No Fury

Now: Twenty Four

The princess has four older brothers and no prospect of inheriting the throne. Our sovereign wants peace between the nations, and he wants protection against the encroaching French.

With increasing rumors of war to the south, with the sight of our blacksmith working day and night to build swords and armor, and with the reality that Harry needs to continue the royal bloodline, I know this arrangement makes sense.

It does. She needs a crown. We need Spain on our side.

But my heart is a mess of splinters.

It hurts to walk outside and see him whipping past on his mare.

It hurts to hear his voice as he passes through the main gates.

It hurts every time I pass a friendly face and they congratulate us all on the impending marriage of our prince.

I don't want to see him.

~~

It is a lie. I want more than anything to see him. Maybe then I can shut down entirely. Seeing him and knowing it is settled will kill the longing inside me. It will kill everything inside me.

Mother hands me a crate, pushing me out the door. "For the banquet."

"Mary can deliver it," I insist.

"Mary's at the mash tun. Go." Her chin lifts, dismissing me.

I cross the courtyard, enter the great hall. Behind me, hooves clamber along the stone path and the king's carriage pulls up outside. Servants come to a standstill, dissolving into the shadows. Holding the bottles of ale to be delivered, I press closer to the wall.

The prince comes in behind his father, his porters trailing and carrying a trunk of finery. My breath catches; his hair is shorn. Not close, but out of his eyes, away from his ears. His eyes are dark, ringed beneath. He looks as if he's died, as well.

They catch mine just as a tear escapes, rolling down my cheek.

~~

Douglas pulls me from the banquet kitchen only minutes later, a sharp banded fist around my upper arm. He drags me, tripping up the back stairs, bruising me, and throwing me through the doors to the bedchamber.

I am barely inside the prince's rooms before I am pulled deeper in, door slamming behind me.

His mouth is rough on my jaw and neck: teeth and tongue and bite. His hands shake in their effort to not tear my dress. The prince takes me violently, bent over his dressing table.

His length impales me, fingers reaching to make me slick, begging me with words to enjoy it.

Be wet. Be wet for me, Cath.

And when I am, he gathers it with his fingertips, and draws it across my neck before sucking me there, a desperate howl escaping his lips.

He fights his pleasure, avoiding it, slowing, speeding, groaning in agony and relief at the feel.

Oh, the feel.

His thighs grow slick with sweat against me.

He pulls me to the floor, braced behind me, caging me. Takes me like a beast on hands and knees. The cold stone bites into my skin, the sting of his palm meets my back, my thighs.

"Every bit of you," he says into my back, biting down. "Every tiny bit."

I beg for it. I tell him I want it.

His other hand reaches around my hips and between my legs, finding the small bit of flesh where he can pet and please and which had me clutching his body inside mine, has me pushing back into him like a savage.

I expect his seed inside me but after I cry out, his hands pull me upright, and I stumble, steadying myself with shaking hands on his clothed shoulders.

He stares at me, eyes wild. "Do you love me? I must know."

Solid flesh fractures inside me, sending countless shards radiating out. The pain is unparalleled.

I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. "Yes. Of course I do. I have. My whole life I have."

"As I love you. As I have always loved only you."

He stands before me, seeming at a loss. I can see the panic just behind his eyes.

I lower myself before him, and my heart trips over the sound of his surprised gasp. His length juts straight out, swollen and tight, still wet from me, wet with his pleasure leaking out the top. A thick drop slides down over his hand; he paints it on my lip.

"My darling?" His fist shakes in my hair, green eyes pleading for every tiny bit of me, and I don't dare make him ask.

His taste is sharp on my tongue-grass mixed with the earth of my body.

How can I feel degraded when he watches me with such intensity?

How can I dread tonight's festivities when he whispers,

Cath
The pleasure
The pleasure of this
My only heart
I can't give you up
They can't make me give you up

How can I find it sinful and wicked to take him into my body this way when he bends practically in half to watch my face up close as he shakes and spills onto my lips and neck?

Our first kiss is his mouth covering mine, desperate, tongue shoving deep and probing. I taste his howling pain, his longing. I taste his years of pent up need.

I am giving him every tiny bit of me before I die inside.

~~

Harry pulls me up, wrapping his arms around me and carrying me to his bed.

My voice comes out quiet against his shoulder. "Why did you not warn me of your wedding? I expected it was happening soon, I simply wished I had heard it from you that night, our last together."

He lies us down, pulls me close. He faces me, chest to chest, and brings his palm up to my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"I believed up until the moment father announced it - maybe even still, in this second just now - that I could figure a way out of it."

I pull back, looking up into his eyes. Oh, he is a tragic dreamer. "Harry, it is as good as done. The whole kingdom is prepared for it. It is only days away, darling. You must prepare yourself to step up to her at the altar, and behave for all the world a future king."

He nods, swallowing. His eyes, they search mine, back and forth, frantically needing reassurance. "I fear I cannot."

"You must." I run my fingers beneath his eyes, tracing the heavy circles there. "You look miserable."

"So do you." His dimples dig into his cheeks, and his eyes show a ray of sun for the first time in days.

I laugh at this. "Fewer people watch my every move."

He gazes at me. "Do you trust my love for you?"

Instead of answering aloud, I cup his face, leaning forward to kiss him. I kiss his soft mouth, taste his quiet sounds. His tongue feels like silk on mine. When he rolls over onto me, my fingers slide over his face, memorizing. I could kiss him for an entire lifetime and never tire of it.

I will relish this moment, right here, feeling his mouth open and close against mine. I will give him strength in my kiss. I will not let this ruin me. I will not let this ruin him.