by Wyatt, Dani
When Bors and my father had sworn fealty to one another, my father granted him permission to marry me. And once the ceremony ended, Bors made his way down the garden path and knelt below my balcony, sword planted into the ground before him.
“Marry me, Sara.”
“Look at me, knight,” I told him. He raised his face and I was met with a beaming smile. When our eyes locked, I nodded and told him it would be my honor to call myself his wife.
He wasted no time getting back to me in my chambers. His heavy footfalls echoed through the stone hallway outside my room. Once he arrived, I heard my guards step aside with an armored salute.
Finally, we were alone together, at long last.
“Get back in bed,” he said, with a lift of his chin.
“I still outrank you, Sir Bors,” I teased. I took a hellebore from a nearby vase and buried my nose in it as I watched him. “If I am to submit to you, it is on condition that Lenten roses will be our flower, for now and always, to the end of time.”
“Deal. Now into bed,” he said again, even more firmly. So firm and so commanding that it made my thighs tremble.
The flower fell from my fingers as I obeyed his command. He unbuckled his sword belt and removed his dagger from its sheath, placing his weapons on the ground. Then he leaned down over me, meeting my lips with his. The kiss was luxurious and unhurried. My clit began pulsing as I tasted his mouth on my lips.
I pulled back from the kiss just long enough to say, “I want you inside me.”
I felt him smile as he kissed me again, and he shook his head. Now it was his turn to pull away. “You’re not strong enough. You’re still not completely healed.”
Gazing up at him, I felt warm and safe and protected.
“You are my strength,” I said.
One tug on the tie on his britches was enough to loosen them, and he groaned.
“I’m only whole if you’re inside me,” I told him, tugging on his lip with my thumb. I pulled back the comforter and lifted up my skirt. “Make me whole.”
“Fuck,” he growled. Without taking his eyes off mine, he stroked his cock against my bare leg. I parted my thighs for him as he laid me back on the soft down pillows.
His thrusts were slow and careful, and with each one I was reminded of his staggering masculine power. He positioned his hips so that as he drove into me, his lower abdomen met with my clit, increasing the overpowering waves of pleasure. As he slid his massive hands behind my body, he held on tight to my hips, taking me again and again and again.
As he made love to me, one orgasm slid through into the next so that I didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Some of my orgasms were explosions that made me dig my teeth into his flesh. Others were like shooting stars in an asteroid shower, or like ripples on a still lake—whispers of bliss in a sea of ecstasy.
“If you weren’t hurt,” he growled against my ear, “I’d fuck you straight through until dawn.”
“We can always try,” I whispered as my body rolled with yet another orgasm and my walls tightened around the stiff thickness of his cock.
As I did, I felt his hips hitch and his balls tighten. I might have been the most powerful woman in the land, but nothing, nothing, made me feel as powerful as the way he groaned when he encountered my inner strength.
“You’re going to make me come, princess.”
“So do it,” I said, squeezing again.
Another primal growl. “I never want to stop fucking you.”
I liked the sound of that, but not as much as I liked the sound of his pleasure. “Breed me, Sir Bors. Breed me right now.”
With that, he released his seed deep into my womb.
And for the first time as a knight of the realm, he claimed me as his.
Sara
Epilogue – Ten Years Later
The night was cold and the winter frosts were again upon us as Bors placed another log on the roaring fire, and joined me in our bed. It had always been the tradition for princesses and their consorts to have separate bedrooms, but he and I wouldn’t hear of it. We would always rather be together than otherwise, no matter if we were sleeping or awake.
As he slid next to me, his hand running over my already pert nipples, my thoughts drifted to what brought us here. How the last ten years had unfolded in ways I thought were only true in fairy tales.
Our wedding was on the first day of summer after Bors rescued me at the castle.
The afternoon was warm and sunny and it seemed as though every flower in the land came into bloom to celebrate with us. The week before the wedding there was a festival of feasts and games, bringing together all the clans and regions of the kingdom for the first time in a generation.
Beneath my dress that day, with its layers of handmade lace and exquisite needlework, hidden from the prying eyes of the massive celebrating crowds, I had just begun to show with the baby that Bors had put inside me.
As I said my vows to him and he to me, we both glanced down more than once at my belly, both of us giddy with dreams of the future.
And that future didn’t disappoint. On our wedding day I was carrying what would be our first child of three—two princes and then a princess.
Bors doted on all of them, but our little girl, Princess Angelica, perhaps most of all. Lately, his favorite thing to do has been having the boys hang from his biceps while she rides on his shoulders, all of them giggling and screaming with joy.
Each Saturday, we load the children onto Bors favorite old Percheron and take them to the river for a picnic. Every week, the children fall sound asleep after a day of playing in the water and eating too many sugared orange peels. And every week, Bors and I steal away into the high grass to make love. Every time is like the first time; every time, he gives me more of his heart and I give him more of mine.
He is happier now than I have ever seen him. There is peace at home in Clan Mackay lands, and he hasn’t been required to fight since my return to the castle. The royal stables have the finest breeding stock in the kingdom, and kings and queens from far across the seas come to visit, to see the studs and mares and marvel at the brilliance of their master.
I am happy too—happiest of all when I am with Bors and the children, happiest at home in our palace, where I insist on making my own bread and picking my own flowers. When the Lenten roses are in bloom, I collect them, dry them and have them throughout the house all year.
We have a nanny for each child, but they are more my friends than the children’s keepers. Through the years, I’ve brought many women to the castle to speak with my father, the king, about life in the countryside.
Angelica herself has been among them, and she too is prospering as a healer. No woman has been tried as a witch since I came to the palace. Such foolish fear of women has no place in our world.
Angelica spends many Sunday afternoons with us and the children. On one particular spring afternoon as we rode back to the castle, one of Bors’ personal guards, Seamus, met us at the gate.
He’s gained my respect and my thanks, since, if it were not for him allowing Bors to pass the day he came to save me, I would have surely perished.
When his eyes cast upon Angelica, all I could think of was how Bors had looked at me that first time. They danced around a courtship for a year after, but Angelica finally acquiesced, and they eloped under the oak trees one early morning the following fall.
These have been good, peaceful, prosperous years for everybody. King Rowan’s reign will be praised for generations. The infighting that plagued my father when Queen Beatrice was alive is no longer a problem; after she confessed, named all her co-conspirators and fell on my father’s mercy, she was granted a partial pardon, and lived in exile for several years in an opulent and remote palace by the sea, guarded at all times by men loyal to the king.
I don’t think King Rowan had the heart to see her executed, and when he asked me I told him I was happy for her to be shown leniency. But she died through natural causes, and was b
uried with her own people near Sedgwick.
The mother that I knew, who my adoptive father had so long mistreated as she did me, has come to see us from time to time, but she has never warmed to me, nor have my sisters. Nor have I warmed to them. But I treat them always with the graciousness and respect that they so long denied me. I remain grateful to them for keeping me alive, even if I was not always happy under their roof. If not for them, I would never have met Bors. And for that, I remain always thankful.
Bors’ breath against my neck preceded the nip of his teeth and I hissed and pressed my head into the pillow as his hand drifted down my naked body. That was another break from royal tradition. We slept without night clothes, lest the seamstresses be working constantly to replace one torn garment after another.
“Your royal cunt is drooling for my cock, my queen.”
“Yes, my husband. It seems starved for you no matter how much you feed it.”
“Well, my duty to my queen. I will fill you again.”
“Duty?” I giggled as he rose up, threw the covers back and climbed over my bare body.
“Aye, in duty there is purpose. You, my sweet angel, are my purpose.”
His body on top of mine warmed me like nothing else could. I ran my fingertips down his shoulder and biceps, then down his chest and rippling stomach muscles. I raised myself up slightly on my elbow and nibbled his ear.
“It’s time for you to put another baby in me, Sir Bors.”
“That time again, is it?” he asked with a grin.
He teased me with his cock at my opening, only just dipping into my wetness, caging me in with his massive arms on either side of my body.
“Think you’ve earned it?”
I dragged my tongue down his throat and cradled his heavy balls in my hands. He gave me the special groan that he always did when I touched him there—the groan that told me, though I was curvy and soft, he was entirely outmatched by my strength and charms.
“I’m at your mercy. You fucking know it,” he whispered, and pressed his cock into me.
As he entered me, he kissed me with lusty dark fury that made me forget myself.
“Mine,” he growled as he drove into me.
His.
Always.
Forever.
Bors
Epilogue – Twenty-six Years Later
Sara’s screams are punctuated by the steady thump, thump, thump of the dressing table against the wall. She’s bent over the hard oak, her dress a chaotic mess of pleats and ruffles and folds of fabric, hiked up now above her waist, her ample tits spilling out over the front of her bodice so that I can grip them hard as my dick pounds deep inside her from behind.
Her yelps and obscenities remind me of the screams she made with the birth of each of our children, when I refused—to the utter dismay of the midwives—to leave the room while she was giving birth.
My wife.
My queen.
The mother of my three beautiful children.
No fucking way would I leave that to chance.
“Whose cunt is this?” I demand, pulling on her hardened nipples to punctuate my words and bring her back to the room. The rain outside obscures the horizon beyond the window, but I love the scent of it in the room, mixing with the scent of the fireplace.
“Yours, my king.”
“Fucking right, it’s mine.” I take one hand away from her tits and twist my fingers into her hair, tugging it back so that her neck arches and she growls with the pain. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
I plunge deep inside her and on a yelp she sweeps her arm across the wood, knocking over a vase and a bottle of perfume. The Lenten Roses, her favorites, tip out onto the floor, along with the scent from the bottle, but the vase miraculously stays teetering on the edge of the dressing table, its water dripping out onto the thick rug, much like the dampness trickling down my girl’s thigh.
“Please,” she gasps, and I grin.
“What do you want from me?”
“Please let me cum.”
“You want this cock?”
“Mmm hmm.” She rocks back onto me, trying to take me deeper, but I pull away and slap her ass, watching it wobble in response to my hand.
“What do you want?”
“Give it to me. Please, Bors. Your cock, harder. Harder.”
“Who am I?”
“My husband. It’s your duty.”
I laugh. She’s teasing, trying to make me angry, deliberately avoiding the answer she knows I want. I smack her ass hard and she gasps, moaning as she wiggles it for me, asking for another, which I give.
And another. And another, until a red hand print is visible on the soft flesh. I trace over it with a fingertip and she sighs as I run the finger into the dip between her cheeks, teasing her asshole.
“You’re my king,” she says. “And I’m your queen.”
“Damn right. All of this belongs to me,” I say as I press my fingertip into the tight ring, sinking my cock deeper inside her warmth. “Every curve. Every scar.” I move my hand up to her side, where the remains of the knife wound are still visible. The night I could have lost her is still vivid in my mind, even twenty-six years later.
“Please, Bors, I can’t hold out much longer.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Tell me what you want, scream it,” I start pumping inside her hard, the dressing table once again beating a rhythm against the castle wall. I’m sure her maid must have heard us going at it a million times by now, but I don’t care. I don’t care who knows how much I love my queen.
“I want your cock, my king!” She shouts as her orgasm builds. “Please, fuck me like I’m your whore! Fuck me, let me cum.”
I sink balls-deep inside her and increase my speed, clasping a hand over her mouth, controlling her breathing. Everything she is, every breath she takes, comes from me. I decide what she needs and I will give it to her.
“Cum then, my queen. Do it now,” I tell her between panted breaths, and she starts to shudder and scream almost immediately.
As her orgasm tips over, wracking her body, I let loose. I shoot my load inside her, coating her walls, making her mine yet again, as I have done several times a day since our first time. I’ll never get enough of my angel, my queen, my Sara. I want her morning, noon and night, I’m hard for her day and night. Insight or out of my sight. It only takes the thought of her sweet pussy, her ample tits, the thought of her mouth sucking me off...
Her long, deep moan of satisfaction is accompanied by a pounding at the door of our chamber. At first I ignore it, but then it comes again.
“Who is it?”
“Seamus, sire.”
Seamus? I see the look of concern on Sara’s face as she turns around to look at me, my still-hard dick buried deep inside her. I know what she’s thinking: Why would they send Seamus, unless it’s something bad?
“Sorry to bother you, your grace… um, your graces. But it’s Princess Gwen. She’s sick.”
Sara’s face drops as she looks to me for strength. “Gwen? What could have happened?”
I place a hand on her back, soothing her. “It will be all right.” Turning to the door, I raise my voice. “We’ll be right there, Seamus.”
* * *
Sara
Our daughter, Angie, is ashen-faced at Gwen’s bedside. Her eldest daughter is barely five years old and the love of her life. Of all our lives. Having Angie and her husband, Tanner, choosing to stay here at the castle with us, at least for the time being, was a blessing. While her older brothers have moved away with their own wives, founding fledgling kingdoms on distant shores, she’s stayed and brought new life into the old walls with her own children.
If anything were to happen to Gwen, the devastation would know no bounds.
“Angelica will know what to do,” I tell her, placing a hand over the back of hers, and she looks up, meeting my eyes as I pull my lips into a thin smile. “She always knows what to do.”
Angi
e turns her hand, wrapping her fingers around mine. She needs her mother’s strength right now, and I’m happy to lend it to her.
“I hope she gets here soon,” she whispers.
“She’ll be here as fast as she can.”
Bors is pacing by the door, a look of thunder on his face. He already asked Seamus who was supposed to be guarding little Gwen today, and Seamus told him that the man had been dismissed. I have a feeling Bors would have done worse than just dismiss him from his post, so it’s probably just as well Seamus already dealt with it.
The door is flung open and Seamus dips his head into the room.
“Angelica is here,” he says, totally unnecessarily as our old friend sweeps past him without a word. There’s a little blood still on her arms from the awkward birth she had just finished assisting when she was sent for.
“What happened?” she asks, meeting my eyes before sweeping her gaze over the other occupants of the room.
“Her guard wasn’t watching her,” Bors grunts, looking across to Seamus. “She was allowed to slip away, out of the castle.”
Angelica rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure you’re very angry about that, you big oaf. But right now I need to know where the little Princess has been so that we can save her life.” She kneels down beside the bed and leans across to lift one of Gwen’s eyelids, moving this way and that to examine her eye.
“She was found in the woods, near the old palace,” I tell her.
“The ruins?”
“Yes.”
“And she was found in this state?”
“Completely unresponsive, yes.”
“Hmmm.”
I watch as Angelica grasps Gwen’s hand, squeezing it, then pulls up her sleeve to reveal some red patches. She presses her palm to Gwen’s chest after that and looks up at the ceiling as if counting in her head.
“Do you know what it is?” I ask softly when she pulls her hand away.
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” She looks over to Seamus, her husband. “Where exactly was she found?”
