Royal Enchantment

by Sharon Ashwood

  “Yes.” His smile was confident. “I never doubted it.”

  “My character is flawed,” she said. “I’m independent and willful.”

  “I know. I’ve always made the error of trying to control you. I think I’ll count on you instead.”

  He stopped her mouth with his before she could say more. When she closed her eyes, she saw him opening cage after cage of beasts, great and small, horrifying and beautiful. He had saved them all, and he had held her hand as they watched them run free. Finally, in that moment, she’d understood why he was king, but also who he was as a man.

  The kiss lasted a very long time, and her hands found the hem of his T-shirt, warming themselves against the heat of his bare skin. The sensation brought tension to her belly, as if the fire in him had passed through her palms and into her core. Impatience prompted her to finger the buckle at his waist. His stomach tightened at her touch, hard and vulnerable at once. She stroked the ridged muscle with her fingertips, pleased by his intake of breath.

  His lips ran down her throat, tasting her. She let her head fall back, nuzzling the softness of his hair as it fell against her cheek. And then his mouth was on her collarbone and his thumbs stroking over the swell of her breasts. She leaned into it, the sweet ache inside her turning liquid. When his caress roved over her nipples, she shivered. Moaning softly, she arched her back for more.

  “Are you going to shut the door on me tonight?” he teased.

  “Perhaps not.” She nipped the lobe of his ear. “Prove to me you’re worthy of entrance to my bower.”

  “Shall I come as a supplicant to Your Majesty?”

  “Supplicants are as common as sheep in the field. I think something with more resolve.”

  In a swift motion, he caught her up in his arms. Gwen’s stomach swooped as her feet left the floor and she instinctively clung to his shoulders as he carried her into his bedroom. The bedside lamp was on. She hadn’t seen the room since she’d slept in it, and a bit of the confusion from that first night returned—but only for an instant. As soon as her toes touched the carpet, she was in his arms once more—and when Arthur kissed, it was impossible to think about anything but him.

  He pulled off his shirt, revealing the angry, scored flesh where the manticore had clawed him. She traced the skin around the hurt, then over the swell of his chest, where older scars seamed his skin. He had a warrior’s physique, muscled from the long use of weapons. Her mouth went dry, as it always did when he offered his body for her pleasure. Even after years together, each time seemed new.

  “He gave you this dress?” Arthur asked, his voice so low she barely heard the words.

  “Yes.”

  He gripped the wide neck of the gown and tore it in a single, angry wrench. When he released the fabric, the garment fell away, leaving Gwen in her chemise. She instantly felt cleaner. Nothing of Talvaric’s had a place here. “Thank you,” she said.

  The rest of their clothes vanished soon after. Gwen fell on the bed, reaching up for Arthur to join her. He stretched out beside her, the length of him a hot line against her side. For a moment, she was lost in the sensation of touch—smooth and rough, firm and yielding, the crispness of hair and softness of lips. He arched over her, settling her back into the pillow. The musk of his skin was a familiar mix of leather, steel and man. She buried her face in his shoulder, wanting more.

  His palms found her breasts, kneading and caressing until her core burned with new heat. Gwen bowed her back, stretching her arms above her head and inviting him to do more. She felt flushed and heavy, her nipples aching from his attention. He nuzzled her, licking and sucking and loving her until she grew restless, needing to feel him in other places.

  His hand stroked her belly, working its way down and down until he found the wetness between her legs. She startled under his touch, sparks of sensation firing through her. But he didn’t hurry to slake that need, nibbling his way over her skin instead, every touch of tongue and teeth building the tension inside her. She kissed and squirmed and rubbed him back, the taste of him like a drug. She was lost in him, hypnotized and addicted.

  When he at last turned his full attention to her aching core, Gwen was slick with sweat. His mouth teased her, parting flesh that tingled with every gust of his breath. As his fingers slid inside, her body tried to grip them, but they weren’t nearly enough to satisfy. She was slick and swollen and greedy. His thumb stroked her into spasms of pleasure as tears of release escaped her lids, trickling down her temples and into her hair.

  “Please,” she begged, just once because she was a queen, and because his mouth covered hers before more words were possible.

  He slid inside, the fullness of it coaxing a groan from her throat. She gripped him, digging her fingers into the hard planes of his back. He loomed over her, but she wrapped herself around him, binding herself with desire. She was already drunk on it, loose and eager with the heat of their bodies. When he began to move, they surged as one.

  Gwen’s mind slipped then, blank of everything but the need to move with him, to release the gnawing wildness spiraling up inside her. Her breasts brushed against the roughness of his chest, the sensation a pleasure and a goad at once. She bit his shoulder. There was no explanation for it beyond savage glee.

  Cursing at the pain, Arthur held her hips, angling her body. He had given, and now he took possession. With driving thrusts, his rhythm quickened and broke as he plundered her. The mad thing inside Gwen sprang free. She cried out, speared on the sharp pleasure of her surrender. He plunged once, twice more before he stiffened and shuddered.

  Afterward, they curled together like a single being, their limbs tangled. Gwen’s face buried in the crook of Arthur’s shoulder, the world beyond the bed a strange and distant thing. She listened to Arthur’s slow, deep breathing as sleep claimed him. The darkness wrapped them like a soft, black cloak.

  For once, Gwen’s thoughts were still. She had drawn her sword and leaped, and she had landed in the arms of the man who was meant to catch her. With a smile tugging at her lips, the Queen of Camelot drifted into peaceful slumber.

  Chapter 29

  Arthur woke to a kiss. It was an excellent kiss, bringing him to full wakefulness in seconds. Some dim and distant part of him was aware of aches and bruises from yesterday’s battles, but all of him that mattered was focused elsewhere. Guinevere was naked and wrapping her clever fingers around his shaft.

  The morning light bathed her, making her skin glow as if white fire burned inside. Pale blue veins showed in the most tender places—her temples, her throat, her breasts. He kissed them all, keenly aware of the life flowing so close to his lips. Gwen was a never-ending wealth of sensory experience. Soft skin tempted him and the rich scent of her tantalized him. Fair hair sheeted like a gold river around her, teasing as it swung to obscure the most interesting views.

  He was hard in her hands, every part of him straining to claim her again. But this time, she was in command, her hot tongue refining his desires. “What are you planning, woman?” he asked, his voice dropping into the region of a growl.

  She drew herself up, straddling his waist. “You know I have an interest in how things work,” she said lightly, lowering herself so that she slid neatly over him.

  He swore, the tight heat of her so perfect that his pulse stuttered with pleasure. But then she rolled her hips. He reached up and she caught his hands, placing them over her breasts. Telling him what she wanted. As a knight sworn to serve his lady, Arthur had to obey. He caressed her as she caressed him, exploring and testing every angle and motion. Arthur held himself in careful control, letting her discover her pleasure, but he had to clench his teeth.

  When she began pushing and rocking, he thought he might die. She sat high and proud like the Amazons of legend. Every undulating motion rippled her belly and swayed her breasts, the nipples winking from the curtai
n of her hair. Years in the saddle had made Gwen fit and strong, and the glove of her body around him squeezed with every move.

  She came with a soft, gasping cry and then sank, draping herself across his chest in a pool of silken hair. He loved her languor and the elasticity of her pleasured body, but mostly he loved the fact she’d taken what she wanted. He rolled her over so that she spread out beneath him, boneless and sated.

  “Did you solve your engineering problem?” he murmured in her ear.

  She gasped a laugh, surging to life beneath him. “What do you think?”

  “A theory has to be tested more than once.”

  She wriggled away, playing now. Her eyes sparked with laughter. The sight of it shook him deep and hard, for it had been so long since he’d seen that look. When she slid off the bed, he followed, drawn by an invisible thread that refused to allow distance between them.

  He caught her, trapping her between his body and the cool white of the bedroom wall. She kissed him standing on her toes and holding his face in her hands. It was frank, her lust unfettered. He was tinder in its path.

  Arthur hitched her up, hooking her legs around his hips and bracing her back against the wall. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he pushed into her. Her head flung back, throat bare to him. He pushed and pushed, stirring her as he might a banked fire. A flush of heat crept up her pale skin, staining it pink. Only then did he let go, releasing himself and filling her as she melted against him, hot, sensual and shivering with pleasure.

  “Gwen,” he whispered.

  “I don’t think I can stand.” She let loose a throaty giggle as she drooped against him. Her eyes were closed, the sweep of her lashes like wing tips against her cheeks.

  Arthur’s chest ached with the miracle of her. He had stepped between worlds for her, but it seemed such a paltry thing compared to her courage. He had lost everything—his kingdom, his castles and his armies. No one in this time recognized him as their king. All he had left was his war against the fae.

  But Gwen had stayed. When it had counted most, she had chosen him.

  He kissed her softly, reverently, loving her with all his being. “What can I do to please you?”

  She twined her arms around his neck. “I’m still new to this world. Show me what you like.”

  “I’d love a hot shower.”

  Their eyes met, and he could see her working out the possibilities. Watching her think was arousing all on its own.

  “Together?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  Her grin was wicked.

  * * *

  “I think,” said Merlin, fussing with the sleeves of his brand-new enchanter’s robes, “the happiest person in all the realms is Medievaland’s accountant.”

  “The park is certainly busy,” Gwen agreed, eyeing Merlin’s costume. The park had hired him as part of the troupe of entertainers, and wearing the outfit was part of the job. The robes were covered with moons and stars and had come with a tall staff and a pointed hat that he refused to wear.

  It was nearly two months since Talvaric’s defeat. The knights and ladies of Camelot were waiting inside the service building next to the tourney grounds. Outside, a noisy throng of guests filled the large white pavilion where that day’s event would be held. Banquets at Medievaland had always been sellout events, but now there was a waiting list for tickets. The recent media attention, for good or ill, had brought the theme park to national attention.

  “What about the lawsuits?” she asked nervously.

  Merlin shrugged. “No one was actually hurt beyond a good scare, and there’s no physical evidence that any of Talvaric’s beasts were anything but fancy puppets. The park settled with the family of the child the manticore abducted, and they’re paying a fine for some sort of violation of the peace, but they’ll make the money up a hundred times over with increased sales.”

  Merlin turned to Clary, who was wearing a medieval costume but still typing on her smartphone. “What do the mysterious gods of the interwebs say?”

  “We’re still trending on the top five things to know about King Arthur. There are always a few trolls, but—”

  “Trolls?” Gawain spun around from where he was chatting with his brother.

  Beaumains put a hand on his sword. “Where?”

  Clary rolled her eyes. “Not that kind.”

  The conversation was interrupted by Arthur’s arrival. He was wearing a tunic and cloak of deep claret trimmed with gold. Excalibur hung at his side. When he saw Gwen, his step quickened and a smile dawned in his eyes. She held out her hands and he took them, kissing her lightly.

  “You look breathtaking,” he said, his gaze drinking her in as if they had been apart for weeks, not hours.

  “Thank you.” She’d had a dress made for the banquet, though she’d added some of her own touches. The fabric was a shimmering confection of palest yellow—definitely not a product of her own time, but authenticity was hardly required. If she could have the best of both worlds, she would.

  He looped her hand over his arm, still smiling. They’d both done a lot of that in the past few weeks. “Any last words of advice for a debut performer?” she asked. This was the first time she’d appear in a Medievaland show.

  “Just remember they all want to fall in love with you, and who can blame them?”

  With that, he gave a signal, and trumpets sounded the arrival of the king and queen. They stepped into the night and walked beneath garlands of glittering lights. Arm in arm, they were the head of a procession, followed by Merlin and Clary and then the other knights falling in behind. Fans cheered and cameras flashed. For a moment, Gwen was startled, but then she realized she already knew what to do. She’d been a queen before, and this was just the same. She smiled and waved, and caught the glances of as many people as she could, giving them a moment of personal connection.

  They sat at the high table, while the guests were seated around trestle tables that formed an open square inside the tent. Senec the fox sat in Sir Owen’s lap, pointed snout sniffing the air as platters were brought by liveried servants. The pair had been inseparable since the knight had bound the animal’s wounds. With some coaxing, Senec had been convinced not to speak in public, but he’d refused to be left out of the fun—or the food. Gwen watched the fox snag a chicken wing and disappear under the table. The sight gave her a feeling of contentment—Camelot might no longer be a sprawling kingdom, but those who needed its protection still found welcome.

  A servant offered her a basket of rolls and she took one. Even after many meals in the modern age, she marveled at the light texture of the bread. “So,” she said to Arthur, “what is it that Merlin will do here?”

  “Special effects,” Arthur said with a twinkle. “At first he said pandering to the entertainment industry was beneath him, but even an enchanter has to eat. Compared to his other clients, we’re schoolchildren.”

  Gwen frowned. “Who are these other clients?”

  “Those members of the hidden world with no other place to go.”

  In other words, outcasts and criminals. She shivered slightly, and Arthur picked up her hand, kissing it. “We’ve had our difficulties with Merlin. Do you mind that he is once again in our circle?”

  “No.” She was a little surprised to find she meant it. “He’s proud and difficult, but he cares for you. I am grateful for that devotion.”

  Arthur’s smile was lopsided. “He’s also made a deal with Rukon to do the occasional flyby. Medievaland’s reputation for dragons is secured.”

  Their conversation ended as the entertainment began. Singers, jugglers, storytellers and magicians each took their turn. Palomedes and Beaumains picked a mock fight over one of the pretty young guests and staged a bit of swordplay. The public cheered and wept and swooned exactly as they should, their problems forgotten for the
night. It reminded Gwen of the times when traveling minstrels visited her father’s castle, and everyone gathered in the great hall to hear love songs and tales of mighty heroes. People hadn’t changed much.

  Her opinion was confirmed later, when she made the rounds of the guests. All members of Arthur’s court, including the king and queen, spent a few minutes at each table to make the diners welcome. Gwen enjoyed the experience, answering endless questions about what it was like to live in a castle. Young girls asked a great many questions about the knights. It was delightful.

  When she returned to her seat, Arthur was doing an interview outside the tent, but Clary was there. “How do you like celebrity?” Clary asked. “I see you and Arthur made the front page of the entertainment magazine.”

  “It’s interesting,” Gwen said. “But I can’t wait to get into school. I’m not giving up on that plan.”

  “You shouldn’t,” said the witch. “Every time the fae strike, there’s a new twist. We need a lot of different skills to combat them. You have a great deal to offer.”

  “Having something to work toward makes me feel rooted.” That was important, coming from such a different world. But even more vital was that for the first time in her life, Gwen was shaping her own future with the support of the man she loved.

  Clary watched her with a curious expression. “Did you say once that you were cursed?”

  Gwen went still, her pleasant mood wavering. That wasn’t something she cared to discuss in a public place. “Yes.”

  “May I ask what kind of curse?”

  “It was of a very personal nature.” Though she was almost certain Clary had guessed what it was.

  “Uh-huh.” Clary shrugged. “For what it’s worth, witches can see most curses. I don’t see one.”

  What was it Elosta had said? I see the shadows of younglings around you. Dragons are rarely mistaken in these things. “That is good news,” Gwen said carefully, reaching for a glass of wine.