I swallow, hard. I’ve seen what power can do to a person, more intimately than I ever thought possible. It scares me.
So, I tell him.
“I don’t know if I can handle that kind of authority. I don’t know if I want it.”
“That is why you should have it,” he says, giving me a curt nod of respect.
The meeting drags on through the day. Some of the things I want to do will take time and require massive changes. No more assigning people jobs, they can choose. They’ll still take the tests but the results will inform, not command. Art teachers will be hired from abroad and until they arrive the kids will have freeform art and playtime, even the older ones. I like the apprenticeship idea so we’ll keep that.
The sun is low by the time we finish. Kristoff dismisses them all and sags back in his seat once we’re alone in the hall. He runs his fingers through his hair.
I reach over and tug on one of the heavy black locks.
He takes my wrist delicately in his hand.
“You understand that when we are married—”
“If. If we are married.”
“When we are in public we will have to comport ourselves a certain way. We cannot act like smitten children in front of government ministers and foreign dignitaries.”
“What happens if I do?”
“I’ll have to punish you,” he says, running the back of his hand up my arm.
Instead of a pang of fear I feel a little quiver of excitement and grin at him.
“You will learn. They will harry you the way they have harried me. Come.”
He stands and offers me his hand. The prince walks me along the parapet. That’s what it’s called, a parapet. Balconies are for scrubs. This is a castle. This side faces the west, and the setting sun dipping below the mountains. It looks like something out of a cheesy Hammer horror movie; Christopher Lee should come shambling out of the dark as Frankenstein’s vampire mummy or something.
I can’t help but stare. The colors are gorgeous. It’s the end of our first day. It’s Monday, and Thursday afternoon we leave for New York. I have to decide.
This morning Kristoff gave me leave, as he puts it, to call home if I want, and to talk to my parents. I haven’t yet. Instead, before the meeting, I called for a car to take me down to the hospital and sat with Melissa until eleven o’clock.
She was happier and in higher spirits. Her parents weren’t there, but they’re staying at the hotel for foreign dignitaries at the foot of the mountain. I felt an urge to point out to Kristoff how hypocritical it is to keep this nice artsy hotel for foreigners in this drab, dreary place.
“Tomorrow I am giving you a gift,” he says, resting his hands on my hips as he stands behind me.
“What is it?”
He touches his lips to my head. “I cannot spoil the surprise. Come, we must rise early. There is much to do.”
Dinner comes to us in the room he calls his solar, and then it’s time for bed.
For some reason, I feel more nervous stripping down tonight than I did last night, before we had sex. I’m not sure what he expects now. I believe him about it being customary to sleep naked. As he paces around the room bare-assed and lights a big fire in the hearth, I feel more at ease. Shivering against the nighttime chill, I throw myself into the bed and bundle up in blankets and furs until he joins me.
Sleeping on a big featherbed naturally dumps us on top of each other. I relax as I get used to lying with him. I’ve slept with a man before, my fiancé. I don’t mean in the biblical sense, I mean actually slept in the same bed. This is different. Kristoff lights a lamp next to the bed and reads a book propped on his chest.
“Can you read my tongue?”
“Sort of. Street signs, things like that.”
After a while, despite the softness of his skin against mine as I lie curled up against his side, I almost forget that I’m unclothed as he gives me a reading lesson. It seems to amuse him when I struggle over a difficult word. It takes what seems like all night to read one page, and by then I’m yawning and dozing off, my head pillowed on his chest.
When I wake up the next morning from a dreamless sleep, I’m lying on my side, his arms around me, his face buried in my hair.
He’s hard when he wakes up. I can tell when his breathing changes and his hands go from gently resting to caressing, one dipping down under me, between my legs. I hold the other hand as he strokes my pussy, my arousal clashing with the lazy relaxation I feel. Like a cat sunning myself on a windowsill, I don’t want to move. The warmth and softness of the bed and his breath on my neck are too much.
When I feel ready I pull my legs up and bend my knees, and he pulls me down just enough and enters me slowly, his hands shaking as my body envelops his cock. I tense under his hands and rub my cheek against his palm.
We fuck like this for what feels like hours, slowly, not changing positions, using the motion of the bed and the slow movement of each other’s hips to ride to a slow but profound pleasure that leaves me throbbing all over, a dull, pleasurable ache rippling through my body.
No words are exchanged. I tug on his hands and start to roll on my stomach. He follows and pushes me over the rest of the way, lying on top of me with his legs splayed, and picks up the pace until he grunts and buries himself deep in hard, uncontrolled thrusts as my gentle climax pulses my body, pleasure surging through me at last as I quiver under him.
When he rolls on his back I flop, still sleepy, on his chest and lie there, rubbing his stomach with my hand, feeling the tight muscles of his belly with my fingernails.
I yawn and curl up in the layers and layers of blankets and furs while he showers. Finally I get sick of waiting, pad barefoot over to the bathroom, open the shower door, and step inside with him. It’s even bigger than the one in my old room, and I’m immediately doused in scalding hot water. I yelp and cling to him, as if he can make the heat go away.
He spins me around and douses my head with shampoo. I pinch my eyes shut and make soft, pleased little sounds as he kneads my scalp with his rough fingers and runs my hair between them, squeezing out the soap. He washes my back too, and I do the same. There’s a bamboo bench; he sits down and I wash his hair, my breasts resting on his head as I scrape his scalp with my nails. I scrub his back and shoulders, lift the water wand off the wall, and rinse him down.
I like the way his wet skin feels against mine. I like how big his shoulders are, how the muscles feel under my hands. I like the way he sits up straighter when I lean over him, push my boobs into the back of his head, and run my hands down his chest.
After we dry each other off with big fluffy towels, he helps me dress, gently and carefully lacing up the sides of my dress. I didn’t pick the one I will wear today, he did; it seems simpler and less ornate than the ones I’ve been wearing, more traditional with big poofy sleeves, heavy skirts, and a high collar. The blouse I wear is creamy white and the skirts and bodice of the dress a hunter green that he says brings out my eyes.
Once I’m dressed, I help him. I tug his trousers up and give his cock a little squeeze before I button them up. He forgoes the black jacket he always wears for a creamy shirt, halfway unbuttoned. God, he’s gorgeous. He looks absolutely magnificent, almost mouthwatering. The only attention he gives his hair is to run his fingers through it, and it’s all it needs. I could do that all day.
I stop myself, lest we end up playing with each other’s hair all afternoon.
I start to put mine up, and he stops me, gingerly grasping my wrists. “Leave it down.”
I brush it out and let it hang loose. It starts to curl as it dries, as it does.
My present has not yet been revealed to me, and I don’t dare ask, even as he lifts me into the car for a ride down the mountainside.
When I see what he’s arranged for me, I gasp.
Color. The city is a riot of color, color everywhere. There are people on the streets, and not a shade of gray in sight. The car stops abruptly and we step out. As soon as I hit the warm air
I’m assaulted by a cascade of flowery fragrances so intense I let out a little chirping sneeze and have to wipe my nose with the prince’s handkerchief.
Wooden arbors stand over the streets, adorned with flowers. Children run up and down roads. I didn’t even know this many people lived here. I can hear music in the distance; it sounds almost like polka but not quite.
“What is this?”
“A festival. I declared this week a holiday.”
“For what?”
“For you, to honor you and the light that you bring to this place.”
He offers me his hand, and we walk together.
There is still a nervous edge in the presence of the prince.
“This is beautiful,” I tell him, “but I want more. These children you’ve taken away from their families…”
“Come,” he says.
We walk through town, the prince and his lady. The looks they give me make me feel self-conscious, and I can’t stop blushing.
“Do you remember that first morning? When we talked about Hades and Persephone?”
“Yes.”
It feels like a million years ago. Like last year.
“You never finished the story.”
“That’s how it ends,” I shrug. “It’s a folktale to explain the seasons.”
“It’s more than that. Persephone changed her husband. She brought some of her mother’s light and life to his court. Such was her beauty that Sisyphus was relieved of eternally rolling the great boulder up the hill, and the thirst of Tantalus was slaked. Not every hour was bitter, and not every day was cruel.”
We walk to an open square, all decorated for the festival. There are a bunch of people sitting in chairs, all couples, many holding hands. They look sullen and sad, and many very scared, unable to bring themselves to even pretend to be happy for their terrifying leader’s benefit.
“When my father showed me what lies under our mountain he told me, ‘If you dance with the devil, the devil doesn’t change. The devil changes you.’”
I frown.
“You have changed me, though. Look.”
Vans. Big vans…like school busses. They roll into the square and stop, and I swear the entire world goes dead silent, like everything has frozen, as quiet as the grave. The air is no longer so warm, the sun no longer so strong. It’s like an invisible shadow has fallen over the world.
The doors open and nothing happens. Then the first child, a little girl, steps out. Haltingly, slowly, more join her, then more, forming a crowd around the vehicles. One of the seated couples…no, a pair of the seated parents, finally jump to their feet and run over, scooping their daughter up in their arms.
Then the dam bursts and they run together. Laughing, crying, embracing and spinning in place.
I have to cover my mouth. Hot tears burn on my cheeks.
“You…”
“I can’t undo everything I’ve done, but there are ways I can start. You were right. I wanted to free my people and I put them in chains instead. I was trying to make a heaven and instead I made a hell.”
I can’t talk, my throat is too dry. I want to tell him something but I don’t know what.
“This will continue whether you stay or go,” he says. “I will make this right. I cannot die a man you would hate. I only beg you to stay, so that I can become a man you could love. They need this. I need it. I don’t want to be Hades anymore. Lead me into the light, Penny. Please.”
“I don’t know yet,” I choke out. “I’m sorry but I don’t know. I need to go home. I need to see it again before I decide.”
He holds my hand hard in both of his. “I know that now. I understand that I cannot grip the world and crush it into a more pleasing shape. I tried to escape the madness of my fathers… But it took root in my soul and twisted me, ruling my land and people while I looked away in disgust at what I was doing. You’ve broken my armor, Penny.”
I try to speak but can’t. He dries my tears lightly with a caress and holds me until my breathing steadies, and gives me a little push.
“You are responsible for this. Go see them.”
Trembling, I walk over to the crowd. I don’t know if anyone has told them, but they know somehow.
They…they bow. They get down on their knees in front of me.
“Stop,” I bark at them in their language, “get up, stand. Don’t kneel before me.”
It takes them a minute to listen. Then the hugs and kisses to my hands start, and I’m jostled around by joyous, weeping parents. I can’t stand it much longer, and have to run back to my prince. I stay at his side while we tour the festival.
There’s food, fresh fruits and vegetables, and traditional delicacies, and everyone wants to feed us. After an hour I’m so stuffed I can barely walk.
Then the dancing starts.
The biggest square in town surrounds a huge statue of one of the prince’s ancestors, maybe the first one, his armor of black marble inlaid with gold, helmet tucked under his arm.
I don’t think he was meant to be covered in flowery wreaths and decked out in a big, plumy hat. Nor surrounded by people dancing. The dance is fast, rhythmic, in time with the band playing on the stage at the far end of the square. They sing too fast for me to even try to make out the words.
I’m distracted anyway. Kristoff pulls me out into the open and spins me around, and the dance starts. It feels like flying, most of all when he grabs my waist and tosses me in the air, catches me, and spins around with me until I’m dizzy. A fruity punch like Sangria is passed around in clay cups, and after a few gulps I get a very solid buzz going. When he sees me swipe my face clean with my sleeve, my prince laughs at me.Loud and long.
I stand there and smile dumbly, shocked at the sight. I’ve never heard him laugh before. I’m not the only one staring. He snatches one of the clay cups and drains it, pinkish punch running down his chin, and the dance starts again.
After a few more we’re both giggling and dizzy.
He feeds me a sausage on a crusty bun to sober me up, then some grapes, plucking them from the stem one at a time to pop them in my mouth. I nip at his fingers before I chew them and swallow them, so sweet they almost make me sick, but I can’t stop craving more.
This goes on throughout the day. By the time the sun has passed its high point and begins to sink toward the mountains, I’m exhausted, sick to my stomach, still tipsy, and giggling like a fool as he literally carries me over his shoulder and puts me back in the car. I flop down on the seat and when he gets in the back with me, I crawl on top of him and kiss him and mingle his heat with the sweet taste of the liquor.
Whatever he said about comporting myself apparently went out the window during one of these festivals. My dress is a mess, the laces pulled loose, and the big buttons on my blouse are half undone. He stops himself when he realizes he’s just shoved his hand into my blouse and squeezed my breast. I bounce on his lap and giggle and laugh at nothing.
Even the castle is a less dreary place. While we were gone the servants hung flowers and bright banners from the battlements and gargoyles, and the black, brooding stone is suddenly alive with color, like flowers springing from the darkness of the earth. I stand there and stare at it in the reverence only a drunk woman can muster, and jump up to kiss his cheek.
“Why all this?”
I though the festival was over, but music blares from the courtyards. The servants are free for the day, too, it seems.
“No more winters,” he declares, holding me by the waist. “Today begins the summer of my heart. Dance with me.”
How can I argue with that?
We dance until I can’t stand up, then sit on benches in the great hall. No throne, only long tables covered in food, so many things I’ve never even seen before. I eat onion soup from what he calls a trencher, a hollowed loaf of bread, then tear it apart and eat it. There’s wild boar and goose, goat and pheasant, and I can barely eat more than a sliver of each, just enough to enjoy the taste before moving on.
Kristoff stands and claps his hands, motioning, and I burst out laughing like a lunatic as the servants carry out an enormous platter piled high with hot, steaming cheeseburgers. I grab one and so does he, one in either hand. I don’t know how he eats it all.
The party gets wilder and wilder as the night wears on. Before I realize it I’m up on top of one of the tables in a wild dance where partners are passed from person to person, spun around and around until I’m in his arms again.
By nightfall I’m exhausted, stuffed, sweaty, and very thoroughly drunk, babbling to the crown prince of Kosztyla about the first time I ever drank, when I downed half a bottle of grape vodka and it all came right back up, as if it hit my stomach and bounced back. The prince laughs and everyone else laughs, either because the story was hilarious or there is nothing quite as funny as a room full of laughing people.
Eventually I’m in his arms, carried up to his private quarters, moaning and queasy from all the food. I lie there as he strips me down on the bed, pulling the clothes away until I’m in my birthday suit, shivering on the silks. He joins me and pulls covers up, and I lie there moaning for half the night until I finally pass out.
When I wake up my head is hammering and I run to the bathroom, uncaring of the cold stone under my bare feet as I fight back the urge to puke. The prince follows me, and as I kneel over the toilet, laces his fingers in my hair and holds it back.
Kneeling naked over the toilet, I can’t be very sexy, but you’d never know it from the way he looks at me. I end up keeping it down with a great struggle, and plop on the floor, beet red.
He gingerly draws me to my feet and gives me a light pat on the ass. “Clean up and put on a dressing gown, so I may have breakfast brought.”
“Ugh, I can’t eat.”
“I command it,” he says mockingly, and kisses my cheek.
After I’m dressed in a fluffy, heavy robe and slippers, I join him in the “solar” (what a weird name for a room) and eat a light breakfast of fruit and bread, served with cranberry juice and a half glass of tomato juice, no vodka.
“No hair of the dog, huh?”
He smirks. “I thought it unwise. I can’t have you unloading your breakfast all over my shoes while we meet with the German consulate.”
Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) Page 44
