a woman’s pleasure for the first time.

Nothing else mattered. Not the lost years.

Her mother’s interference. The war. The future.

What mattered was this very moment.

And as Anwen begged him for something she could not name, he began to let himself go.

When she called out to him, her legs beginning to shake, he pulled his hand away, thrust deep inside her and captured Anwen’s lips beneath his own as she found release.

Holding onto him tightly, she tensed as Rystan allowed himself to let go.

Buried deep within her, they held onto each other, Rystan pulling away just far enough to see her face. To behold Anwen’s expression and allow her to see the raw emotion in his own. He had never loved another woman because this one, in his arms, had claimed his heart so long ago.

“I have always loved you Anwen,” he said as Rystan’s breathing returned to normal.

“As have I,” her slow smile made him anticipate her next words. “Though I’d not have allowed us to be parted if I had known you could do. . . that, to me.”

His laugh echoed throughout the chamber, silently agreeing with her words.

“Then it’s a mercy I didn’t try it sooner,” he said, grinning against her skin, “or you’d have ruined me long ago.”