Page 8 of The Princess and the Orc (Cursed Kingdoms)

Chapter Eight

A malia swirled the wine in her goblet, watching the crimson liquid catch the light from the hundreds of candles illuminating the great hall. The wedding feast was in full swing, with musicians playing, nobles dancing, and servants weaving through the crowd with platters of food and drink. She should have been at the high table with Drogath, but she'd needed a moment away from the constant scrutiny. For a speedy wedding, plenty of the kingdom’s nobles had arrived to celebrate—or gawk. She wasn’t sure which it was, but considering the things she’d overheard, she leaned toward the latter.

“—can't believe the king allowed it,” came a woman's voice from behind a nearby pillar. “A common orc? In the royal family?”

“Did you see how he handled that roasted boar? Tore into it like a beast,” another voice added with a delicate shudder. “Poor Princess Amalia. To be bound to such a creature.”

“But he is a beast. I mean, he’s an orc,” the first woman whispered loudly, and the other giggled.

Amalia's fingers tightened on her goblet. These past few days had shown her a very different side of Drogath than the savage they imagined. She'd watched him bow respectfully to her father, discussing trade routes and border security with an understanding that had impressed even the most skeptical advisors. The castle guards, initially wary, now sought him out in the training yard, eager to learn his fighting techniques. Even the servants spoke well of him, noting how he always thanked them and remembered their names.

“But how can she possibly be queen now?” the first voice continued. “Who would accept a throne shared with a barbarian?”

Barbarian. The word made her think of their nights together, of how those massive hands could be so gentle, how he'd brought her pleasure again and again while never taking his own. How he'd whispered poetry in his native tongue against her skin, teaching her the words between kisses.

Though he wasn’t always gentle. He was commanding and always in control. She never thought that would be so attractive. She’d never liked someone giving orders. She was the princess. She gave the orders and others followed them. But he took control of her effortlessly and made her beg for more. Something he hadn’t been willing to give, not yet.

And why hadn’t they consummated the mating? He said they were already mates. Was he waiting for the human ceremony despite professing not to care about it? It was maddening. Much like this conversation she was listening to.

“Perhaps she's ensorcelled,” a third voice suggested. “I heard orcs know dark magics.”

“Or perhaps,” Amalia said loudly, stepping around the pillar, “I chose him because he has shown more honor, intelligence, and genuine nobility than any of you gossiping vipers.”

The ladies, Lady Rosewood, Lady Blackthorn, and Countess Devereux, paled at her appearance. They dropped into hasty curtsies, stammering apologies, but Amalia wasn't finished.

“Drogath has never spoken ill of anyone behind their backs. He treats every person in this castle with respect, from the highest noble to the lowest servant. He's helped improve our defenses, negotiated fair trade agreements, and our marriage has brought peace to our borders.” Her voice rang with conviction. “If that's what you call barbaric, then perhaps we need more barbarians and fewer ‘civilized’ nobles.”

She turned on her heel, leaving them gaping in her wake. But she had barely taken a few steps before a sharp, mocking voice cut through the crowd.

“So the little princess enjoys laying with monsters now.”

The hall went eerily silent. The speaker, Lord Edrich of House Vale, smirked from his seat near the high table, his goblet sloshing slightly as he leaned back. “Tell us, Princess, has he taken you yet? Or is the beast still pretending at civility?” Laughter rippled through his little circle of men, though a few looked uneasy.

Before Amalia could react, Drogath was there.

He moved with a warrior’s speed, closing the distance between them in an instant. The air in the great hall thickened with tension as he lifted the older man effortlessly, despite his larger girth. Drogath’s dark eyes burned with barely restrained fury.

“You dare insult my mate,” Drogath growled, his deep voice sending a shiver through the room.

Edrich’s face turned red, but he forced a smirk, as if he thought he was in control, as if someone would come to his aid. No one moved to assist. “Do you wish to challenge me, beast?”

“If you speak of my mate in such a way again, I will not hesitate. I will not pause. I will destroy you,” Drogath rumbled. His massive hands flexed around the man’s throat, his muscles coiled like a predator waiting to strike. “You insult her, you insult me. And that, Lord Edrich, is something I do not allow.”

The silence stretched. Edrich’s bravado faltered. He looked toward the other nobles for support, but no one spoke. Drogath's reputation in battle was well known. No one in this hall could stand against him.

Amalia’s heart pounded, her breath caught between outrage and something far more dangerous, something warm and flattered and wickedly pleased.

“My lord,” she said softly, stepping beside Drogath and placing a hand on his arm. His muscles were like steel beneath her touch, still thrumming with the urge to kill.

She tilted her chin, her voice carrying through the hall. “He’s not worth it.”

Drogath growled low in his throat, still eyeing Edrich as if deciding whether to crush his throat, anyway.

She pressed her palm against his chest, meeting his gaze with something softer. “Instead,” she murmured, just for him, “let me make it worth your time.”

His attention snapped fully to her. His eyes darkened, the heat in them eclipsing his fury.

“Take me to our bedchambers,” she whispered, loud enough for those closest to hear.

A slow, wicked grin spread across Drogath’s face. Dropping Edrich, who fell to his knees, choking and sputtering, he swept Amalia into his arms, cradling her as if she weighed nothing.

Gasps and murmurs followed them as he strode toward the great doors.

“As my mate commands,” he rumbled, voice rich with promise.

She curled her arms around his neck, her lips brushing his ear. “And this time, no more waiting.”

He let out a deep, pleased growl, his grip tightening around her.

As the doors shut behind them, the last thing she heard was Lady Rosewood’s scandalized “Well, I never!” and Lady Blackthorn’s grudgingly admiring “Lucky girl.”

Lucky, indeed.

* * *

D rogath carried Amalia through the torch-lit corridors, savoring her warmth against his chest. She had chosen him. Not just accepted their bargain, but publicly claimed him before her people. His blood burned with pride and desire.

The moment their chamber door closed behind them, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss. She met him with equal passion, her fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed her against the door. Gone was any trace of the timid princess who had once feared him. His mate knew what she wanted now.

“Are you certain?” he asked against her lips, needing to hear the words.

“Yes,” she breathed, arching into him. “I want to be yours. Completely.”

He growled low in his throat and lifted her again, carrying her to their bed. The wedding finery she wore presented an enticing challenge. He undid layers of silk and lace with careful patience, revealing her skin inch by precious inch. Each new expanse of flesh earned his devoted attention, kisses and nips and tender caresses, until she was trembling beneath his touches.

“Please,” she whimpered, reaching for him. “I need you.”

“I know exactly what you need,” he rumbled, settling his larger frame over hers and pinning her hands over her head. “My beautiful mate. My fierce princess. But you’re not in charge. I am.”

She peered up at him, her eyes wide and unfocused, glazed with passion. She worried at her lower lip and nodded. Satisfied, he made himself a place between her thighs, his cock brushing against her core. She rocked her hips against him, trying to bring him closer. Her arousal soaked the tip of his cock and he growled, resisting the urge to plunge deep inside of her in one stroke.

He shifted so she couldn’t move further and claimed her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue surging deep inside to taste the remnants of wine blended with her unique taste. When he finally lifted his head, she was panting, her lips slightly open. He trailed his lips down her throat, his tusks lightly scoring her skin, and nipped at her pounding pulse.

She gasped, “Please, Drogath.”

He nipped her and continued down to the tip of one breast, lifting it to his mouth and sucking it inside. He curled his tongue around the nipple as his fingers played with the other tip, tormenting and teasing, then he switched sides, until she was begging him for release. Her fingers were buried in his hair, tugging at him, holding him close, the prick of her nails a burn against his scalp.

He lifted his head. “I can’t wait to decorate you with jewels and rings.”

Her eyes widened. “On my body?”

He smirked. “Everywhere.”

His fingers drifted lower and buried themselves between her thighs, tweaking her clit sharply. “This would also look pretty all dressed up.”

Her mouth opened, and her eyes were wide with shock. “There?” She almost whispered.

He grinned. “I have the perfect jewel for your pearl. But first, I need another taste. It’s been almost a day.”

He slid down and wedged his shoulders between her thighs and opened her pussy to his gaze. He stared at her for a long moment, at the arousal that generously coated her swollen, pink folds. Then he stroked his tongue through them, tracing every inch of her, tasting her and gathering up her cream until it covered his tongue. He curled his tongue around her swollen nub and teased it, sucking lightly, then nipping it gently.

Amalia writhed on the bed, her thighs pressed to his shoulders, her cries and gasps echoing in the chamber. He rimmed her entrance with a finger, then a second, slowly inserting them partway and stretching her. She cried out, and he felt her channel begin to pulse around his fingers.

His cock ached with the desperate need to be inside of her, but first, she had to come. He needed her soft and pliant before he fucked her. Her first time was going to be difficult enough without his size. He added a third finger and sucked hard on her nub and she came screaming around him, her arousal soaking his face and hand. He kept her coming until she slowly settled on the bed.

He prowled up the bed and notched his cock, now copiously dripping pre-cum, at her entrance. He cupped her cheek and brushed her lips with his, once, twice, until her eyelids fluttered and she focused her slightly dazed gaze on his.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly. “I want to see your eyes when we are joined.”

Her gaze locked with his, full of trust and desire and something deeper that made his heart clench. He eased his way inside until he felt her maidenhead. She tensed for a moment, and he reached down to brush against her clit, tweaking it until she was distracted, her desire rising. Then he thrust, breaking through her virginity quickly.

She cried out, her gasp of pain quickly caught by his lips. When he was fully seated, he stilled, kissing away the salty tears that spilled from her eyes. “It’s only for a moment, only the first time. Then it will be wonderful.”

She focused on him and nodded, still tearful. After a few moments, she moved under him restlessly, as if testing him. He rocked inside of her and she sucked in a breath, her mouth dropping open. “Do that again.”

He obliged, dragging his cock out and thrusting, slowly, back in. Her head fell back, eyes closed, and she moaned. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she lifted her hips to meet him as he drove into her again and again, the sweet clasp of her tight, wet heat sucking him in. The muscles of her pussy clenched at him, pulled at him, trying to keep him inside. All too soon, he felt the flutters of her channel tightening around him.

“Look at me when you come,” he growled.

Her eyes flew open, and she met his gaze, a hint of fear in them, as if terrified by what she was feeling. A few thrusts later, she shattered around him, crying out his name, her pussy milking him like a vise. He followed her over the edge with a roar that probably echoed through half the castle.

He rolled to the side and pulled her close against his chest, both of them covered in a light sheen of sweat. He traced gentle patterns on her back as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Mine,” he murmured against her hair, the word carrying all the weight of an orc mating claim. “Now and always.”

“Yours,” she agreed sleepily, snuggling closer. “My barbarian.”

He smiled at the drowsy note in her voice. He had finally found a mate worthy of him. But what would she think when she found out the truth?