Crown Jewels

by Katherine Kingston, Mlyn Hurn

  “I would prefer not to be.”

  Princess Fanny was definitely not in favor of the idea. “You will spank me each time I fail to control myself?” she said, sounding disbelieving and outraged. “Surely even you cannot be that cruel.”

  “It is not cruel,” he said. “We need to try a different way to teach you to control your temper. Words and encouragement and practice did not help yesterday. I’ll not be overly harsh. The first time, you’ll get only one swat, the second time two, with another stroke added to the total each time you fail to control yourself. Should you not only control yourself, but answer a jibe in a reasonable or effective way, I’ll take a stroke off the total for next time. It’s not my wish to hurt you, but you haven’t learned any self-discipline heretofore, so now we must use drastic measures to teach you quickly.”

  “It is harsh and cruel,” she protested. “Lady Syndal, surely you cannot condone this!”

  “My dear, I’m fond of you, you know,” the lady answered. “But Lord Baxter has a point, and I think it is worth trying. I’ll not let him hurt you badly, but you do need to learn this lesson.”

  Because she started out angry, the first few tries did not go well. Stubbornness disinclined her even to try to control herself.

  Their first playacting scenario was a simple one where Lady Syndal pretended to be the acid-tongued daughter of the Earl of Scottsleigh. That young woman would find something to criticize about anyone. When Lady Syndal, in character, made a comment about Fanny’s heathenish manners, the Princess exploded in a tirade.

  Baxter took her arm, bent her over the back of a chair, and snapped the heavy belt down on her backside. The clothing no doubt absorbed most of the force of the blow, but she shrieked a protest anyway.

  “This is not fair,” she said. “It’s cruel and brutish.”

  Baxter and Lady Syndal ignored her protests. “Sit down,” Baxter told the Princess. The next few scenarios went just as badly. By the time of the noon bell, Fanny was up to receiving six strokes. She yelled protests each time, screaming, calling him names, describing him as a brute, an animal, and using language he would not have guessed she knew. She refused to stay in place, and tried to kick and punch him, until Lady Syndal had to hold her down. After the six-stroke penalty was delivered, they broke for a quick repast, then resumed the lessons.

  By the time they got up to eight strokes, in mid-afternoon, Baxter wondered if he were indeed being too harsh and cruel. Though all the punishments had been over clothes, by that time, she had to be getting quite sore. As usual, Lady Syndal had to hold her over the chair and it was clearly a struggle for her. The Princess screamed with each stroke of the belt, though he did not strike very hard, until the sixth swat. Following a loud, prolonged yell on that hit, she broke into tears and began to plead, “No more. Stop. Please, no more. I cannot bear it. Truly, I cannot bear it.” She sobbed in a way that made his stomach clench in sympathy.

  The last two strokes were no more than light touches of the belt to her derriere. Yet even when it was over, instead of jumping up and abusing him loudly, as had been her wont, she remained bent over the chair, sobbing relentlessly. Lady Syndal patted her hair and tried to calm her.

  Baxter lifted her from the chair and turned her toward him. She didn’t resist or protest when he pulled her into his arms and wrapped her up, pressing her face against his chest. Above her head, Lady Syndal caught his eye and nodded toward the door. He nodded back and the woman left the room.

  For a while, he let Fanny cry and wail. Her tears soaked his shirt, but she said nothing.

  He ran his hands through her hair to soothe her and held her close. When she began to calm, he put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. Her eyes were red and swollen. Tears dampened her cheeks. She looked soft, sad, and vulnerable. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and kissed her.

  Her lips quivered and parted slightly in surprise at the contact. She tasted as sweet as the jam in his favorite pastries.

  It shocked him. He’d meant the kiss to be a brief, comforting salute, a sign of affection. Nothing more. But when his lips were on hers, everything seemed to change. He couldn’t bring himself to break the contact. He wanted to know more of her. His tongue couldn’t bear not knowing the taste of her lips, so he swiped it across them, back and forth. She shivered against him but didn’t pull away.

  She opened her mouth a little more. His tongue needed no more invitation to move in, brush across her teeth, and taste the rich, warm depths of her. She moaned deep in her throat. Heat and pressure gathered in his groin as his cock rose in salute to her. Strange. He rarely lost control of a situation so thoroughly, but she was tying him in knots.

  He’d had a few women before, but not a one of them had gotten under his skin to the extent she did. Some of them had been prettier or more attractive than Princess Fanny. All of them had been better-natured, sweeter, more accommodating. It had never occurred to him that sweet and good-natured might prove boring, but at the moment, he couldn’t imagine being excited by a gentle, biddable woman.

  Baxter ran his fingers across her cheeks into her hair. It felt like silk against his hands. Her breasts pressed into his chest. His hands slid down along her shoulders, and around under her arms, fingers spreading so that his thumbs were against the undersides of her breasts. When he nibbled at her lips, she sobbed lightly and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing him even closer against her.

  Lack of breath finally forced him to draw back, but he didn’t let go of her. He half expected her to try to slap or kick him, or at the least call him several names he would certainly deserve. She didn’t.

  Fanny looked up at him, her eyes wide, soft, pleading.

  “Why?” she asked him.

  “Why? Why what?”

  “Why do you kiss me? You don’t care for me. I’m a way to get what you want. Or is that what the kiss is about? Another form of cajolement to induce me to do as you wish?”

  “Why do you assume I don’t care for you?”

  “Why should I assume anything else?”

  Baxter sighed. “In truth, no reason at all. Yet, you should have more belief in yourself. You’re a lovely, attractive woman.”

  “And still you see me only as a way to get what you want.”

  “Not so,” he said, but honesty forced him to add, “Or not only so. Though I might prefer it, and it would certainly make my life and task easier if I did not, in truth, I’ve found I do care for you.”

  “You show it rather oddly then, insulting me and spanking me past bearing.”

  “Not so. Parents discipline their children because they want them to learn proper behavior. They care for their children and want to train them to be ready to deal with the world when they are grown. It’s a pity you did not learn those lessons as a child. It’s that much more difficult now.”

  “You tell yourself it’s so, yet in truth, I believe you only do this to earn the reward my father offers.”

  Baxter drew a deep breath. There was truth in what she said, but yet… “When I first met you that was the case,” he admitted. “Yet over the past couple of days, as I’ve come to know you, I’ve also come to admire many things about you. If your father were to change his mind now and say there would be no reward, I would yet continue to try to teach you.”

  She stared at him, studying his expression, possibly trying to gauge the truth of his words. After a minute, she sighed deeply. “I wish I could believe you.”

  He shook his head. “What are we to do with you, Princess Fanny?” he asked.

  “I wish you wouldn’t spank me anymore. I’m sore enough, in truth.”

  He made a quick decision. “There will be no more today. For the rest of the day, we’ll study other things. How well do you dance?” he asked.

  She shook her head and raised a shoulder. “Not at all well, I fear. I’ve watched others dance, and once or twice attempted to imitate the steps, but it’s another thing for which I seem to have no talent.”


  “Talent has little part to play in dancing of this sort. You simply have to do it often enough to learn the steps. We’ll start with the simplest steps and work from there.”

  The remainder of the afternoon passed more pleasantly than the first part of the day had. Lady Syndal found a lute player to come in and pick various tunes for them, while she called the moves. Baxter partnered Fanny.

  She moved with a natural grace that made watching her a delight, and her innate sense of rhythm meant she learned the moves fairly quickly. They began with the most simple turns and dips, and she mastered those rapidly. It took a bit longer when they moved on to more complicated maneuvers.

  They had their share of missteps and falters, but they didn’t seem to anger and depress her the way their verbal teasing of earlier had.

  Once she’d grasped the various steps, he showed her how to put them together into a simple round dance. Normally it would involve another couple with the four of them in a circle, but failing the presence of others, they imagined a second couple and proceeded with the steps as though they were there.

  She liked dancing. After just the first few rounds, the frown she’d worn most of the day softened and lightened. Her face flushed lightly with the exertion and enjoyment of it.

  “You step lightly, princess,” Baxter said to her as they briefly came shoulder to shoulder on a diamond pattern.

  Her eyes lit with pleasure as she turned to look at him. “Years of working in the garden have made me limber.”

  “It has clearly planted a natural grace in you.”

  A becoming flush rose in her cheeks. “I’ve grown into it,” she admitted.

  “Does it stem from all the work you do for the plants?”

  “I believe it is cultivated along with them.”

  “You thrive as do they. And dancing appears to make you bloom.”

  Her eyes shone with delight as she stepped toward him again “I feel a kinship with the flower opening to the sun.”

  “And where does the light come from in this case?” he asked. “What shines so brightly that your petals unfold to it?”

  Several beats went by before she answered. “Possibly it’s the music that invades my soul. Or perhaps it’s the glitter of your words, my lord, showing me possibilities undreamt before.”

  That stopped him for a moment, as he considered what she implied. “Perhaps there’s light all around you, waiting to nourish you, would you just remove yourself from the shadows,” he answered.

  “Perhaps I’ve never been able to see anything but the shadow until now and knew not that such sunlight even existed.”

  “Perhaps you didn’t wish to know. Your shady place was so comfortable. You felt no need to emerge and see if there was anything else.”

  She stumbled a bit and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. Aware of Lady Syndal watching them, he dared do no more than rub her arms and smile into her shining eyes.

  “I beg pardon, my lord,” she said. “My roots are inclined to tangle themselves.”

  “It’s common for all of us to trip occasionally,” he said as they resumed going through the steps. When she joined hands with him for a twirl, he asked, “But what would you say if your sister were behind you in the line and said to me, ‘Forgive Fanny, my lord, she has no grace’?”

  She stepped back curtseyed and moved forward again. “I’d say, ‘Please forgive Merry, my lord, she is lacking in kindness.’”

  “Perfect,” he said, grinning at her. “And if your father were to say, ‘Fanny, can you not learn to do anything without making a gubble of yourself?’”

  “I’d say, ‘Your pardon, father. Of course I can learn, if someone were so inclined to teach me.’”

  “And he’d say, ‘But you’ve allowed no one to teach you until now. You’ve fought and screamed and driven away all those who would have taught you.’”

  Fanny gave him a wry smile as she curtseyed and twirled. “Is it my fault you’ve found no one who was able to teach me? Until now, that is? I believe the fact that Master Baxter has done so argues that the fault was in the other teachers rather than in myself.”

  He tilted his head toward her as they did a hop and skip step. “Well done!” He threw other insults and derogatory comments at her, but she fielded most of them with equal wit.

  The warning bell sounding the alert that dinner would soon be served interrupted their revels. Baxter dismissed the musician to prepare for the evening.

  “I must needs sort myself out as well before I go down to dinner,” Lady Syndal said. “Will you be coming?”

  “Not this evening,” Baxter decided. “Tomorrow perhaps. Will you have something sent up for us?”

  “Of course,” the lady agreed. “You know the guests are beginning to arrive for the coming nuptials. Will you be continuing your lessons tomorrow?”

  “Aye, but in a somewhat different vein. Lady Syndal, have you a guest list for the celebrations?”

  “I can obtain one.”

  “Excellent. Would you do so tonight? Then come on the morrow and go over it with Fanny. I’d like you to tell her about each person coming. Everything you know of their background, their family, their special interests, and most particularly any gossip concerning them. Can you do this?”

  The lady smiled at him. “Most assuredly. It will be a pleasure in truth. The king frowns on the transmission of gossip. Or so he says in public. Privately, he dotes on it and is much discomforted if he be not the first to know of any good story.”

  “Then I’ll give the morning over to you for a lesson with Fanny. Please have a seamstress here in the afternoon.”

  The lady nodded and departed, giving the pair of them an arch smile as she went. “Do enjoy the rest of the dancing lessons,” she said, in a most suggestive manner.

  “Let’s step through the Black Pattern again,” he suggested.

  Fanny didn’t hesitate. Her eyes were alight and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. If she were at all tired, it didn’t show. He was beginning to feel his breath come hard, but not so uncomfortably that he needed to call a halt.

  A knock at the door preceding the arrival of their dinner spared him the necessity of admitting his lack of stamina. The lamplighters placed fresh torches in the brackets and set them alight while a pair of maids set out platters of bread, meat and vegetables and poured wine into cups for them.

  He held out an arm for the princess when the servants had departed. “Will you join me for dinner this evening, your highness?” he asked with studied formality.

  “My gratitude, my lord, and I will.”

  He helped her to sit before he took a seat opposite, facing her across the small table.

  “No pretending this evening. Just talk so we can relax and be comfortable.” And so it was. He told her about his family, drawing out every funny story he could recall to amuse and entertain her. With so many brothers and sisters, he had a wealth of material to draw upon. Nor did he spare himself. He even recounted the embarrassing time when they all went down to the river for a swim one warm summer’s day. He and his brothers played a game where they chased each other around. He ended up tangled in a thorn bush in his bare skin. It took all of his brothers almost an hour to get him free and left him covered in scratches from head to foot.

  Fanny laughed so hard he feared she would split her clothes.

  After the meal they practiced dancing again, without music or anyone calling the steps. They went through the moves for a couple of line dances, doing the hays and caprioles with imaginary fellow dancers. One that they repeated time and again was called “Toss the Duchess.” Their favorite part was the section that gave it the name: the lady would hop toward her partner, who would catch her in the air and toss her to the side.

  Fanny began doing variations, kicking out to one side or the other or raising her arms and clapping while she floated to the side. When she attempted a pirouette in mid-air, however, she stumbled on the landing and would have fallen had he not c
aught her.

  He should have let her go right away, but instead he pulled her against him. With her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her silky hair alongside his face, and her hands on his arms, he couldn’t bear to release her.

  When she looked up at him, her lips parted slightly, he couldn’t help himself. Her expression begged him to continue, to teach her what a woman could feel. He had to dip his head and taste the sweetness. Her lips were warm and firm. She shivered delicately against him as he nibbled at them. Heat poured through him, gathered in his groin, and pushed his cock to rigid attention. When he probed with his tongue, she opened for him. The inside of her mouth was warm and slick, just as her quim would no doubt be hot and tight and sleek around his cock. His hands stroked down her back and along her sides. She was so warm, so soft, so delightfully alive and full of spirit. “You’re so beautiful,” he said to her. “Clearly the dancing agrees with you. Your eyes are sparkling and the color is high in your cheeks.” He stroked his palms up and down her arms under the loose sleeves of her overgown. “But aren’t you warm? Perhaps if you were to shed this, you would feel cooler dancing.”

  Her large brown eyes went wide for a moment, then a small smile crooked her mouth again. “Perhaps you’re right, my lord,” she said. “Would you do me the honor of assisting me in removing it?”

  “With pleasure.” He loosened the laces that held the overgown in place and helped her slide it off. She looked lovely in just the thin, sleeveless shift covering her tall, slender body.

  “Now let’s do the Surrey Bransle again,” he suggested, holding his hand out for her to partner him in the dance. They did a highly energetic run-through of the dance, ducking around imaginary fellow dancers, adding in extra capers and twirls, touching each other quite a bit more than the dance itself called for. The feel of her hand against his chest was a sweet torture.

  At the end of the dance, she shocked him by saying, “You appear rather flushed and overheated, Lord Baxter. I believe you’d best remove your tunic so you may cool off.” Her tone was serious but a mischievous devil of amusement glittered in her eyes, though she tried to keep her expression otherwise serious.