The Awakened Prince

by Elise Marion

  He parted her legs and moved to stand between them, one hand slipping into the open side of her gown. His rough hands, calloused from swordplay, skimmed up the soft flesh, squeezing and caressing, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight for support, the room spinning and tilting precariously. His hand came to her hip, where he gave her another firm squeeze, his mouth traveling over her chin and jaw, then her neck, where the hot flicks of his tongue had her sighing and arching into him, desperate for more.

  Straightening, he dropped his gaze to the transparent gauze covered her breasts, his perusal like that of a hungry wolf deciding how best to toy with its prey before devouring it. He grasped the neckline of the gown if as he meant to yank it down, but instead began to move it slowly back and forth, rasping the material over her nipples. She gasped at the sensation, the gossamer caresses hardening the little buds into tight points and sending even more of the unbearable heat spiraling through her. He grinned, watching her react to the pleasure, seeming both amused and enthralled by the strength of her reaction when he wasn’t even touching her yet.

  “Please,” she mewled, hardly able to believe this was her voice pleading with him in that low, hoarse tone.

  Serge seemed to know what she needed, lowering his head toward one of her breasts. She moaned at the rasp of his tongue through the thin fabric, her nipple hardening to a painful degree. The cool air of the room made the bud tingle from the cling of the wet fabric as he went to the other, gently teasing her with his teeth and lashing her with his tongue. She gripped handfuls of his hair and held on for dear life as he kissed his way down her body, licking at her through the gauze and leaving a damp trail over her belly.

  “Hold on to something,” he warned.

  She managed to grip the edge of the table just as he yanked her to its edge, spreading her legs wide and kneeling between them. Isabelle had hardly gotten her bearings before he was pushing her gown aside from where it split up to her hip and baring her core. His warm breath rushed against her just before his tongue delved into her opening. Throwing her head back with a shocked cry, she bucked, going up in flames as he lapped at her, then began surging his tongue in and out of her in imitation of what he’d soon do to her with the erection still trapped in his breeches.

  He cradled her hips in his large hands, holding her still and steady and he teased her toward climax, his tongue tracing up to the sensitive bud just begging to be stimulated. Panting and groaning, she surged against him in a mindless fit, desperate to reach the height of her pleasure with him leading the way. She was so close, sweat breaking out over her skin in a light sheen, her thighs quivering with a force beyond her control.

  But, just before she snapped he pulled away, tearing a desperate cry from her as he went. He stood, coming back between her legs as he began tearing at his breeches. She found the strength to help him, now beyond desperate to get to the rest, to have him inside her so they could reach that rapturous height together. His hands shook as badly as hers as they worked to free him from the final garment separating them.

  The flap of his breeches fell, revealing the thick, masculine root between his thighs straining toward her with purpose and promise. She took hold of him, stroking him with firm pressure. He gritted his teeth, hissing out a slow breath as she did it again and then again, unable to help the sense of satisfaction she got from tormenting him as he’d done her, driving him toward the brink.

  He grasped her hand and pulled it away, then reached behind her to swipe aside her bottles and vials. Pushing her so that she lay back against the mirror, he gripped the neckline of her gown and gave it a rough tug. The muscles in his arms rippled and flexed as the garment tore in his hands, rending straight down the middle. He followed the tear, pulling again until it hung from her shoulders from its thin straps, open to reveal every inch of her body.

  “Christ,” he murmured, his gaze tracing a slow path from her bared breasts, down over her belly, ending at the place where he’d just had his tongue.

  She gasped, glancing down at the torn gown, then back up at him. He merely shrugged.

  “Not to worry, my dear, I’ll replace it. Hell, I’ll buy you a whole armoire full of the things just for the privilege of being the one who gets to rip them off.”

  Before she could think of a reply, he was nudging against the opening to her channel, his hands holding tight to her thighs. His gaze came up to connect with hers just as he entered her with one powerful stroke, seating himself inside her completely. She gasped from the sheer force of it, the pleasure of that single thrust echoing from where they were joined to the far reaches of her body.

  “Serge,” she whispered, back arching as her sheath began to pulse around him in a cadence of pure, raw need.

  The hand on her thigh traveled upward, until his thumb brushed against her clitoris. She sucked in a sharp breath and nodded to let him know to keep going, that she wanted what he was giving her, and more.

  It seemed to set him free, because then he was taking her in a frenzy, his pelvis colliding with hers as his thumb continued to tease her, urging her higher and higher until she felt as if she’d simply rocket up into the sky and never come down again.

  He gripped her hips, leaving the imprint of his fingers on her skin and keeping her grounded as he took her, his powerful strokes grinding her into the table and pushing the table against the wall in a noisy drumbeat. Her fingernails scraped the underside of the table as she scrambled for purchase, her hips now shifted off the table as held her up and kept his swift pace, his breaths coming out in rough pants that mingled with her throaty moans in a primitive duet.

  Then, his thumb pressed down, moving in rapid circles and urging her completely into oblivion. She spent with a sharp cry, the force of spiraling out from her center and washing over her like a violent storm. He followed right behind her, shuddering with the force of his culmination. Isabelle felt the full weight of him when he collapsed over her, and the hot splash of his seed inside her. He rested his head against her shoulder and gasped for air along with her, strands of his hair clinging to her skin, damp from sweat.

  After a short time he seemed to regain his strength, pulling himself up and then helping her to sit up. He pulled the mangled remnants of her gown off, then lifted her into his arms to carry her to the bed, stepping over the rest of the cake, which had been knocked to the floor. He yanked the bedclothes back and settled beneath them with her, arranging her so that she lay draped across his chest.

  She smiled, giving in to how good it felt to be able to cling to him afterward instead of getting dressed in haste and secrecy like the first time. Laying a hand against his chest, she toyed with the coils of hair smattering his torso, delighting in the way his body seemed to react to her touch.

  “So much for chocolate cake,” she said with a giggle.

  He chuckled, his chest rumbling against her cheek. “I really did intend us to eat it. It’s not my fault you looked so tempting while nibbling, or that you seduced me in that gown so thoroughly I couldn’t even make it across the room to the bed. One of these days we’ll have to actually try, you know. On the ground, on a table … it isn’t really proper.”

  She laughed again, unable to believe that she’d worried intimacy would ruin their camaraderie. It was obviously still intact.

  “What’s indecent is abandoning that cake to the carpet. I suppose one of us should pick it up.”

  He shook his head and nestled closer to her. “I am not getting out of this bed until morning, and neither are you. It can wait.”

  “Fine by me,” she relented. “It will be nice to finally get some rest. The last few days have been hellishly long. I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse with all that we have to accomplish.”

  “Who said anything about rest?” he rumbled against her ear.

  Isabelle rolled over in his arms, facing him with a grin.

  “Well,” she said, as he turned her to her back, “it is
our wedding night.”

  * * *

  Serge and Isabelle’s first week in Barony proved as hectic as she’d predicted. There was the coronation ceremony and ball to plan, a castle and staff to familiarize themselves with, and a myriad of problems concerning the rebel army to attend to. Their only reprieve came in the evenings, when they could lock themselves away in Isabelle’s bedroom until morning. They often took dinner there alone, glad to be away from the busy pace that came with running a kingdom. Dinner always led to dessert, and dessert led them straight to bed. Sometimes, the dessert joined them there, as well.

  Serge found nothing but joy with his bride. Whatever reservations he’d had before had been banished on their wedding night, their powerful joining and the pleasant daily rhythm they’d found since. The decision to marry her had been the right one. As they stood together in one of the towers lining the curtain wall of the castle waiting for Damien and Esmeralda to arrive, she leaned back against him and his arms came around her.

  They watched together as the caravan carrying the King and Queen of Cardenas drew closer in the distance, content to remain silent. Yet another aspect of being married to someone he already knew so well. There was no need to fill silences with unnecessary conversation. Silence with Isabelle was never strained. He pressed his nose against her hair and inhaled her scent. As always, she smelled heavenly, the mixture of roses and lemon making him want to nibble and kiss his way across the expanse of her bare skin. She felt heavenly too, her rounded buttocks pressed against him as he held her. His prick reacted predictably, rising to the occasion.

  With an inward groan, he pushed the arousing thoughts out of his mind before they grew distracting. It was midday for God’s sake, and his brother would be at the gate at any moment. Although, no one had disturbed them for nearly twenty minutes. All he had to do was lift her skirts and…

  “How angry do you think they’ll be when they find out we got married without them?” she said, bringing his thoughts to a screeching halt.

  And thank goodness, because he’d almost given in to the urge to have her again—even though he’d been inside her just this morning and last night before that. He truly was pitiful, drunk on the passion they shared now that he’d gotten a proper taste.

  “Damien has been encouraging this marriage from the start,” he replied. “They may be a little surprised that it’s already done, but I am sure they’ll be pleased.”

  She nodded, turning to look up at him. “You’re right, of course.”

  “I usually am,” he said, tweaking her nose.

  She slapped his shoulder. “Brute.”

  He kissed her once swiftly, then again, slowly. He took his time, tasting his fill of her in the only way he could while outside their bedchamber. She tasted like the coffee she’d drank with breakfast, and the strawberry jam she’d spread on her toast. He eventually forced himself away from her, knowing he rapidly approached the point of no return.

  “Have I told you how happy you’ve made me?” he murmured. “Ever since I woke up, I’ve felt like a shell of a man. I haven’t felt at all like myself … as if there were parts of me that died and never came back to life.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she commented, twirling a strand of his hair around her finger. “We’ve all been different. It’s only natural.”

  “You’ve managed to pull some of what I lost out of me. You make me laugh and feel alive again. I don’t think I could have ever come back from such a dark place without you.”

  In the seconds that followed, Serge felt something welling up inside. He knew if he didn’t stop it, his soul would be bared to her, his heart in her hands. It was risky, downright foolish, when she gave no indication that she felt the same way he did, but he couldn’t help it. The words came out before he could stop them, spilling forth in a rush.

  “I love you, Isabelle.”

  Silence stretched between them, and he jumped to continue when her mouth opened to reply.

  “Don’t,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips with a smile. “You don’t have to say it back if you don’t mean it. It will not hurt me if you don’t right now, because I know how reluctant you were to even come into this marriage. We’ve been friends our whole lives, and have always been honest with each other. I’ve loved you for a long time, even when I shouldn’t have. While I wouldn’t have wished for you to be mine under these circumstances, I am glad that in the midst of it all we were able to carry on together. Don’t feel as if I am expecting you to feel the same so soon. I just … I have wanted you to know, and now you do.”

  Isabelle’s eyes lowered, and he felt as if his lungs would explode with the breath he held. He almost wished she would say it back, but knew not to get his hopes up. She’d never known of his love for her, and despite their new marriage must still need time to move past the acute grief that came with having lost Lionus.

  When she gazed up at him with a shy smile, the expression open and tender, he released his breath with a relieved sigh. Wordlessly, she opened her arms to him, and he accepted her embrace, lowering his head for a lingering kiss. He was not disappointed in the least. As responses went, it was the best she could do for now. An entire lifetime stretched before them, and he would use every day of it to earn her love.

  Damien and Esmeralda’s convoy arrived just then, the portcullis below them drawing up to offer entry.

  “Shall we go greet them?” he asked, extending his hand to her.

  She took it, and they descended from the tower together, intercepting their guests in the courtyard. Primus was already there, speaking with his brother and sister-in-law in hushed tones as servants rushed about to begin unloading the heavily-laden wagons that had traveled with them. Nearby stood Esmeralda’s mother, grandmother, brother, and cousin, whom he hadn’t expected to travel with them, though he supposed he ought not have been surprised. The Amador family had always been close-knit, and wherever the queen went, they followed.

  “Married?” Esmeralda’s voice rang out across the courtyard, filled with shock.

  The eyes of the entire group swiveled in their direction, their faces alight with various degrees of shock and glee. As they neared, Damien turned toward them with a grin. Seeing their entwined hands, and the rings adorning their hands, he laughed.

  “I told you they’d be married in less than a month.” he said to Esmeralda, before coming forward to meet them, clapping Serge on the shoulder. “Congratulations, you devil, although I suppose I should be angry with you for not waiting for our arrival before making it official.”

  “We thought it best to marry with haste,” he replied, relinquishing Isabelle’s hand as she was dragged off by an excitedly chattering Esmeralda.

  Akira, Tatiana, and Raina—who held baby Leila in her arms—followed, voices raised in excitement as they gushed over her ring and demanded details of the ceremony.

  He tore his gaze away from Isabelle’s retreating back, returning his attention to Damien.

  “With all the other problems we’re facing, we decided a lavish wedding was unnecessary,” he added. “And I got the sense that yet another opulent event was the last thing Isabelle wanted, all things considered.”

  “That is understandable,” Damien replied. “I am glad to have the matter settled so we can move on.”

  They turned to make their way into the castle, Primus falling in step on Serge’s other side.

  “When is the coronation?” Damien asked as they scaled the front steps.

  “Two days from now,” Serge replied. “In the meantime, General Adams and I have been touring some of the nearby villages. Things are not good, Damien. The rebels have ravaged nearly every township. The people are poor, hungry, and exhausted by the constant fear and fighting. They are angry, and with good reason. Barony’s depleted forces have not been enough to keep them safe.”

  The three men entered an empty parlor, Primus closing the doors behind them and remaining on his feet as the Rothchester brothers sat in matching armchairs near
the hearth.

  “We had several regiments with us on our journey,” Damien said, fishing a cigar out of his coat pocket. “I expect the rest in the next couple of days. They are accompanying the supplies and harvests we brought from Cardenas’ stores. There are many wagons, and they are loaded quite heavily, so I allowed them to follow at their own pace.”

  “What of the gold?” Serge asked.

  Barony’s coffers had become depleted over the years. The vast wealth of Cardenas was to be shared with the struggling kingdom, the amount having been reserved since the day the betrothal agreement between Lionus and Isabelle was signed. With that gold, Serge could begin to rebuild the war-torn Barony.

  “Naturally, I didn’t trust it out of my sight,” Damien said. “It traveled with us.”

  Serge turned to address Primus. “Send word to the barracks that all officers are to report to the courtyard after lunch this afternoon. I’d like to make sure they’ve been apprised of the new training regimen.”

  “Very well, Your Grace,” the grand vizier replied before giving a stiff bow. Without another word, he quit the room, leaving the brothers alone. Serge had not missed the tight set of his jaw or the clipped tone of his words.

  Damien frowned, watching the other man go. “Did I miss something here?”

  Serge snorted and rolled his eyes. “He is just a little annoyed with me, I’m sure. He made his intentions with Isabelle quite clear while we were on our journey, and was none too pleased when she chose me in the end.”

  Damien took a long pull on his cigar, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I know I said this already, but I couldn’t be more pleased. The two of you are a match well made. Are you happy, Serge?”

  He couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across his face as he remembered telling Isabelle he loved her. It had been so liberating, finally getting his secret out into the open. The promise of returned love in her kiss had given him hope.