No Fury

Now: Thirty Nine

Douglas finds me outside late Wednesday night, carrying bottles to the dining hall. I can hear the roar of drunken voices from inside the ale house, Liam's among them.

The steward grabs my arm, making me drop my cargo, and drags me across the courtyard. We stumble through the cloak of darkness in the quiet castle, up the back steps.

My mind is a blankness of panic.

Just before he hurls me into the room, he studies my face then drops his gaze to my stomach, now barely round beneath my skirts. "He manages," he tells me. "He wouldn't otherwise."

I stare up at him, unable to form a reply. He is bringing me to Harry? And in the castle, where the princess now lives?

"I do not know whether to hate you or honor you," he tells me. "He manages with her, do you hear me? And for that I owe you a debt."

Before I can truly process this, he opens the door, roughly shoving me inside. I stumbled to the stone floor, disoriented and with a hot thrill climbing my spine. I can't see or hear Harry anywhere.

A hand comes over my mouth, finger sliding between my lips. Another hand comes carefully around my throat. "You serve me."

My blood riots as I understand what he has done. He had Douglas fetch me here, unexpected, to give me what I've asked of him.

Please.
More.
This.

Hands tear at my dress, teeth press to my neck and I am shoved to the floor before Harry's great mirror.

He comes up behind me, pushing off his clothes, stepping from his trousers and grabbing my hair so roughly I cry out. Harry wrenches my head back, and steps around in front of me, pressing his half-hard length to my face. "Lick me until I'm ready."

Heart pounding, body singing, I lean in, taking him in my mouth, staring with wide eyes up at his face.

His expression is both adoring and brutal. He wants to give me everything he can. I can pretend we are nearly strangers again, with secrets bigger than the ocean between us.

When he comes to life against my lips, he steps back, lowering himself behind me. Together, we face the mirror. Harry pulls me over his lap, my back to his chest, and spreads my thighs wide apart. I can feel the cool air between my legs. His arm is a tight band across my chest, holding me still.

What will he do?

I watch as he blinks down to the protruding swell of my stomach, and battles with his own protective instinct against this game we're playing. He meets my eyes in the mirror, and I can see him prod my expression for any genuine fear.

There is none.

With a growling smile, Harry lifts me so he can slide inside my body, but he grows still, not moving. Instead, he stares ahead a the mirror, watching as he reaches between my legs, stroking me.

"If you look away from where I touch you, I will stop. There is no second chance. Watch every touch, or I will send you back to your cot."

This threat is more effective than anything else he could give me, and I let my head fall back against his shoulder, eyes focused on his hand.

His fingers start slow, teasing, gathering speed. He knows my body on instinct now, knows my sounds and shudders. But I need more. I feel the strain in my neck, the way I'm reaching behind me, grappling to find some part of him to hold on to.

He gets me to the edge and I know I will come apart, and like this, it won't be what I need, it will be dissolving relief rather than obliteration but it is nearly there and -

how can I expect him to be rough with me when his instinct now is to be tender

- he spanks me so sharply, silvery stars of pain and pleasure flash behind my eyes.

And then he begins to move: stabbing up into me, hand no longer gentle.

It is like being thrown into a fire and cooled by snow in rapid succession; I do not know where the intensity begins or ends. I am choking out sounds behind a palm that has come up to quiet me, my eyes fixed to where he strokes and spanks me, feeling his own desire climb until he is iron inside and I am falling to pieces so thoroughly that he needs to hold me up as he roars in his relief.

In the quiet afterward, I feel his heart crawl into me. I feel my own heart dissolve away into him.

His breath is jagged against my shoulder, and he lifts me off of him, sliding his arm behind my knees and lifting me.

On his bed, he kisses me frantically, peppering me with questions.

Was that good?
Was that right?

As I manage to tell  him that I am fine, better than fine, his hands find my stomach and he is promptly kicked in the palm from beneath.

Collapsing with a happy groan into my neck, he sucks me there: mouth warm, tongue sliding over my skin.

"I cannot stay awake," I mumble, lacking bone and muscle and even thought.

"I will wake you soon. I just wish to gaze at you a few minutes more."

~~

I open my eyes to a sky the color of a robin's egg: darkness on the edge of a watery blue.

"Harry," I hiss, pushing up from under his heavy arm.

He startles, bolting up beside me. "We have slept."

And now, even in my blurry panic, I want to remember it: Did we curl around each other? Does he talk in his sleep?

He kisses me, rolling on top and I can feel him pressing hard between my legs, wanting me in a sleepy, instinctive way. Beneath him I soften until I grow aware of the sounds of life beneath us: in the kitchens, on the stairs, all around this room.

"Harry. I must leave immediately."

Pushing him off, I climb out of bed and pull on my clothes. I scan the room for something to take with me, as if I am a servant girl who belongs here, and is simply delivering one thing, taking something else away.

"I would not be awake yet," he whispers, coming up and helping me anyway.

Harry lifts shirts off a chair, digs around on his dressing tables.

We find a plate with an old crust of cake from yesterday, a goblet beside it, and I put it with some clothing to wash in my arms, ducking my head as I open the doors. Without a glance backward to him, I walk purposefully out.

The halls are empty.

I scurry along to the stairs, wincing at the heavy clop of my shoes on the stone. The stairs curve, voices drift up to me and I pass two figures as I descend, pressed as close to the wall as I can be.

I recognize the skirts of the princess and her handmaid as we pass.

I do not dare look up and meet her eyes, but I can hear their hushed surprise, can sense their eyes on my back until I am out of sight.

~~

Liam startles awake, arms wrapping around me as I bolt beneath the blankets fully dressed, shaking as the truth of what I've done descends.

Anyone could have seen me.
The princess may have seen my face.

"Where have you been?" he asks in a gentle hiss. "Catie, I was worried out of my mind. We did not even know where to look."

"I fell asleep in his rooms," I confide, trembling. "Liam. I cannot believe . . ."

"You must be careful." He pulls me closer. "We do this not only for you, but also for him."

I blink against him, confused and stunned and terrified.

He presses his mouth to the top of my head. "Did anyone see you?"

Did she? Did Maria see my face? Or only my head, ducked and covered by my bonnet? Would she think anything of it: a girl leaving the prince's rooms with an armful of laundry?

"I don't know," I admit as I burrow closer.