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PRINCE OF BEASTS

A Royal Love Story

TALES OF MONSTROUS ROMANCE

LYONNE RILEY

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Cover art by Sophie Zuckerman

Cover design by Ash Raven

Copyright © 2023 by Lyonne Riley

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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Contents

Introduction

A Note on Piracy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

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Also by Lyonne Riley

About the Author

Acknowledgments

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Introduction

Queen Dienne’s sworn duty is to protect her people, so when a monstrous race known as the Burbarre arrive threatening to conquer her kingdom, she has no choice but to accept their terms: Marry Prince Jakol, a huge man with great horns and ox-like legs, who has loved her from afar for many years.

Though Dienne vows never to care for the beast who forced her into this marriage, she finds that Prince Jakol is kind, handsome and earnest, and he wants only to please his new wife. There’s no way she could fall for Jakol, especially when his body is so strange and unlike hers—right?

CONTENT WARNINGS

- Coerced marriage

- Detailed sexual situations

- Unusual genitalia

- Breeding kink

- Pregnancy and birth

- Natural disaster (off-page)

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A Note on Piracy

Piracy is a serious concern for small indie authors like me, who have poured many hours into our books. Piracy prevents us from being able to support ourselves and continue to write more.

If you know someone who might enjoy this book, but cannot obtain a copy legally, please reach out to me at lyonne@lyonneriley.com.

If you are reading a pirated copy of the book right now, please also get in touch with me. I want to work with you to get my book into readers’ hands legally.

Thank you for understanding.

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Chapter One

We are next on the Burbarre’s list—to be invaded, conquered, and likely slaughtered.

So many lands lie between my kingdom and theirs that we never worried about the Burbarre. In the high, forested cliffs of my homeland, Fiore, they are like far-off dragons—not quite myth but not quite real. Our children understand that they are not to cross their borders, and that is enough.

We had no reason to fear the Burbarre until they began moving.

Paintings hang in my castle of every major race on our continent. Of course there is us: Humans. Then there are the trollkin, who occupy the northern parts of the world. Then the elves who ride wolves.

And finally, the Burbarre.

We’re accustomed to fighting off trolls, and we erected great walls along their borders to keep them out. For the most part, that works. Scattered throughout my castle are many masterpieces portraying warriors battling an orc, a troll, or a goblin.

But the Burbarre painting? It stands alone in a hallway near the conservatory, depicting an enormous man with great horns and fur that begins at his waist and rolls down the rest of his powerful, ox-like legs. He is bare-chested and wearing only a loincloth, covered in muscle that looks carved from stone. On my way to smell the roses my gardener has been carefully cultivating for me, I always stop to look at it. Throughout my years as queen, I’ve been curious about this creature. He only appears as a monstrous figure with a huge axe in his hand, the blade buried in the mud as if he has given up his fight. It always feels like his deep-set eyes are boring into mine. The Burbarre draws me in and holds me there, riveted to him until a sound or interruption finally tears me away.

There is a great uproar among my advisors when the Burbarre suddenly charge into the elves’ neighboring woods. We consider sending aid, but we have never established any kind of alliance with the elves. No, interfering could set us on a collision course with the Burbarre too, and that’s the last thing Fiore needs. Instead, my advisors and I all hope that the monstrous beasts simply want the towering oak trees and will turn around and leave once they’re finished.

Unfortunately, it’s not long before my scouts return to tell us the Burbarre bludgeoned their way through the elves’ ranks, bringing them to their knees. Our fear grows. My fear grows, and I am right to be afraid. Once the Burbarre have finished taking the elven lands, they turn their sights on us.

I understand at last that we are next.

We arm ourselves as best we can. Every able-bodied person in the kingdom takes up a sword or an axe, or even a backhoe, and my military officers provide brief combat training. We don’t have much time, and our people are not soldiers. No—they are peaceful, hardworking, and kind. They are not meant for war.

Nevertheless, they raise their weapons to defend our kingdom. We arrive to the battlefield ready for whatever our enemies might have for us. And I, as their queen, stand in the front with my sword at the ready. I will be the first to defend my people, and I will do it to the death.

As the Burbarre approach the far hillside, some ride horses bigger than any I have ever seen—great black beasts standing at least three hands taller than any of our own. Many Burbarre travel on foot, too, and they are still astounding figures, standing seven feet tall before reaching the huge horns that grow from their heads. They wear little armor, mainly leather. Both males and females wield swords, axes, and halberds. Their males are as massive as the Burbarre in my painting; their females are lithe, well-muscled, and just as fearsome.

They have come to destroy us. Once their mission is completed, they will stampede over the remains of my people to storm my city, and I still don’t know what we’ve done to earn their fury.

Instead of charging in on their horses as we had predicted, the Burbarre send one emissary on a powerful stallion, demanding to speak with me and only me.

I decide that I will ride to meet him alone.

“You cannot, my Queen,” my generals say. “What if our enemies choose to kill you on the spot? We cannot lose you.”

But it is me the Burbarre wish to speak with, and it is me that they will get. “I am the only one who needs to hear, and decide, what comes next for us,” I tell them, and none dare contradict me. This is what they chose me for.

The empty battlefield is deathly silent as the emissary and I approach one another and stop a few yards apart. I am, I must admit, interested to hear what this messenger has to say. Perhaps there is something I can do to stop this invasion; maybe they have an agreement to propose. Whatever it is, I will eagerly hear it. I cannot bear to see my subjects, my farmers, merchants, and mothers, torn down. As much as I hold my head high, I know that we will fall like so many playing cards.

“Your Majesty, Queen Dienne of Fiore,” the emissary says, putting one fist on his chest and bending at the waist. I didn’t expect them to speak our language, not to mention fluently. “Our commander, Prince Jakol, wishes to speak with you.”

“Is that not what you came for?” I ask. “Tell me what your prince’s terms are.”

“It is not for me to say.” He bows again. “Please, will you come with me so that you may speak to him face-to-face?”

They want me to walk right into the lion’s den? Perhaps this is his plan: To kill me privately and then parade my head around the battlefield to intimidate my forces.

My trepidation must show on my face because the Burbarre adds, “No harm will come to you.”

“How can I believe that?” I ask. “Your people have already done quite a bit of harm on your journey here.”

He nods. “Our prince seeks to unify the world, to bring all of us under a single flag for our peace and cooperation. There will, of course, be sacrifices along the way.”

What foolish nonsense. “This is war, not peace,” I say. “What your people have done is quite contrary to any cooperation.”

“Please,” the Burbarre insists again. “The Prince does not wish it to come to that. Not with you, my Queen.”

So perhaps there is a way out. I wonder what this “prince” has planned and what offer is in store for me if I go along with his request.

“Fine.” If he takes this opportunity to lop off my head and I don’t return, my people will know what to do. My generals don’t need me to wage a war and protect our country. “Take me to him.”

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Chapter Two

The emissary leads me into the dense mass of the Burbarre’s assembled forces, who stamp their feet and clang their weapons together, ready for the fight ahead. They part for us as we approach, and while we freely pass down the long channel, I wonder if they are not clamoring at me.

What a coward this prince is, hiding behind thousands of his soldiers.

Soon we come to a great wagon surrounded by armored guards. It’s decorated with golden ropes and bones in some sick tribute to all the lives the Burbarre have taken. The emissary comes to a halt beside it and dismounts, clearly expecting me to do the same. But I won’t, not until my counterpart emerges to greet me.

I may be at a disadvantage in this negotiation, but there are still customs to uphold and rules to follow. I cannot show weakness.

One of the guards leans into the covered wagon and speaks in a tongue I don’t recognize. This must be the Burbarre language, and it’s simultaneously guttural and musical. Then the guard backs away, and a head emerges from the wagon.

I’m not prepared for how tall he is. The Prince has surprisingly long hair, most of it tied back in a high ponytail with a few long strands hanging in front of his face. They are shiny, smooth, and black as a night sky. He wears a heavy metal chest plate with the crest of an ox carved into it and a chainmail coil across his groin. His legs are bare, or as bare as they can be covered in thick, dark fur. He has hooves, shiny and black like his hair.

His face is what takes me by surprise. His brows are heavy-set, like the Burbarre in the painting outside the conservatory, and his nose is broad. From the middle hangs a gold ring so large that it brushes the top of his lips. I wonder if he was the original subject of the painting because it feels like I know his face well already.

After he steps out of the wagon, he doesn’t approach me. No, first he bows, then gazes up at me with eyes that look like they hold many dark secrets behind them. “My Queen,” he says. “Thank you for coming to meet with me. I am Prince Jakol.”

Then he approaches and holds out his hand as if to help me down from my horse. I ignore it as I dismount. I am as much of a horsewoman as I am a queen. The Prince withdraws the hand and bows again.

“What is it you want to discuss?” I ask, impatience slipping into my voice. Of course, I want to act with propriety and avoid war if I can, but I can’t ignore that he is also a conqueror standing on my doorstep, waiting to raze my kingdom and everything I hold dear to the ground.

“Will you join me in my carriage so we can discuss this privately?” the Prince asks. His mastery of our language is nearly perfect, with only small inflections that remind me he’s not a native speaker.

I have extended a great deal of trust already by coming here, and to ask more of me strikes me as condescension. Does he think I have no wits about me at all that I would simply step into his private quarters alone?

“We can speak out here.” I roll my shoulders back and stand tall.

“I promise, I intend nothing uncouth, Queen Dienne.” The Prince gestures to the wagon again, pulling the curtain back for me. “I merely do not want our conversation overheard.”

I wonder what he wants to tell me that isn’t appropriate for the ears of his subordinates. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be seen as weak when he proposes peace terms—which gives me some hope that I can walk out of this situation without starting a war. There is a chance that here and now, I can prevent a great deal of bloodshed by entertaining this beast of a man.

So with a sharp nod, I agree, and relief spreads across the Prince’s face. Once more, he offers a hand to help me into the carriage, and again, I disregard it and climb up the steps on my own.

There is an odd musk inside the small space, a combination of herbs, spices, and animal. Two broad seats face one another, upholstered with soft leather. Decorations hang in every corner. There was no extravagance spared for the Prince’s personal transport. It makes me dislike him even more to see that he bathes in this sort of wealth in front of his own people.

I sit down uneasily on one of the seats, and soon the Prince joins me, nearly bumping the top of his horns on the roof of the carriage. When he sits across from me, his coil draws up on his lap, revealing even more furry thigh. Only a few more inches, and he would likely be exposing himself to me.

If that’s even how it works. I’m not sure about the Burbarre’s anatomy beyond what is in the painting outside my conservatory.

“Thank you for joining me, Your Majesty,” the Prince says, tipping his head yet again. I find his deference surprisingly civilized, if not a little extravagant. I worry that he is buttering me up for something. “I know I am asking a lot of you to discuss this with me here, in my private quarters.”

“You are.” It was a grand assumption on his part—yet here I am anyway because he has my hands tied. “Why have you brought me?”

“I have a proposal.” He smiles then, and he has nearly perfect straight teeth behind his full lips. “One that could benefit both of our peoples and prevent much unnecessary bloodshed.”

This outright admission of his threat, his intention to conquer us, darkens my heart against him even further.

“No one asked you to come here,” I growl. “There was never any need for war in the first place if you had just stayed in your lands, as we have.”

He nods slowly. “Yes. I have come here of my own volition. The elves would not let us pass, not without a fight, and so I did what I had to do in order to reach you, my Queen.” His eyes watch me closely, carefully, searching my face for something. “I came here for you, and they were merely in the way.”

This is the second time one of them has called me that, but I am not their Queen. “For me? Why?”

Instead of answering, the Prince reaches into a cabinet beside the seats and draws something out. It’s a small, framed painting, and when he holds it up, I gasp.

It’s me. Painted many years ago, of course, when I was still in my youth. It is me nonetheless, with my silver-white hair braided and hanging down my shoulder, my bright blue eyes shining out from the canvas. The look on my face is serious and composed, but my mouth is tweaked on one side, as if entertaining a smile.

He turns the painting back to face himself and gazes upon it with a strange fondness. It unsettles me. How does he have this? I wonder if my own painting is perhaps created in his likeness, too—the resemblance is uncanny. But how could that have come to be?

“I have had this for many years,” he says, still looking down at this oil-and-canvas version of my face. “It hangs in my room, where I can see it every night as I go to bed and every morning when I wake up.”

Well, that’s certainly strange. “Why?” I ask, a tinge of uneasiness in my voice.

“I’m not entirely sure. I am drawn to it.” The Prince looks up at me once more, and there’s an intensity in his stare that prickles my skin.

No, I must not show any weakness. I steel my expression and return his gaze with my own hard one.

“My Queen,” he says again. “I am nearly at the end of my marrying years, but I have not been able to choose a wife. My advisors have brought many beautiful women before me, but none of them bring out my passion.”

I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me. I let him continue anyway, but I’m growing increasingly nervous about what our destination might be.

“It took me many years to realize that it was this. You are burned into my mind.” Prince Jakol puts the painting away, closing the cabinet so gently that it makes no sound. I’m surprised at how fluidly he moves, how elegant and careful he is despite how big and broad his hands are. “I cannot escape it.”

For a split second, I think of how I always stop in front of the Burbarre in my own hallway and stare at it for as long as I can before he starts to see into my soul. It is the same way that now I struggle to look right at his face. Prince Jakol’s eyes feel limitless, bottomless, like they might swallow me up and eat me if I’m not careful.

“What is your point?” I finally ask, feeling both unsettled by the topic and frustrated at how much time this is taking. I don’t know when my generals will decide I’ve been gone too long. That’s when the war will really begin.

The stern set of the Prince’s face slackens, and for a moment, he looks deeply vulnerable. “My point is that I need you,” he says, tone pleading. “Please, Your Majesty—be my wife. Join me in matrimony, share my life with me, and your people will never fear or want for anything again.”

It takes me a while to fully register what he’s said. I replay the words, again and again, to make sure I’ve heard them right.

“Your wife?” I ask, straining with disbelief.

“Yes, of course. You are both beautiful and magnanimous.” His voice is passionate, reverent. “Stories of your heroism, your passion for justice, and your dedication to your people have reached my ears many times.” I’m baffled by this. Not once have I heard of Prince Jakol, but somehow he’s heard of me—in great detail. “Not only would you find a loyal and dedicated companion in me, but our peoples would be joined as well. We could unite the world and then rule over it together.”

I’m both complimented and deeply insulted. He finds me beautiful. He admires me. But he is also mistaken if he believes I have any interest in ruling over other peoples. It’s quite enough for me to keep my own kingdom safe, well-fed, and happy. Not to mention that it is painfully arrogant of him to assume that everyone else should simply kneel to us.

Us. He wants to marry me. That would mean not only joining our royal households but living alongside one another. He would most certainly want heirs, and that presents a whole host of other questions I can’t answer. Is it even possible for a human and a Burbarre to produce offspring? What would that entail? My gaze falls to the coil at his waist, and unbidden, I imagine what he looks like underneath there.

I hear a chuckle and realize I’ve been caught.

“I have been given the gift,” he says, as if reading my mind. “I would be able to keep you quite happy, I believe, my Queen.”

My face goes hot as coals before I can stop it. When I look up, the Prince wears a big, mischievous smile.

“That is not my concern,” I say. “I am not interested in marrying and most certainly not a Burbarre.”

He blinks with surprise. “You had not planned to continue the royal line? To produce heirs who could rule after you?”

I shake my head. “I was not born into the position of Queen,” I say. “It was given to me by my people, the same as all previous queens and kings of Fiore. I was nominated once my predecessor passed away, and it was my advisors who chose me and swore me in.”

“You were chosen,” he says, more to himself than to me. “That makes you all the more marvelous. You are a hero among your people.”

I don’t know what to make of his compliments, but I must shut this down immediately. “I decided long ago that I would not marry. It would interfere with my responsibility to my kingdom. I’m sorry that I must refuse you.”

At this, a darker aura descends on the Prince. “Please, reconsider.” He reaches out to take my hand, but I draw it back from him. “I do not want to go to war with you.”

“Those are your conditions, then?” My voice turns hard and unforgiving. “Marry you, or else die?”

His mouth tilts down when I put it like that, but those are the facts. That is the agreement he’s presenting to me—surrender my entire kingdom to him or put our lives on the line to fight him off.

“I would never hurt a single hair on you.” He clenches one hand, and a darkness descends on his face. “I could not.”

“But my people, my kingdom, are fair game.” It is truly reprehensible to hinge the safety of my entire country on this one decision of mine.

The Prince sighs deeply. “I just want unity in our world. And I want you at my side while I achieve it.”

“I don’t care what you want.” I feel my temper rising into something sharp and bladed. “What about what I want?”

He tilts his head at me. “What do you want?” he asks.

I didn’t expect such an open question, but the answer is easy. “Peace,” I say. “Safety. I want my people to be happy and to have what they need to flourish. I want them to live long, contented lives.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted for your people.” His gaze is intense. “I ask what you, the Queen, want for yourself.”

I pause, because I don’t know the answer right away. It has never even been a consideration in my mind. I am a queen, and my only wants are for my subjects. I have lived my life in service of them.

“I don’t know.” I say it so quietly that I’m not sure if the Prince heard. But he leans forward to hear me better, and I know he has. “It is not a consideration of much importance.”

He smiles. I must admit I like his smile—it’s wide and surprisingly welcoming. Charming, even, with square, flat, white teeth much like my own. This must be some trick of his, pretending he has charisma. “I am not surprised,” he says, “given what I have heard about you, that you would not think at all of your own needs and desires.”

Something about the way he says needs and desires makes me imagine once more what might be underneath his coil. Is that what he means?

“Despite your selfless words, I do not believe that you don’t have wants of your own.” His eyes never leave mine. They are so deep and full of dark, unspoken words that I have to swallow hard to keep myself from looking away. “Whether or not you are aware that those wants exist... that is another matter.”

As much as I want to brush him off, to throw away his invasive questions, I can’t help but ponder them. I have had suitors in the past, before my time as Queen—men and women both who desired me and whom I desired in return. But once I was nominated and then crowned, those desires became secondary.

Slowly the Prince gets up and then kneels in front of me. Now I can see the tail flicking behind him, long and slender, with hair running down the spine to a tuft at the end. When he takes my hand again, the warmth of his big fingers is almost comforting as they swallow up my own, and I find that I don’t pull it back. He draws my knuckles to his lips and kisses them, and a slow tingling spreads up my arm and through my body. It pours like a stream of molten iron downward into my abdomen.

I don’t like what he’s doing to me, yet I remain perfectly still. I’m waiting, I realize, to find out what comes next.

“If you take my hand in marriage,” he says, “I will give you everything your heart desires. Whether it is material objects or pleasures of the flesh, I would be honored to give them to you.”

Pleasures of the flesh. So he does have—

No. I shake my head. I can’t think about this. I can’t even entertain his offer. A human and a Burbarre, married? Enjoying, as he puts it, “the pleasures of the flesh”? It is impossible.

“I hate that it must come to this,” he says, “standing before you with my assembled forces rather than alone on one knee. My intelligence had warned me you would not be open to my offer.”

“So you came to blackmail me with the safety of my subjects instead.” I understand perfectly. He brought his army to my doorstep to show his strength, and he defeated the elven forces so I wouldn’t doubt his threat. He knows my human soldiers hold no candle to his sprawling Burbarre force. My people have lived their lives seeing only peace and prosperity, and they are not suited to fight. He did it all so that I would have no choice but to accept this offer.

Much to my despair, he’s right. If it means the safety of my kingdom, what is a marriage? If it means my farmers and bread-makers and schoolchildren are unharmed, then I truly have no choice.

“I want only their safety and yours,” the Prince says. “And your hand.”

I set my mouth in a stiff line. “Then it will be by force,” I say, injecting the words with as much malice as possible. Even the Prince is taken aback. “Of course, I must say yes if threatened with the pain and death of my people.”

His face falls. He had truly hoped this would go some other way. He thought I would happily oblige rather than be compelled to agree at sword point.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking genuinely ashamed. “This was the only way.”

“Petulant child.” He starts when I say this, eyes wide with surprise. “So driven by your petty desires that you would put the lives of all your people and mine on the line.” I get up to my feet and exit the carriage with the Prince close behind me.

“Please, my Queen,” he calls after me. “You must understand that it is greater than just...”

“Save it.” I scowl back at him. “I will marry you. But I will never, ever forget that you compelled me. You will never derive the pleasure you had hoped for from me. You will regret this.”

There is a genuine sadness on the Prince’s face as I mount my horse. He will get what he wants, but I will never truly give in to him.

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Chapter Three

When I return, my generals are eagerly waiting for me. They check me over, searching for any sign of a struggle, but I wave them off.

“There will be no battle today,” I say. “And no war.”

“You have reached an agreement with the Burbarre?” one of my advisors asks.

All I can do is nod. Tears bite at the back of my eyes as I consider my future, forced to marry a monster. I wonder what our country will look like and how well my people will be treated under our joint rule. What will I lose? What will we lose?

“What great news,” says one of my generals. “How did you negotiate such a peace treaty?”

“With my hand in marriage.”

Gasps and objections rise from the assembly.

“These were the only terms that would not lead to our demise,” I say. “So please, do not argue with me.”

“But a marriage, Your Majesty?” Arnwell, my closest and most trusted advisor, steps forward. “To a... creature?”

I nod. “I share your hesitation. But it is the only option.”

Arnwell bows deeply. “Thank you.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “We will all owe you a great debt of gratitude.” He knows what kind of sacrifice I’m making for them. It does not please me to put such a burden on him.

“No one will owe me any such thing. We will proceed with this wedding as if it is desired and anticipated. The kingdom will get excited for such an event. No one will be the wiser that this was against my will.”

A hush spreads around me. They understand what I’m asking for: A grand, joyous celebration to hide the truth.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Arnwell says, breaking the silence. “We will put on an event that the kingdom has never seen the likes of before.”

I smile. “Very good.” The generals send out the word that an agreement has been reached, and all around us, people cheer and whoop. There will be no war and no death today. I will keep my peaceful kingdom peaceful. Then, soon, it will no longer be just my kingdom.

I hope that I have not made a grievous mistake.

THE MOMENT the agreement is reached, the Burbarre begin erecting sprawling camps just outside the city to house Prince Jakol’s enormous invading force. Thankfully they avoid the adjoining farmlands and villages, never crowding in too close to my people. At least they are considerate.

The following morning, the Prince arrives early at my palace, waiting with his nearest advisors and servants to be let inside. I am sitting at my breakfast table when I’m informed of his arrival.

This is the beginning, I think. The first of many meals together. For now, Prince Jakol plans to stay in a rather marvelous tent in the main Burbarre encampment. But he’ll spend his days at the palace planning the wedding with me. I didn’t expect him to arrive at sunup, ready to get started.

He’s ushered into the breakfast nook, and with as much grace as I can muster, I offer him a seat at the table.

“My Queen,” the Prince says, going so far as to kneel in front of me when he takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I snatch it back and return to my seat.

“No need for that.” My tone is harsh and clipped. There is no reason for us to lean on niceties.

It’s clear by his face that I’ve rained on his sunny day, but the Prince endeavors not to let it show. When he tries to sit at the table, however, the narrow arms of the chair prevent him. I let him struggle for a few moments before calling over a servant to fetch a different chair with no arms.

The servants offer him some breakfast, but he shakes his huge head. “I made sure to eat before coming,” he says. “We have brought plenty of our own food. I don’t want you to think we need any assistance from you or your people.”

Perhaps he wants me to see it as thoughtful, but they wouldn’t be here at all if he hadn’t brought them.

The wedding plans have already begun, and once breakfast is cleared, the event planners come with trays of tiny cakes for us to try. I find that I don’t really taste any of them.

“Where will we rule from?” I ask while Prince Jakol palms a square of red velvet. Might as well get onto the important business immediately.

“As much as I would like to take you home with me,” Prince Jakol says with a raised eyebrow, “I sense that you would be much happier here in your own kingdom.”

He’s not wrong about that. But after all of his “emperor” nonsense, I thought he would see his capital city as the throne of his empire.

“I would prefer that,” I say.

“Then it is decided.” That wide, enigmatic smile of his returns. “We shall rule from here, within my Queen’s kingdom. ”

At least I have won a small victory here, but it is dwarfed by a much greater loss. All of this means that eventually he will occupy the palace with me, even share my royal suite with me, when he is not attending to urgent matters back home.

I’m silent for the rest of the tasting, and the Prince must sense my dark mood because he doesn’t speak either until announcing his favorite of the cakes at the end. I simply nod and agree. His demeanor dampens at my lack of interest, but he says nothing.

The plans proceed in earnest, and we are asked to choose tablecloths and flower arrangements, all of which I had expected Prince Jakol to care little for. His wardrobe is made up of leather and fur, after all, and his primary decorating materials seem to be bones. Yet he peruses each fabric sample with interest and has no qualms about expressing his preference for blue over rose or bright-colored flowers over plain white ones. He doesn’t question my choices, either—which feels like a honeymoon phase that will pass.

We discuss the political merging of our kingdoms over dinner one night as the wedding draws nearer. While Prince Jakol has maintained a powerful armed force, we have never required a standing army.

“Mine will more than make up for it,” he says amiably. “And what is mine is yours, my Queen.”

“I think you misunderstand. I am not in need of a military.”

He furrows his brow, a spoonful of soup almost to his mouth. “But you will. We will when we move on the trollkin to the north.”

“No.” I inject it with as much force as I can. “We will leave the trollkin alone.”

The Prince narrows his eyes. “The plan is to unite the world—the entire world. For all of our peace, our prosperity.”

“No.” I curl my hand into a fist on the table. “You already created chaos in the elves’ woods, already stole so many fathers and mothers away from their children.”

The way he’s looking at me, it’s as if he had never seen it that way. “But it was a necessary—”

I cut him off quickly. “You will leave the trollkin to themselves.”

The Prince’s jaw twitches. “But it is part of our empire, my Queen,” he says, sitting up to his fullest height as if to prove his strength to me. “The one we will build together and rule over together. And it will be a better world.”

How can one man—one Burbarre—be so arrogant? So utterly and terribly full of himself?

“You would sit from on high, gaze down upon strangers, and tell them your way of life is better than theirs?” I ask. The Prince wilts a little under my harsh, accusatory tone. “As if you are someone so superior, who knows what peace is while you raze the southern woods to the ground?”

“But the trollkin,” he objects, much less at ease now, “they are not a peaceful people. They—”

I interrupt him again. “You came to me as a Prince in search of a Queen, did you not?”

He is clearly flustered. “Yes.”

“Then, as your Queen, I insist you stop this ridiculous quest. The trollkin won’t acquiesce to your terms as I have. It will be nothing but blood, and it is not worth risking the lives of our people for their frozen wasteland.”

As much as it clearly grates him, Prince Jakol considers my words. Then he takes a long, shuddering breath and puts his spoon back down.

“You would ask me to step down from the goal that has driven me since my youth, since the day my father passed away?” he asks. While his words are careful, his eyes are soft, seeking my understanding. “This is all he ever wanted—to quell the trollkin’s pillaging and bring our world under a single flag.”

I turn his previous question around on him. “But what do you, as the Prince, want for yourself?”

This brings him to an abrupt halt. Prince Jakol shoots me a smile that says my wit has pleased him immensely.

“I have wanted only a Queen as lovely, thoughtful, and wise as you,” he says. He claps a hand on the table, shaking all of our plates and utensils. “Then it shall be as my wife commands. We shall not move on the trollkin territory.”

Perhaps we aren’t married yet, but the Prince already acts like we are.

“Thank you.” At least I will have this much.

“Of course,” the Prince says, his tail sweeping in wide, languid arcs behind him to display his contentment. “I want only your happiness.”

This does seem to be the case. He asks for my opinion on everything related to the merging of our kingdoms and accepts all of my answers without argument. This, too, feels like a honeymoon phase that will pass. And then what? When we do finally disagree, who will win? For now, my husband-to-be seems eager to please me in political matters, but I wonder how long it will be before my obstinance gets under his skin.

Far too quickly, it is the day of the wedding. I sense there is suspicion among my subjects that such a hurried affair was consensual, but they turn out in great numbers anyway to witness it. It is a beautiful event, with trellises erected everywhere, covered to bursting with bright foliage. The air is filled with the sound of cheers and adulation as I emerge from the palace, dressed in a long blue gown with a train so expansive that it must be carried so I can walk. Arnwell has his arm tucked in mine, both as my advisor and as my only true friend.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as we pass down the road, my subjects throwing flower petals into the air above us. They float down in a magnificent storm of color. “You will always have my deepest gratitude.”

I don’t know what to say. Sure, I do pity myself deep down. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I also know it won’t help me to nurse this feeling and allow it to take over. No, I cannot survive unless I set aside my own fears and desires and think only of the needs of my people. Then, perhaps, I will feel happy.

When we approach the altar, I’m surprised by what I see. Prince Jakol stands there, a silver crown on his head that matches mine. It is humble and not filled with jewels—also like mine. He wears what must be Burbarre ceremonial garb, with a long, gold sash hanging from his neck. Otherwise, his chest is completely bare, and I’m surprised by how well-muscled he is, shining as if he’s been buffed. He is naked down to his waist, where the sweeping line of his groin muscle vanishes under a gold wrap that matches his sash. Braided ropes dangle down, and there are bronze metal rings all along his legs, from his high ankle joint down to his hooves. His legs are certainly strange but becoming more familiar to me by the day. Even his hooves have been shined.

His smile is wide and genuine when I approach. His eyes travel from my face, down my dress, then back again.

“You are most lovely,” he says with reverence. I don’t doubt for a moment that his words are true, but he will not buy me with compliments. He will not buy my feelings at all.

“Thank you.” I try not to look at him as Arnwell releases my arm and the Prince takes it. “You look good as well.” I suppose I don’t have to say it, but it feels like I should. He clearly went to great effort to be appealing today. His horns are polished and also wrapped in bronze rings. Even his skin has a glow about it.

Prince Jakol squeezes my hand tight. “Thank you,” he says. “That means the world to me.”

It does not take much to please him, of that I’m sure.

The wedding ceremony is slow and arduous. I must hold the Prince’s hand the whole time, but rather than repulsing me, I find the contact makes me feel less alone. He glances sideways at me and rolls his eyes as the officiate drones on. At least I’m not the only one bored to tears by this grand ceremony.

Then, the officiant gestures at us. “It is time to consummate the marriage.”

I turn to the Prince, and he to me. I swallow hard as I gaze upon his face, the one I must kiss in front of everyone. It should fill me with fear and disgust, but instead... I wonder what his generous lips will feel like against mine.

Gently Prince Jakol draws me toward him. He searches my eyes, and I can hear the held breaths of all of my people and his in attendance. It feels like he is trying to tell me something with those eyes, but I don’t know how to hear his voice in them yet.

I just want this to be over, so I’m the one who reaches up to kiss him first. His mouth is stiff with surprise but quickly becomes eager. He gently takes my lower lip in both of his, savoring it before he turns his attention to my upper lip. I had intended this to be a peck, but now his tongue is tracing my mouth, and I find that without my permission, it has opened for him. He presses in further, and I feel his arms tighten around my waist as his tongue invades me.

I’m swept away by it. I have not been kissed in many, many years, and I have no resistance built up to the way he is wrapping his lips around mine while he pulls my body closer. A sharp spark flies down my throat, into my chest, and then spiders out across my belly to all the places where his bare skin touches my dress.

It is not until the whoops and cheers of the Burbarre fill the air that I realize I’ve gotten utterly lost in him, and I yank myself away. The Prince blinks with confusion, but then his face morphs into a pleased smile.

He took me by surprise, nothing more. I don’t scowl with my mouth, but I do with my eyes, and the smile falls from his face.

Now we are married, and dread is building in my belly for what comes next. I have a husband as of this day, and he is a monster.

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Chapter Four

Luckily there is a great feast planned after the wedding, so I can postpone our first night alone together for a while longer. Perhaps he will not expect too much of me, not yet—but I’m not ready to be alone with him, either.

Each of my advisors offers us a gift, as do all of my regional leaders, who have traveled for the celebration. They bring us fine wine, matching silver goblets, and reams of golden cloth. The Burbarre, too, have prepared their own tributes of bronze rings, jewel-crusted weapons, and rare furs. Prince Jakol has his own advisors, who sit on the opposite side of the table from us. Some of them know our language and some don’t; those who can communicate do so, clearly trying to build alliances with my people. A great effort is being made to unify with us.

Fiore is slipping from my fingers and into the Prince’s wide-open hands. Soon everything that is mine will be his. But this was the price, I remind myself, of saving my people. I can only hope that he doesn’t squander all the work my predecessors have done to build this kingdom.

Once the feast is finished, I can no longer put off the night. It feels like a dragon rising from its hole and creeping closer and closer to my castle until its eyes are peering in the windows.

“If you would, my Queen?” Jakol stands up and offers me his hand.

“To King Jakol!” One of his advisors says, raising a glass in a toast. Everyone at the table cheers, and I had forgotten for a moment that marrying me has made him a king in his people’s eyes. Perhaps this is part of why he sought me out, to become the king he’s always wanted to be, just like his father.

I feel like my body has separated from my mind as Jakol guides me out of the banquet hall. We have never visited my quarters before—it was not necessary until now—and so he stands in the hallway, waiting for me to lead him to where we’ll now sleep.

Together.

A slow tightening begins in my chest as I imagine what will happen there. It’s been a long and momentous day, and I am thoroughly exhausted. I hope that excuse will suffice for tonight.

“My Queen,” Jakol says in a low voice, only for my ears. I realize I’ve been standing there for some time without moving, and my head jerks to look up at him. He takes my hand and runs his thumb over it. “Please know that I will not ask of you anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

I wonder if it’s too late to ask not to marry him at all. I hadn’t been comfortable all day—well, except for the moment that he kissed me. But I must not think about that.

All I can do is nod. It seems that, at least for tonight, I’ll be safe.

When we reach my quarters, Jakol waits for me to open the door and follows me inside. It is strange to see him here, a juxtaposition of my soft bed with its yellow duvet and white pillows up against his horns and furred legs. He looks like an invader here, and I suppose that he is.

“May I?” he asks, and travels around to stand behind me. I’m not sure what he wants, not until he sweeps up some of my hair in his hands. It’s all bound back, arranged into a neat pile on my head with many small pins and clips, only a few calculated strands hanging down. I will need help freeing my hair from its bonds, so I nod, and he begins to disassemble it one barrette at a time until my long hair falls down my back. He gently combs his fingers through it, untangling the parts that have become wound up and knotted. When he’s finished, I feel Jakol’s large hand run over my head, down the length of my hair, then come to rest on my back. I don’t move as he leans so close that his breath blows a few strands in front of me. A slow pulsing starts in my chest with him so close, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or anticipation.

Then he kisses the exposed skin on my shoulder, sending a sharp bolt of electricity into my neck. It’s so sudden and shocking that I twist away, and Jakol quickly removes his hands.

“My apologies,” he says, and by his blush, I don’t think he meant to do it. He doesn’t try to compliment me or make excuses. He simply watches as I stalk into my closet and close the door behind me.

Once I’m alone, I take a few deep breaths. Just like the first kiss, his lips on my skin felt good—I can’t deny that, not for a moment. But I must remember that this is simply a natural reaction to physical intimacy. It’s been so long since I experienced it with anyone that I’m too susceptible now, and no barriers have coalesced around me to protect my vulnerable emotions from invaders.

He said that he won’t ask me to do anything I don’t want, but how long will that last? Perhaps all of his kindnesses are ticking clocks. King Jakol will certainly want heirs, as his royal line is determined by blood and not nomination. What does that mean for me someday?

I can’t think about that. No, I must take it one day at a time and hope that eventually, I will feel something for him besides repulsion. He may someday grow tired of waiting for me, and my throat closes just imagining it. I wish I could simply sink into the floor.

Eventually, I change into my bedclothes, and that’s when it occurs to me just how much my sheer nightgown gives away. I should have had something else made, something less revealing, but the thought never even crossed my mind. I will just have to bear it.

When I return, Jakol sits on the bed with one leg held out as he removes each bronze ring from his ankles. He is still wearing clothes on his bottom half, thank goodness, but I have a feeling that will not last.

He turns to face me when I reappear, and his mouth falls open. I can see in the mirror behind him what he sees: My pink nipples are clearly visible through the fabric, as is the mound of hair between my legs. The gown ends below my knees, and my feet are bare.

“Oh,” is all he says. Then he quickly averts his eyes, and his shoulders tighten. “I could sleep on the floor.” He doesn’t look at me as he talks. “If that would be easier for you.”

What? A king sleep on the floor? He is only being considerate, I know, but that is ridiculous.

“No.” When he looks up at me, I return it with a glare. “We will have to sleep in the same bed eventually, will we not?”

I’m answered with a stiff nod. “It would be ideal, given that we are married now,” he says, uneasy. “But—”

I sigh. “Exactly. So, no. Sleep in the bed.” I climb in on one side and slide under the blankets as far as I can without disappearing. I keep close to the edge while Jakol crawls in on the other side.

“I won’t touch you,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to hide over there.”

“I’m comfortable right where I am.”

Jakol nods, his horns tapping against the headboard. “Of course.”

I extinguish the light, and darkness falls in my room. Our room now, I suppose. It’s difficult to relax knowing a great beast shares my bed with me, but eventually, I hear Jakol’s breathing even out, and the gentle sway of it lulls me into sleep.

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Chapter Five

When I wake up, however, I find myself curled up against something—no, someone—quite warm, soft, and sturdy. For a moment, I forget where I am and what happened last night. Then the wedding comes flooding back, and I jolt awake.

A big arm is lying underneath my neck like a pillow, and another is sprawled across my waist. My bare legs are pressed against his furry ones, and they’re plush under my skin. I can smell Jakol all around me, and it’s a musky, sweet scent that I don’t find nearly as repulsive as I expected. It’s full and thick and comforting, like a well-used blanket.

I pull away, and Jakol’s arm falls to his side. He’s still fast asleep with his head turned toward me on the pillow, horns just grazing the ornate headboard. I wonder if he pulled me close during the night or if I’m the one who rolled toward his heat. With his eyes closed like this, the Burbarre looks gentle and peaceful and not at all like the conqueror who arrived a few weeks ago.

Rolling onto my back, I cover my face with my hands and try to breathe deeply. Everything about this is wrong. I shouldn’t feel so at ease, so comforted by a monster like him being in my bed.

I slide out of the covers, and that’s when he wakes up. Jakol yawns, exposing both rows of white teeth. The canines are just a little sharp, a little more protruding than mine, but his tongue is the exact same pink. When he registers me moving away from the bed, he smiles a broad smile.

“You don’t have to go.” Languidly he reaches one arm toward me. “Come on. Just a little longer. You’re tired after yesterday, aren’t you?”

I shake my head rapidly and dive into my closet, calling over my shoulder, “Sorry. Lots to do today.”

I change out of my gown as fast as possible, vowing to get something else I can wear to sleep that’s less revealing. When I emerge in my day clothes of a fitted shirt and pants, Jakol is still in bed, and he looks surprised.

“You dress like a man,” he says. His dark eyes take me in from head to foot. “I mean that in a good way. It’s practical. I like it.”

I can’t stop the blush that floods my face. I don’t need to be hearing this.

“This is what I wear daily unless I have to make a public appearance.” And no one will be expecting the newlywed couple to be appearing anywhere for a few days at least. Then we’ll be off on our scheduled “honeymoon,” which is an absurd concept, really. I need to be here running my kingdom, not gallivanting around the countryside with my beast of a husband. It’s not as if we’ll enjoy it the way a traditional couple might, anyway.

“Hmm,” Jakol says as he sits up. The covers fall down, exposing his full, muscled chest. Then he gets out of bed as well, and that’s when I realize that he slept next to me absolutely naked, and I just couldn’t tell with the fur that runs down his hips and legs. His tail flicks from side to side as he searches the floor for something.

I don’t know what I expected. A big, furry penis, I suppose. But instead, there’s just a large lump between his legs with a splash of white fur at the front. When he notices me looking at him, the white fur parts to either side and the tip of what looks like a cock starts to emerge. It’s the same color as the rest of his skin—a bright tan, with a soft, pink head.

So that’s how it works. It’s hidden under there unless summoned. I’m too fascinated to look away, so Jakol hastily covers himself and turns around.

“Damn,” he hisses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t want that to happen.” He kneels down, grabs the ceremonial coil he wore yesterday, and puts it around himself. Immediately I turn away, too, and my entire body must be bright, ruby red.

I can’t believe I was just staring at him like that. And yet, part of me wanted to know—to understand—what I’m dealing with under there. I hate that I didn’t find it disgusting. No, I wanted to keep watching. I wanted to see what it would become.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean... I didn’t mean to...”

A gentle hand lands on my shoulder. I spin around, intending to jerk away, but Jakol is there gazing down at me with a soft look that stops me in my tracks.

“It’s all right, you know.” His hand travels up my neck and stops to rest at my jaw. “We’re married. It’s okay to look.”

I take a few sudden steps back. “I-I just—”

“You’re not ready yet.” He nods, and his hand falls to his side. “I’ll be here when you are.”

I don’t want to tell him that time will never come, that I’ll never want anything to do with his naked body or that... whatever it was. “Right,” is all I say, and I head to the door. “I’m going to get breakfast.”

And before he can answer, I’m headed outside, trying to get as far away from the naked Burbarre as I can.

But there’s no escaping him, not anymore. He joins me at the dining table, and the cooks bring us all the eggs, bacon, and potatoes that anyone could want. I’m always surprised at how delicately Jakol eats. He probably has better table manners than I do.

An air of awkwardness hangs between us, quiet and thick. I’ve grown accustomed to Jakol always making some jovial remark to ease the tension in the room, but I guess it’s up to me this time.

“How did you learn all of our customs?” He acts like a natural in the royal palace. “You have such good manners.”

“I studied your ways for a long time,” he says, finally taking his eyes off his plate of food. “I wanted to know how to live alongside you.”

“Sure, of course,” I say matter-of-factly, but I am a little surprised to hear it. How long has he been thinking about me? How long has he wanted to marry me? It’s a baffling thing to imagine that I’ve filled his thoughts for years—long enough to understand and learn our customs, while I had never once thought of his.

“What will you do today?” Jakol asks.

“My job.” I’ve been so occupied with the wedding the last few weeks that many important tasks have fallen by the wayside. “I have a lot to catch up on.”

“Can I help you?” He looks eager, like a young dog waiting to be given a task.

“No.” I get up from the table, not quite finished with my food but quite finished with the conversation.

Jakol sighs. “Eventually, we will have to rule together.” He traps my eyes with his, and I know that he’s right. But today, I’m too frazzled to give anyone a lay of the land. I just want to be by myself for a while.

“Yes, of course.” I neaten my shirt. “I’m sorry, but today I have too much to do.” And with that, I pivot and leave the dining room, headed straight for my study.

Arnwell is already at his own desk that sits across the room from mine. He jumps when I storm inside and shut the door behind me.

“I wasn’t expecting you today, Your Majesty.” He looks surprised. “You had quite the day yesterday.”

“All the more reason I need to be here. There’s a lot I left undone.”

He just smiles at me. “I took care of it for you. What I could, anyway. There are a few notes of congratulations from some of the regional leaders.” Those who could not attend the wedding have sent the various letters and gifts that now adorn my desk.

“I’ll thank them right away.” That gives me something immediate to do, at least. I lose myself in it as long as I can, but when I’m done, Arnwell is just watching me.

“May I ask a personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think you can be happy?” he asks. “With the Burbarre prince. I mean, king.”

I’m not sure what I had expected, but it wasn’t that. My eyes drop to the floor because I don’t want to look my friend in the eyes as I lie to him. “Sure. Why not?”

“Do you think you can ever love him?”

Now the questions are feeling too personal. Of course, I’ll never love a monster.

I just shake my head in silence.

“I see,” says Arnwell with a long sigh. “I hope that he is kind to you, at least.”

After last night and this morning, I have hope that he will be. For now, Jakol seems intent on keeping a polite distance, at least while we’re awake.

“Yes. He is.”

I see the relief on Arnwell’s face. “Good. That is the least we can ask for.”

I search for other things to do, but my advisor really has finished the majority of the hard work for me. All that’s left are a few decisions that require a higher level of authority—mine, specifically. I authorize a new trade route and allocate funds for more guards to be stationed near the Burbarre camps to prevent any fighting between their people and mine.

“We will have to find something to do with them,” Arnwell says. “We should consider integrating them into our society.”

“Integrating them?” I’m aghast. “But many don’t even speak our language. We don’t know if they can be trusted.”

“You married their king,” he points out. “Eventually, you will have to trust them. Perhaps inviting them into our society could create some goodwill—and perhaps trust, down the line.”

Usually, I don’t mind so much when he’s right, and I’m wrong, but I feel short-tempered and frustrated. I don’t want everything to change, especially not this fast. I just want to rewind to before the Burbarre ever showed up—and when my life, while stressful, all made sense to me.

“Fine,” I say, some petulance in my voice. He presents a good argument. “Authorize locations where they can build, near human settlements but not too close. Don’t take away anything that belongs to one of our people. We will have the regional leaders send additional supplies for them to build with.” I tap a pile of papers together on the desk. “Please draft the necessary missives.”

“That’s very generous of you, Your Majesty. I think it will be received well by your new husband.”

My husband.

It drives a neat little stake into my heart. This man—this animal—is my husband now, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

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Chapter Six

As Arnwell predicted, Jakol does take it well.

“Some of my people will return home, but many will choose to stay if welcomed this way.” Not only is he taking it well, but he’s smiling a big, dumb grin that, as much as he tries to put it away, remains on the edges of his mouth. I’ve made him very happy by inviting his people to stay, and I don’t like how satisfied it makes me.

“It will ultimately be better for both of our countries,” I say. I have to be practical about this. I can’t change who I’ve married, so I have to find the best path forward for the sake of my people. They are as wise as they are kind, and I’m sure they will treat their new Burbarre neighbors as neighbors.

“I’ve always so deeply admired your people and their earnestness,” Jakol says. “It is no wonder they chose you. I knew that I could learn much about how to be a better ruler from you.”

He, too, is in charge of the well-being of thousands, maybe more. I wonder what I could learn from him and the way that he rules.

“I suppose you could come to the office with me for part of tomorrow,” I say. It will have to happen eventually if we are to do this together. “I should know as much as I can about your country if I am going to be of any help to you.”

“Of help to me?” He seems perplexed. “And you want to know more about my homeland?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want.” I should make this clear to him. “This is how I become the best guardian for my people that I possibly can—by making this professional relationship work.”

The big grin melts away. Jakol just nods. “I understand.”

“Good.” He looks chastened, but it doesn’t make me feel better to be the one who did it. I push my food away and sigh. “Perhaps we should go for an after-dinner walk.”

A brightness returns to him. “I’d love that.” Jakol is on his feet right away, and I remember just how tall he is when he stands next to me, more than a head and a half above mine, before the horns start.

When we’re outside, he holds out one arm to me, and my better manners lead me to take it. Then he guides me into the garden behind the castle that overlooks the cliff.

“An interesting decision to build here,” he says, coming to a stop at the wall closest to the edge. “A little close for comfort.”

“Do your kind not build this way? We always have put our castles and fortresses atop hills and cliffs.”

He shakes his head, and I realize that his eyes are a little too wide. I think he’s afraid of heights. “No. We build low to the ground, sometimes inside hills or caves. Not as much anymore, but that’s where we’re drawn.”

Then it’s even more brave of his own people to relocate here. “Luckily, most of the new settlements are down in the lowlands near the farms and ranches,” I say. “Your civilians should be more comfortable there.”

Jakol gently caresses my arm, then moves down until his hand is cupping mine. I don’t pull away—that would feel impolite. “Thank you,” he breathes, and it’s so low I almost can’t hear it. His voice has dropped to a tenor I’ve never encountered before. “That means the world to me.”

Suddenly, very much against my better nature, I want him to breathe like that against my neck the way he did the other night. I want to feel his warm hand against my skin. Before I realize it, I’m staring up into his big, dark eyes, and he’s looking right back at me.

“I hope that I can truly earn your affection someday,” he says, still using that deep, quiet voice, his fingers entwined with mine. “I will do whatever it takes to make you feel happy and comfortable with me.”

But can I promise the same? My instinct is to harden myself to him, to wall my heart off. He forced me into this. I can hold it against him forever and make him wish he had never done it at all—punish him for his selfishness for both of our lifetimes.

There is a second option I hadn’t considered. Maybe, if I tried to make this work, it wouldn’t be as intolerable. Maybe I could come to like small things about him enough not to drag my misery into every other part of my life. I would hate to become a bitter old queen who takes it out on those around me.

“I will try,” I say at last. “I will try, as much as I can, to find that happiness.” It almost gags me coming out. I feel like I’m betraying everything about myself. It is against my deepest principles to allow myself to want this man—no, this beast. But I’m also tired of fighting the truth that down in some darkened place, I want a repeat of the wedding day when he teased my mouth open and his hands pulled me flush against his nearly bare chest. No, I wouldn’t terribly mind that.

Jakol’s hand grips mine a little bit harder, and I find myself stepping into him instead of away. I can hear his heart beating faster as he leans toward me, so far down that his mouth is just a breath away from my ear. “Thank you,” he whispers. “You will not regret giving me a chance.”

Already the feel of his words against my neck has sent a signal straight down into the cavity between my legs. It’s like the first time we met, and he kissed my knuckles, but now I don’t need to imagine what King Jakol looks like underneath his coil. I already know how he kisses, what he smells like as he sleeps, and what he looks like all over.

Gently, his lips press to my neck just underneath my ear. I can’t help the little gasp that escapes me, followed by another when he moves his mouth further down. He doesn’t try to pull me closer or block off my escape—I could draw myself away from him at any time, and we would no longer be touching.

But I don’t. My breaths are coming faster when he stops at my collar and raises his head to look into my eyes. He doesn’t say anything to me or ask any questions. He doesn’t need to because I can see in his eyes what he’s planning when he leans in to kiss me.

This time his mouth is more aggressive, and I find that mine immediately opens for him without my consent. He traverses my lips, memorizing them, teasing them, and sucking them until I wonder if they might bruise. Then he invades deeper, and again, I let him. I want to get pulled into this sudden vortex I find myself in. As I return the kiss just as fiercely, my mind’s eye is racing through a million possible scenarios. It’s been so long since I had any intimacy with anyone that I’m suddenly overcome by trepidation. I don’t know what could happen if we move further than this.

Jakol must feel me freeze up, because he carefully pulls away from the kiss and peers at me. “Is everything all right, my Queen?”

“Dienne,” I say. “C-call me Dienne.” It doesn’t feel right for a king to refer to his wife that way. It makes us seem like strangers when now we are anything but.

The smile that takes over him is grateful but also veiled, like something more sensual and hungry lies behind it. It’s the same look he got in his eyes when he found me staring at him in our bedroom, and then that white fur at his crotch parted—

“Dienne.” He says my name like he’s turning it over in his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it in a way that makes me wonder what else he could wrap his tongue around. “I have always thought it a wonderful name.”

When he kisses me again, he finds me pliable and willing because already I can feel myself hungering for more. A little animal inside me has come to life that I had forgotten even existed, and it is scrabbling at the doors to be let out.

No. It is much too soon to be thinking these sorts of thoughts, surely—far too premature to be imagining what he looks like when he emerges all the way out of that fur pouch.

That’s when I remember that I am, in fact, now married to him. All pretense is gone. There is no last barrier left to climb. It is not only encouraged but expected of us.

When our mouths part again, Jakol and I are both gasping. He sets me down, and only then do I realize he had been holding me so tight that he lifted me up off the ground.

“Dienne,” Jakol says, not releasing me from his embrace, “shall we go inside now? It is beginning to get chilly out.”

He’s not wrong. While he might burn hot as a furnace and come equipped with built-in cold weather gear, I am woefully bare in my short sleeves and lightweight pants.

“Yes, please.”

Jakol doesn’t release my hand as we make our way back across the garden to the rear entrance of the palace. There are a few staff still milling about, but when they see us coming, they scurry away to give us privacy.

What will happen when we return to our quarters? It’s as if some initial wall has been breached between us after those kisses, and I’m not sure if we can go back now. What if he wants something more? Do I want something more?

Jakol twines my fingers with his. “What is on your mind, my Queen?”

“Um...” I try to find the words. “Maybe we could keep walking before we retire?” Perhaps I can delay it a little longer.

He gives an easy nod and gestures for me to lead the way. “I would love to.”

A tense air follows us as I lead him through different rooms he hasn’t seen before—the ballroom where we host the regional leaders when they visit, the library, and the conservatory. This is where I most love to go and spend my few free hours. As I crouch down to smell a flower, I hear Jakol’s low chuckle.

“So this is your place, is it?” He kneels beside me and delicately inhales the flower’s sweet scent. “Ah, it smells good, like you.”

The compliment sets me off balance for a moment. Then I remember how it felt to wake up in his arms this morning, surrounded by the warm, hearty taste of him. Maybe I do understand.

“You like how I smell?” I’ve never had anyone say that to me before.

“Oh, very much,” Jakol hums, rising to his hooves once more and offering me an arm to help me up. This time, I take it. Strength ripples through him as he easily brings me to my feet. “You smell like spring. Like a daisy taking its first breath. But you also have a sweeter scent when you sleep.” Still holding me close, Jakol leans down and inhales against my hair, ruffling it. “That’s when I’m reminded of home, of playing in meadows as a boy and swimming in clear lakes. You take me back to that place.”

I’m still as a rabbit as I take these words in, tasting them, learning them, filling my heart with them. But I must remember that being good with words does not mean anything. It is actions that truly speak.

I’ve gotten much too comfortable, much too quickly. When I step away to move onto my roses, Jakol’s hand falls to his side. He pauses, watching me as I depart as if he is analyzing what’s made me flee.

When we’re finished with the conservatory, we enter the hallway outside and come face-to-face with the painting—the one that looks as if it could be a portrait of King Jakol himself. His steps halt when he catches sight of it. He searches the painting, eyebrows drawn down, and the silence stretches between us. Then he turns to me with a strange, serious look.

“Where did you get this?” he asks carefully. I don’t know why it sends a shiver down my spine to see him so severe.

“It’s always been here,” I say. “Since I was inaugurated. It is the only depiction of the Burbarre in the whole castle.”

Surprise flashes across his face. Then, shaking his head, he returns to studying the painting.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s much too strange,” he says. “That I would have you, and you would have me.”

“Is this really you?”

At my question, the tension in his face eases. “Yes.” With a great sigh, he reaches for my hand and sweeps it up into his. “Down to the scar on my forehead.”

“I hadn’t noticed a scar,” I say.

He tilts his head down and arches an eyebrow, observing the vast difference in our heights. “How would you?”

I have to chuckle. “Good point.” Surreptitiously I straighten the painting, as I always do when I pass down this hallway. How many times have I stopped and stared at it, and it turns out that I was looking into my future husband’s face? He’s at the peak of his young adult years in the painting. He looks harder, angrier, more terrifying. Was that who he was, once upon a time?

“How did this happen?” I ask.

“I’m not sure.” A faint smile is catching on his lips. “But isn’t it strange? I had no idea that you knew me already.” I don’t like the hint of knowing in his eye, as if he sees something that’s invisible to me.

“I didn’t. It’s just a painting.” And yet I remember how it made me feel the first time I saw it: I admired, even desired, the primal power visible in his every muscle and the fierce intensity in his eyes.

“Of course it is,” Jakol says amiably. “Perhaps the same traveling artist passed through both of our kingdoms. I have had many portraits painted over the years. I can’t possibly remember all of them.” But I’ve gotten to know his tells now, just a little, and I sense this holds greater significance to him than he’ll admit.

I can’t help but wonder, as Jakol takes my hand in his and we continue down the hall, if the paintings are a sign I don’t know how to read yet.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Seven

When we finally return to my quarters—no, our quarters—Jakol doesn’t pressure me to do anything besides kissing, which I participate in more eagerly than I would like. Even when we’re in bed together, he simply splays his hand across my hip and presses his lips to my forehead, then promptly falls asleep.

Maybe this could be tolerable. Maybe I can find my way through and discover some semblance of normalcy in my life with Jakol.

The following day, I decide to invite him into my office and start showing him what I do. We’ll be leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow, and I have a lot to take care of before I’m gone for two weeks. It pains me to leave the kingdom right when they need me most, but this is expected of us. It is all part of the illusion of happiness I’ve sold to my people.

Jakol catches on quicker than I’d expected of him, learning the way that I like to handle new issues as they come in. He oversees the building of the Burbarre settlements and humbly writes up a request for how much lumber, stone, and iron they will need to erect permanent structures. His gratitude is palpable in every word. As we stand side-by-side over the desk, I find his hand straying to the small of my back, where he gently strokes as I speak. It’s comforting, in a way, and I don’t know what to make of it.

We take another evening walk that night, and this time our hands easily link together as we explore the garden. Jakol stops me underneath a flowering cherry tree, its pale pink petals gliding down around us in a wispy, sweet-smelling cloud. Gently he brushes one off of my hair.

“It was lovely to watch you work, my Queen,” he says, voice dropping to that low, rumbling tone that I’ve learned now is reserved only for me. I want to bring it close to my chest and hold it there. “You are wise and decisive. I have much to learn from you.”

The way the words fall from his lips, I know that they’re genuine, and I decide that this time, I will let his compliment in. It buoys me as he tilts my chin up, his earnest face leaning down close to mine, and takes my lips in his.

This time when we kiss, his large hands roam a little more freely, exploring the curve of my hip, drawing warm trails up and down my arms. I find that it’s not enough. The more we sink into each other, the more I want his hands in other places—but he is careful where he touches me, never straying anywhere too intimate, too personal.

I’m surprised to find myself asking, “Should we go to bed, then?”

My question pleases him immensely, and Jakol is radiant as he agrees.

I can’t tell which of us is leading as we walk down the halls toward our quarters, but perhaps we both are. I am the one who opens the door, and Jakol is the one who shuts it firmly closed behind us.

Before I can take two breaths, he’s kissing me again, and I’m being lifted off the floor so that our mouths can touch. Rather than dangling down below me, my legs wrap around his waist, and he lets out a grunt of pleasure. He holds me up like that for what feels like eons, plundering my mouth and winding me tighter and tighter against him.

The small animal inside me has grown large, with great claws. It is banging down the door. I am hot all over now, and his tongue inside my mouth makes me think of certain other objects that fit into each other this way.

No. There’s no chance that I’m thinking of him like that—the Burbarre that came to me threatening my kingdom if I didn’t give him my hand. I can’t possibly be imagining that lump of fur and how it opened when he became aroused by me. I can’t be thinking of its full length, what it must be like fully extended and engorged.

But I am, and I can’t stop.

Still holding me wrapped around his hips, Jakol sits on the bed and gently withdraws from our kiss. I feel almost dizzy as I open my eyes and find him looking back at me. Underneath me, something firm presses against my thighs.

“Tell me when to stop,” he says, bringing his face so close our noses touch. His breathing is fast and shallow.

I ought to say it right now: Stop, stop. Instead, the words that come out are, “I will.”

With a hungry look in his eyes, Jakol retakes my mouth. Now his hands are moving up my back, all over my shirt, and mine are doing the same to him—but I have it much easier, as his chest is bare save for a triangle of stitched leather hanging from his neck.

It’s like I’m watching myself from a distance when I start to unbutton my shirt from the top, and Jakol helps me by attacking the buttons from the bottom. We meet in the middle, and suddenly it’s falling off my shoulders, leaving only my chest and the bra holding me in. I’m not big or ample, but he looks the opposite of disappointed.

“Hmm,” he says, eyeing the bra. “What is this?”

I reach around behind me and quickly unfasten it. I can’t seem to stop myself. All I want is to feel that bare, firm chest of his against mine.

Before it’s even off my arms, Jakol has captured my lips again, and this time he moves me much more forcefully so I’m lying on my back. He kisses down from my mouth to my chin, my throat to the hollow at the base of my neck. There he pauses, and then—almost bashfully—he kisses in circles around each of my small breasts, never once touching the nipples. Now, suddenly, I don’t want anything else besides his lips on them.

“Tell me what you would like,” he says, his mouth hovering only an inch away from tasting me. The way he says it, I can tell he’s offering himself up to me, making whether we stop or continue based only on my desires.

“Please.” The thickness of the need in my voice is surprising and embarrassing. “Suck on me.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Clearly, I crave something that King Jakol has, or I wouldn’t be asking for this. What it is, I still don’t quite know, but for a moment, I send rational thoughts scurrying from my mind and let my body lead.

As I said, I will give this a chance.

His lips settle around my nipple, and he brings it into his mouth, running his tongue across the tightened tip over and over again until my back is arching into him. He grunts and slides an arm underneath me, keeping me close while he traverses to the other nipple. Each lap of his tongue sends sparks of pleasure coursing through me, building some greater, brighter feeling deep in my belly.

When he’s finished there, Jakol continues to kiss southward. Soon I’m faced with his curved, cruel horns, which curl away from his face, then angle outward before turning back and narrowing into points. Curious about their texture, I run one hand along the hard surface, and I feel Jakol pause underneath me. He remains still while I test them, bringing my fingers from the base up to the devilish tips. They’re ridged like ram’s horns and shiny black, and the ends that I thought were sharp are actually rounded. He couldn’t hurt much of anything with them.

When I’m satisfied, he continues downward, neither of us speaking. I feel like I’m in a trance, and if I were to say any of the things I’m thinking or feeling, it would break the heady air around us like glass.

His hands drop to the buttons of my pants, where he waits just before undoing the top button as if giving me a chance to stop him. Suddenly I’m afraid of what he’ll see there. What if he doesn’t like what he finds? We are so very different, after all—I doubt that I look like a Burbarre woman between the legs. I give a faint nod anyway, and King Jakol smiles, undoing the remaining buttons and sliding my pants down to my feet.

Once they’re off, he runs a hand from my chest, across my gently rounded belly, to the bundle of hair between my legs. With a soft breath, he teases my thighs apart, and I let out a little sound as the cool air reaches me between my legs.

“So beautiful,” he says, simply tracing his finger to my folds. He does not seem to notice if anything is amiss. His hand is warm against me, and I realize with a start that I’ve gotten quite moist and swollen down there. I hope the feel of it, the smell of it, won’t scare him off. But as he gently samples that embarrassing wetness with his fingers, Jakol looks more eager and hungry than ever. He pulls my lower lips apart, getting a good, clear-eyed view of me. I want to crawl under this pillow and hide, but before I can wriggle away, he crouches down so his face is only inches from my soft center. There he breathes in deeply, his eyes closed. I gasp at the sensation, and in a moment, there’s a soft tongue on me, lightly brushing my clit from side to side. I gasp at the sharp spark of pleasure that races up to my throat. Encouraged, he licks with more enthusiasm. I squirm underneath him, suddenly overcome by sensation, but he maintains an even pace back and forth across me, over and over, until I realize that I’m moaning.

His tongue drops down to the core of me, the one I’ve kept hidden for so long, and he continues his path until it’s inside me.

“Oh!” The feel of him is so unexpected but so lovely that I find myself grabbing one of his horns to hold on. “Yes. There.”

I can feel him smile against me as he continues to stroke his tongue in and out of me in a quick, regular rhythm. I want it everywhere, that marvelous tongue. I would allow it any place it wants to go. He withdraws and circles my sensitive nub with it again and again, until I’m clutching his horns in both hands, and he’s lapping me like a dog at a pond. A sensation I haven’t felt in some time, a kind of wonderful aching, starts to spread across my body, concentrated right where his mouth is attacking me.

That’s when I feel it—the top of the mountain. He’s pushed me up there, and now I’m teetering at the cliff, every part of me trembling with the need to fall over. All of my muscles curl up, and I’m crying out as his tongue works faster.

“Yes,” I hear Jakol whisper. “Yes, my Queen.”

Then it hits me, and I’m gone, falling into the abyss. I haven’t been here in some time, and it’s like a soft blanket and a crash of ice water at the same time. I could simply disappear into the world, and I think for a moment that I do, lost in the wild wonder of his mouth.

When I return to this plane, Jakol is lying on the bed beside me, his face slightly wet. My eyes instinctively drop down to his waist, where he lies next to me, still wearing a coil around his hips, the leather tented by something underneath.

“I can remove it,” he says. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I want to agree, but I can’t. All I’ll want to do is stare. I realize I’m still afraid, but at the same time, I’m compelled by it—fascinated by it.

Eventually, I swallow and say, “All right.” He won’t make me do anything I don’t want to do, I’m certain of that, and this certainty is like a protective bubble around us.

Jakol leans in and kisses me again, and as his tongue opens up my mouth, I feel him moving his hands around his waist as he unties the coil. Then he sets the leather aside, and I know that only inches down from where my fingers rest at his hips, there’s no more barrier between us.

I have to see it. I have to know.

I pull away from the kiss, and when Jakol takes in my expression, a wry smile pulls his lips to one side. He leans back to allow me a better look at him. Sure enough, the white fur has parted to the sides, and a surprisingly large penis has emerged from between. The head is less defined from the shaft than I expected, while the point is more pronounced. The long, rigid shape of it is like nothing I’ve seen before.

The moment that my mind imagines it inside me, it shuts down.

I curl my hands up and draw them away, suddenly afraid that what I’m looking at is foreign, alien. How could I be so close to it and consider parting my legs for it when it comes out of a bundle of fur like that? It’s creamy at the tip, and I hold in a little gasp of alarm.

“Dienne.” Jakol’s voice draws me back upward. He brings his hands up to my face so that I’m forced to look at him. “It’s all right. That’s enough for now.”

I realize then that I’m panting with fright. I let this go too far tonight. I got caught up in my lust, in my hunger, and it almost got the better of me. Even my hands are trembling as Jakol takes them in his and slowly runs his fingers up and down to massage them.

When I’ve calmed down a little, but still not spoken a word, Jakol lifts up my legs and frees the blanket from underneath me, then pulls it up over on top of us. I’m not shaking anymore when he brings me in against his chest and holds me close, but I can’t stop my thoughts from racing.

It was so big that it was almost frightening. What would I do with that? I feel deeply guilty, too. That is what he is down there, after all. I knew that when we began.

“Can you tell me what’s on your mind?” Jakol asks in the darkness. I can’t see anything, but I can feel him holding me tight. Already his smell is familiar, his presence comforting. Something about this vast emptiness around us makes me feel like I can speak again.

“I’m afraid.”

He doesn’t ask why but simply nods and tucks his chin against my head. I can feel each of his breaths as he takes them. “I understand,” he says. “Your people do not look like me.”

“No, they don’t.” He’s right. It is different, and I don’t understand it yet.

“This will take time.” Jakol takes my hand in his and holds it at my side. I know he’s still naked, pressed against me under the bedcovers, but that soft, wet, pink presence isn’t so startling when I can’t see it. “I will wait as long as I need to.”

“Thank you.” It takes me some time, but I’m able to fall asleep wedged in his great big shoulder, his furry legs tangled up with mine.

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Chapter Eight

It is finally time for our honeymoon, and I am a flowering bud of trepidation. There will be no work to distract me. It will just be Jakol and I traveling the great hills and mountains that make up my country.

Our country, now.

We’ll be staying at small, rural inns along the way until we reach the sea. Then we’ll turn around and return the way we came, albeit in a roundabout way.

“A honeymoon of traveling?” Jakol says, a fond amusement in his voice. “Interesting choice.”

“You can learn a lot from the country folk,” I tell him. “Every place is different. They know things about the land that I don’t.”

Jakol considers this. “They do lead a different life from you or me.”

“Precisely. I think it should be educational for both of us.”

We will ride in an open wagon most of the way, exposed to the elements. It is no fancy carriage like the one he arrived in. Yet Jakol jovially climbs in with me, an arm snaking around my waist as the driver ushers the horses onward.

We are only a few hours from the palace when rain starts to fall. “You certainly have a way of doing things,” he says as I pull out two rain jackets and hand him one.

“Don’t like it?” I ask. “You can get off at any time.”

“Oh, no, not at all.” His grin is wide as he watches me shrug on the poncho. “I’m quite enjoying it.”

On our first night away, we enjoy a hot, hearty meal accompanied by chocolate and mulled wine. I find that Jakol loves his chocolate and insists on sampling it before he’s even finished his dinner. We talk amiably throughout—about our parents, who have all deceased, and then our childhoods. Jakol reminisces about his life fondly, and it’s easy to envision a rowdy little Burbarre prince getting into constant trouble. He sounds like a great handful, and I find myself laughing often.

That night I don’t even bother putting on my night clothes because Jakol is eager to lick me all over again. He holds my legs apart and drinks me up, lavishing affection on every square inch of me until I’m dripping onto the strange bed. Slowly he slips one thick finger inside me while his mouth teases my clit, and it doesn’t take much more to send me crashing into the waves. Afterward, we sleep naked, side-by-side, and I realize I’ve come to relish his familiar warmth.

We visit landmarks during the day, and I tell him all about the history of Fiore. Once upon a time, we were many different territories that slowly merged to share our trade routes and technological advances. Now we have trains that travel from one end of the kingdom to another, bringing lumber, coal, and raw ore from region to region. The Zeppelin is our latest advancement, easily carrying a hundred people across great distances. His eyes grow wide when I describe how they travel through the air.

“How is this possible?” he asks in wonderment. “To fly like a bird?”

I do my best to explain the science, but even then, he struggles to grasp the idea. I remember how he seemed afraid of heights, and I assure him that this mode of travel is tested and safe.

Every night Jakol pleasures me from head to toe, relishing my body, worshiping my clit, and finding all sorts of ways to give my warm slit the fullness it’s always craving—all without ever expressing a need of his own.

One afternoon, we walk to an old temple high up on a hillside. While I lag behind his much longer strides, I take in the firm, powerful muscles of his back as they flex with every sure movement and feel an eager thirst. I’ve even grown used to his tail, which occasionally curls around my waist as we walk together or teases my thighs as he thrusts his tongue inside me. I can’t deny that he’s handsome to look at, and his body is mighty and strong. When we return to the inn, I find myself wanting, hungering. Perhaps I’m ready for something more.

As Jakol takes off his coil to go to bed, I sit and wait for him. My gut response to the pouch between Jakol’s legs has faded the more often I’ve seen him. He’s always hard after he licks me, the pink tip of him emerging and growing longer and thicker as we go until he’s made me come all over his face, and his cock is as big as my wrist. This time when he gets on the bed with me, I stop him before he can begin his ministrations.

“Can I...” I don’t know how to ask because it feels too ridiculous and even a little rude. “Can I look?”

We’ve already grown used to each other’s bodies, so he hasn’t emerged from his pouch yet, and it feels safe right now.

“Yes, of course.” There’s no judgment at all in his voice. It’s just warm and inviting.

He leans back against the headboard, and I kneel before him. I draw a finger along his abdominal muscles to his groin, where I recognize the fur-covered lump resting underneath. As I get closer to it, I feel it move, and the fur parts to either side as he starts to emerge.

I just watch, fascinated, as his tan and pink cock slowly reveals itself. Now that I can see it, and I’ve settled enough with how strange and foreign it looks, all I want is to touch it.

“Go ahead,” Jakol says. “Whatever you like.” He brushes a hand down over my head into my hair, encouraging me to take the step. I feel bad using him like a science experiment this way, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

So I reach down and gently, slowly, run my fingers along the soft length of it. I hear Jakol suck in a breath, and I realize how sensitive it must feel to be touched while it’s always living tucked away like that. My hands must be rough on his tender flesh.

I want to pay him back for all the attention he’s given me on this trip. He has cared for nothing but my pleasure, and at this moment, I want to make him feel the same way. When did this beast’s happiness become so important to me? Suddenly I’ve found that I want him to be content in our relationship, too—to have his needs met and attended the way he attends to mine.

So I scoot down until my face is right above his cock, and lick my lips.

“D-Dienne?” Jakol asks, sounding uncertain.

“May I, um...” He always asks for my permission before doing something, so I should ask for his, too. “Can I use my mouth?”

His eyes go quite wide—and then a big, gratified smile takes over his face. “Please. Please do.”

So I take him between my lips. The taste is earthy, while the little droplet of cream at the tip is salty on my tongue. Immediately Jakol gasps, and I wonder how it feels. It must be good, like when his tongue is between my own legs, so I keep going. I bring him as far into my mouth as I can without letting my teeth get in the way, and the groan he lets out is unlike anything I’ve heard so far. Something about it gets me wet between the legs, thinking about how else I could make him moan like that.

So I move my mouth faster, and Jakol’s moans multiply as I draw my lips up and down, up and down. Cautiously I reach for the fur pouch at the base of him, and when my hand lands there, his abdomen arches. “Oh, Dienne,” he whispers, and I know I’ve discovered a neat new trick. I’m gentle with the pouch while I continue to suck on him, and his breaths come faster as I speed up. I can tell by the tenor of his voice that he’s getting close. He starts to swell up even bigger between my lips, and then suddenly, he’s filling up my mouth with his salty seed. It’s far more than I was prepared for, and I swallow as much as I can before I start to cough and gag.

“Shit,” Jakol says. “I’m sorry.” I wave him away as I cough a few more times. Jakol leans toward me and gently wipes my lips with his thumb. When I look up at him, he’s smiling bashfully, like a little boy.

“Wasn’t expecting that much,” I say.

“I wasn’t, either. You just...” He clears his throat awkwardly. “You bring it out of me, I suppose.”

I’ve known for a while now that I turn him on, that he wants me, though he hides his desire for my ease and comfort. But this was the physical proof of how badly he lusts for me.

“How was it?” I ask. I could do this again if I needed to. If I want to keep delaying intercourse, this is the way.

Jakol looks more than satisfied. “Incredible,” he says. “Absolutely wonderful.” He gestures for me to come to the little curve in his shoulder that’s slowly become my place. I would never have imagined that cuddling into this huge monster’s arms would bring me such satisfaction, but I instinctively settle into it, and he brings me in close to his chest. “Thank you,” he says and kisses the top of my head. “Do you feel more comfortable with it now?”

It does seem like I’ve taken an important step forward today, but I still feel an uneasiness when I imagine that big, pointed, wet object entering me between the legs. And yet, at the very same time, I long for it. After filling up my mouth with it, now other parts of my body are desiring to be filled up, too. And I want Jakol—I can’t deny that anymore. I do want it to be him who takes me that way. I’m just missing the last few stones in the path to get me there. So I just nod at him and say, “Yes, I think I do. I understand you better, at least.”

“Good. I enjoy you getting to know my body more, my love.” He chuckles a little. “Especially when it ends like that.”

Nestled into his arms, surrounded by the musky smell of him, it’s easy to slip into dreams.

WITH OUR RELATIONSHIP still new and tentative, it’s easy to forget that we’re actually married. We are the Queen and King of two countries now in a single, widespread kingdom. All of that has felt on pause in the last two weeks, but I’m reminded of it when a Burbarre arrives very suddenly on a horse, carrying an important missive.

There is an urgent matter back home that King Jakol must attend to. And like that, the honeymoon is over.

We travel back as fast as we can to the castle. There’s been a natural catastrophe—a landslide in the Burbarre’s major city. Casualties are stacking up, and they need their ruler.

I offer to go with him, as it is now both of our responsibilities, but Jakol refuses. “You ought to remain and attend to the needs of your people while I’m gone.” It still feels as if we are divided, not truly one kingdom. But I don’t argue because his eyes are bloodshot at the thought of so many of his citizens dead.

“Please, let one of my zeppelins take you.” It will get him home ten times faster than on horseback. Jakol agrees, even though his fear is evident on his face. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

As he goes to board the ship, I feel a tidal wave of apprehension. He has been here at my side for weeks now, and now I’m faced with his back. When have I grown so attached to this Burbarre who arrived on my doorstep as a conqueror? It’s like I can no longer remember the cold, hard way I felt about him before.

“Jakol?” He pauses on the ramp and turns around to face me. That kind, knowing, so often jovial face has come to mean so much to me in so little time—and it breaks my heart to see it so beleaguered by tragedy. Imagining him gone, with no return date, sends a cold shiver down my back. I find myself running toward him, and then he’s swallowing me up in his great arms. I bury my face against his chest, drinking in the smell of him, reveling in the feel of his bare skin under mine.

“Oh, love.” His voice is sad. “Are you going to miss me?”

“A little,” I say into his chest. He tightens his arms around me.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon.” It’s the way he says home that sends me over the edge, and the tears start to fall. This has become his place, too.

“All right.” I pull away, trying to bring back all the sturdiness I’d felt like I had before Jakol walked into my life and turned me inside out. “Be safe.”

“Of course.” He leans down and kisses me, one quick brush of his lips on mine before he turns and boards the zeppelin. I watch with a heaviness in my chest as it departs, engine whirring, off across the continent.

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Chapter Nine

Everything feels less bright without Jakol around. How have I grown so used to him, so accustomed to his presence, after only a handful of weeks? My bed feels big and cold, and I start sleeping with one of the enormous furs he brought from home because it smells like him and reminds me of his furry body wrapped around mine.

At least I have a lot to catch up on since we were gone so long, and that occupies most of my attention.

“Your Majesty?” asks Arnwell one afternoon. I’ve been staring off into space for a while, wondering when the zeppelin reached the Burbarre homeland. I hope things are going well despite the terrible event that’s happened there. “May I ask a personal question?”

I study him. His last series of personal questions were rather uncomfortable for me, but he is my dearest friend. “Sure.”

“Are things going well?” He lets out a little sigh. “I know you only did this for our good and for the good of our country.”

I’m surprised by the question. “I suppose it is.” I blush just thinking about our honeymoon and the number of times King Jakol made me climax all over his mouth and hands.

Arnwell must catch the look on my face because he smiles a little. “Should we expect a prince or princess?” he asks.

This question is indeed incredibly personal. I think of that big cock of his and how it felt with my mouth wrapped around it. I imagine it releasing that stream of seed inside of me.

“I truly don’t know,” I say. I’m not even sure if it’s possible, and I’ve never once asked Jakol. It seems like such a bizarre hypothetical that my mind can’t even conceive of it.

“I’m sorry for overstepping, Your Majesty,” Arnwell shakes his head. “I am just wondering if, for the kingdom, we ought to be preparing for change.”

“What sort of change?” I ask.

“The Burbarre do not nominate leaders like we do. If you and the King decide to produce children, we may have to implement a different policy.”

I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s been a custom here for hundreds of years, and it has served us well. But it’s true that the Burbarre come by their leaders differently, and I have no idea what would happen if one of us passed away.

It feels too soon, too early to think about losing Jakol—and about who might take over after us. I shake my head and try to paste on a smile. “That is a long way off,” I say.

Arnwell nods rapidly, clearly regretting that he brought up the subject at all. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

But for the rest of the time that Jakol is gone, the question remains in my mind. What comes next for us?

WHEN THE KING does at last return, he does not greet me the way I had imagined he would, sweeping me up into his arms and covering my face in kisses. No, he kneels in front of me like that first day he came to the palace and takes my hand, pressing his lips to it once. Then he rises and turns away, instructing his servant to carry his things to our room. I receive nothing else. Whatever Jakol left behind, it has taken its toll on him.

During dinner that evening, he tells me that the landslide stole a great many lives and left the city in ruins. He is somber as he relives the tale, and I want to reach for his hand, but his body language is restrained and closed off.

“I will have to return again soon,” he says. “And stay for some time to help with the rebuilding effort.”

Why does this bring me so much sadness? I was fine before Jakol, and I will be fine again without him.

But that night, when we lie side-by-side in bed, not touching one another, I wonder if I will be fine. I’ve gotten too attached to this man—this creature. When I turn toward him, Jakol does not return the gesture. He is staring up at the ceiling, clearly lost in thought. I want to say something, to bring him back into the fold of vulnerability we had created before, but the words stick in my throat. When the light is off, I lie there feeling just as cold and alone as when Jakol was gone.

I wonder what I have done, what has happened to him in our time apart, to change him this way.

The next morning is much the same: Cold and lifeless. Over our meal, he says, “I will only be here for a few days to take care of the settlements and oversee some new construction. Then I will return home.”

The way he calls it home, when he had meant Fiore before, makes my chest feel tight. I keep my eyes down on my plate of food because I don’t want him to see how this news makes me feel. Of course, I can’t keep him away from his people.

I also find that as the day wears on and we attend to our respective matters, I want him. I hunger for his mouth on me again. Even if I just had his arms around me, that would be satisfactory. But Jakol is quiet, barely looking at me as we work. By the time the day is over and we’re headed back to our quarters, I feel like a balloon full of apprehension, about to burst.

“Have I done something wrong?” I ask as I change, with my closet door open, into the sheer nightgown I’d once felt so embarrassed about wearing.

Jakol blinks at me, confused. “What? No, of course not.”

His reaction tells me that his coldness is just a side effect of the stress, but it is still hard not to take it personally. I feel the tears pooling in my eyes, and I quickly rub them before emerging back into the bedroom. He notices the redness in my face anyway, and the exact thing I wanted to avoid happens: His expression fills with guilt. He leans down and runs a hand along my cheek. “I’m sorry, love. I haven’t been attentive to your needs, have I?”

I fake a smile. “I’m fine. It is just the fresh blooms making my eyes water.”

Jakol gives me a look that says, Do you think I’m that stupid? and puts his arms around me. “It warms my heart that you missed me, but it also saddens me that I’ll just have to leave you again.” He sighs and presses me even tighter against his chest.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself over my feelings,” I say. “Your first responsibility is to your people.”

“Is it?” He leans away from me so he can look down into my eyes. “You are my Queen, and your happiness should be paramount to me.”

“I’m perfectly happy.” I pretend to swat him away. “I even had a little privacy, for once.” Jakol does have a tendency to walk in on me in the bathroom, and the way it doesn’t bother him has always annoyed me. But he just looks sad.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting down on the bed beside him. I sense that something deeper is wrong, and there is a cloud over Jakol that threatens to suffocate what little time we do have together.

“Dienne...” It is not often that he calls me by my first name, and this immediately draws my concern. “I am sorry.”

I wonder what’s happened that he feels he needs to apologize for. “Why? What for?”

When his gaze rises to mine, it is full of regret. “I forced you into this,” he says, voice drawn with self-loathing. “I made you marry me, Dienne, on the threat that I would conquer your people.”

Something truly has changed in the time he was away.

I nod carefully. “Yes. You did.” It’s not that I’ve forgotten; it’s simply that the wound has grown shallower and the pain less acute as time wears on. I have accepted what is and what cannot be changed and decided to make the best of it.

That is what I’ve done, isn’t it?

“And for that, I’m so sorry.” Jakol stares down at his hands as if they’ve offended him. “It was terrible of me to leverage your good nature against you. I trapped you here and thought that would be enough. That you would come to love me in spite of it.”

On the surface, he is right. We are only here because he held the safety of my people over my head. But I have come to care about him anyway, I can’t deny that.

“What is it you’re trying to say?” I ask. What has sent him down this path? I thought we had abandoned it far behind us as a fact of life that we can’t change now.

His deep, dark eyes are clouded when he caresses my face in his palm. “I’m trying to say that I’m letting you go, Dienne.”

The words flow through and past me at first, and I have a hard time grabbing onto them. What could he mean? We are married now.

“I want to undo what I should not have done in the first place,” he continues, a crack appearing in his gravelly tone. “I release you from our agreement.”

It washes over me like cold water, and an answer won’t come to me. He’s willing to annul our marriage, now, after all we’ve been through?

Then my gut twists, and I withdraw from his touch like he’s burned me. So this is why he’s been so cold and closed off: He’s been planning to leave me. He must have decided on it while he stewed alone in his capital city.

“You want to end this?” I ask, and my vulnerability, my budding hurt, comes out in it.

Jakol stiffens, then curses at himself. “No. No, my love. I would never.” There’s a desperation in his voice. “I want you more than anything. I always will. But it haunts me, Dienne, that I gave you no choice. I will wonder until my dying day if you truly care for me, or if you have simply decided you must in order to get by.”

I could rewind time to the day the Burbarre appeared here and turned my kingdom upside down.

But did they really? Our peoples have already learned to live alongside one another. They trade and cohabitate, though they cannot speak the same language. They are seeking to understand one another to make our new combined kingdom work.

“It would be impossible,” I say, “to change what has been done.”

Jakol shakes his head. “I would withdraw with my people and return to our lands, should you wish to have your freedom back.”

Freedom. I’m not sure what that word means to me. I don’t feel trapped here in this room, sitting next to Jakol on our bed. Now that he’s returned, I find that I want more of him, not less. If anything, it’s as if there are binds wrapped around my arms right now, keeping me locked in place and away from my husband.

Leaving him would not be freedom. It would, I think, break my heart. But I grasp now what he’s truly asking for, what he needs from me. In the slump of his shoulders, in the tremble of his hands, I can see how much he fears what I might choose now that he’s given me the chance. And he would accept it whether I decide to stay or leave him. We could return to the way things were before he and his forces arrived at our front door.

Then it dawns on me. Jakol has been afraid to get close to me in the circumstance that I accept his offer to leave.

I reach up to run a hand along his horn, down to his long, silken hair, and then his high, square cheekbone. He seems afraid to look at me.

“Jakol. Thank you.” I cradle his face. “Yes, this marriage began that way. But when you left and then came back to me... It felt like I had found a part of me I’d lost.” Jakol leans into my hand and presses his lips to my palm, sinking into my words. “You give me the choice to walk away if I want. But what if I choose to stay instead?”

A burst of hope crosses his face. “Despite what I’ve done?”

“It was misguided,” I admit. “Now I can’t even sleep properly when you’re not here in this bed with me.”

Awash with relief, he pulls me against his body hard and squeezes me so tight I think I might break. Then he leans down and kisses me with a surprising ferocity. His arms wind around my waist, and before I know it, I’m pushing him back onto the bed. His eyes are wide and surprised as I straddle him. Even I’m shocked that my need has grown so large and so bold, but I find I want him more than I ever have—my husband, whom I’ve chosen and who has chosen me.

Quickly he has my shirt off, and he suckles my breasts with enthusiasm, feasting on every stretch of my skin. It feels better than I remember. He retakes control so he can pull my pants off, too, and before long, he has one hand between my legs, pumping two fingers in and out of me while his incredible tongue teases my little bundle of sensation. Unbidden, I think of his pouch again, the white fur parting to let out his cock, and I come almost immediately.

“You taste as good as I remember,” Jakol says, rising to his knees above me.

He still has his coil on, so I sit up, too, and reach out to take it off. He freezes. When I have him fully naked in front of me, I find the fur bulge doesn’t frighten me at all this time. No, in fact, I want to see it come out. I’m surprised that it hasn’t already. I wonder if he still wants me after his trip back home.

I bring my hands up to the familiar furry pouch, gently rubbing the sides and bottom, which I know he likes. Jakol breathes in sharply, and soon, the white fur parts to either side and his big pink cockhead starts to emerge.

“Dienne...” he says quietly. “I’m not sure if I can handle a tease tonight. Not like I usually can.”

The words are spoken so softly but feel so harsh that I withdraw right away.

Was I planning to tease him? I don’t know. I have no clue what drove me to want to bring it out, and now I feel awful. I thought he would let me experiment on him forever, I suppose. But everyone has their limits.

“Oh, my love.” He lowers himself to my height and takes my face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I am.” My heart is trembling like a mouse that’s been caught. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For taking so long. For being so uncertain.”

He looks as heartbroken as I feel. Jakol sweeps me up into his arms and holds me like that, as tight as he can. Then he brings me under the blankets with him, and it feels right and good to be in his warm embrace again.

But I can’t help that I still feel hot between the legs, still moist for him. I’m ravenous, I realize, with him being gone for so long. All I wanted was to see his cock again, to perhaps touch it with my mouth, or even—

I cut off the thought immediately. But when I close my eyes to try to sleep, it comes roaring back. My breath speeds up a little as my imagination starts to play vividly in the darkness. I wonder how that pointed tip would feel, that gentle slope of him, as it worked its way inside me. It’s been so long since I was intimate with a penis that I have to piece the sensation together, and all it does is make me even wetter. Soon, Jakol’s breath evens out next to me, so I know he’s asleep. I gently pull away, trying hard not to wake him, and turn onto my side so I can hide as I reach down between my legs. I just need to release again, I think, and then I can sleep, too.

I dip a finger inside myself, and unbidden, the image of his cock performing the same motion makes me tighten. I rub my clit back and forth, then slide my finger inside again, and my breaths speed up. It’s so close, I can almost taste it. I think even harder about how he would feel pushing inside me, spreading me wide enough to accommodate his impressive size, and I have to hold in a little moan.

“My love?” It’s Jakol’s sleepy voice, and I go absolutely still. I feel him shifting in the bed, wondering where I’ve gone. Then he finds me with his arm, and I’m hot all over with my hand down between my legs. I’m so deeply ashamed of doing this right next to him that I want to liquefy. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I say, even though we both know that’s a lie. He rolls over so he’s pressed up against my back, and his hands start to wander up and down my exposed side.

“Nothing?” He sniffs my neck, and I remember how powerful his sense of smell can be compared to mine. “It doesn’t seem like nothing. Have I left you unsatisfied?” He sounds disappointed in himself.

“No.” I keep lying, but the truth feels ugly. He’s right. I can’t keep using him, expecting him to cater to my needs without any regard for his own.

Why are all of my emotions suddenly so complicated and sharp? I don’t understand why his turning me away suddenly feels like the end of the world.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he says.

“Don’t be. You simply told me your boundaries, and I need to respect them.”

Jakol sighs. “Do you know how much I want you?” he asks. His lips reach my neck, and it makes all the hair on my skin stand on end. “It consumes me, thinking about you. Thinking about how it would feel to be inside you. I haven’t been able to put my mind to anything else. If you touched me for even a moment, it would be impossible not to...”

He trails off, and now, I understand. He wants the next level, and anything else would be a taunt. But he’s too raw right now for such things. If I want him, I have to fully want him, or not at all.

That’s when it settles on me like a soft fur around my shoulders. I do want him—all of him. I want to know what he feels like, how full he’ll make me, what I’ll see on his face when he’s inside me. But can I say it aloud? Can I ask for what I want in case I take the cowardly way out?

I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the sea below. If I decide to step over into the emptiness, will the ocean catch me, or will I simply fall and die against the rocks?

“My love?” Jakol asks, voice uncertain in the darkness. “Are you all right?”

“Could we...” I begin and swallow hard. “Could we try?” I feel ashamed and selfish for asking. He would be putting his heart on the line, and then no matter what happened, he would only have to return to his homeland again.

His breath hitches. I can feel it against my backside as his cock begins to emerge, and the wetness of it tickles me. I’ve seen it so often that it’s easy to picture it sliding out from inside the bundle of fur at his groin and then rubbing against me.

I want it, I know now. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

“If you’re certain,” he whispers against my ear. “Then I would be happy—more than happy—to oblige.”

I turn around so I’m facing him, then I pull my legs just a few inches apart so his cock can slide between them. He inhales a sharp breath, and unconsciously, his hips jerk against mine. I’m wet down there, so wet, and I know he can feel it as he slides himself between my folds.

“Oh, my love.” He gently moves back and forth, his cockhead teasing my clit. All I would have to do is tilt myself a little, and he could slide inside.

“I want you,” I whisper. “Please, Jakol. I want you.”

It’s all he needs. He reaches down between us, and as slick as we both are, it takes very little effort for him to press his tip inside me. I’m surprised at how easily it slips in, as if it were meant to be. I gasp as he comes up against my tight inner layer, and it stops him from progressing further.

“Dienne.” The word is husky and full of need. I spread my legs wider, and he’s able to glide in more. I’m taken aback at how good he feels spreading me open for him. Now I can easily imagine how it would be to have him all the way inside me, filling me up to the brim. Eagerly I tilt my hips so he has better access, and he dips in even further, slippery with my juices. We both gasp at the same time.

Suddenly, I’m on my back, with Jakol still halfway inside. He’s huge above me, with the moonlight coming in the window illuminating only the edges of him. I can make out the shape of his chest, the brown of his nipples, and the curve of his great horns. I need more, so I rock my hips, and more is what I get. He groans as he pushes through my tight walls, stopping after a moment to take another deep breath, and then—

There. He’s fully encased in me, and I let out a moan as his tip reaches a place deep inside. A place I’ve never felt before, that I didn’t know existed. It is a different shape than I remember from others before him, but I find that I like it. The fur at the base of him tickles my sensitive button in a way that sends little shockwaves up my spine.

Jakol starts to move, and the ease with which he slides in and out of me is absolutely contrary to the heavy, thick way he feels, stretching me to my limits and pushing against every crease I’m made of. I’ve never felt anything as exquisite as this. With one slow, purposeful stroke at a time, he makes love to me. I can’t discern the exact shape of his face in the darkness, but I can feel his eyes on me, drinking me up while his powerful hips sink his cock in and then slowly drag it back out, lighting every inch of me on fire. My arousal has made him slippery, and with each mouth-watering stroke comes a wet sound.

He brings one hand up to his mouth and licks two fingers, then reaches down to my clit. While he continues to move at the same slow, even pace, his fingers flick me back and forth, and I instantly tighten around him. Jakol groans as he pushes through it, and instinctually his thrusts speed up. I’m drowning in him, consumed only by the sensation of him burying himself up to the hilt and then pulling out until he’s nearly escaping from me. I need more. So, so much more. I want all of him.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, faster.”

“Yes, my Queen.” He leans back and lifts one of my legs up so he has easier access to me, and he starts to fill me even fuller than before. I cry out as his fingers work against my small nub, and I can hear in his heavy grunts that he’s getting to his own climax. I wonder what will happen if he unleashes all that Burbarre seed inside me. Just thinking of it, my muscles clench, and Jakol groans. He moves with greater and greater urgency until he’s plundering me for all I’m worth, while his hand continues tantalizing me. It’s the most exquisite and torturous feeling of my life to be brought right up against a wall of light and look through it, not knowing how I’ll get to the other side.

“Oh, Dienne,” he whispers my name.

I bring his face down close to mine so I can look into his eyes—those familiar eyes that I stared into so many times outside my conservatory.

“Jakol,” I say, tangling my hand in his hair. “I love you. Not because I have to, but because I choose to.”

He groans at my words and buries his face in my neck as if looking upon me has become too much for him.

“My Queen,” he murmurs. “My love. I will always be at your side.”

That’s when I feel him start to grow inside me, from the base of his huge cock and spreading up to the tip. Just when I don’t think I can accommodate any more of him, I do, and it’s the last piece of the puzzle I need to step over the threshold. He moans and jams himself into me as deeply as he can. I’m riding an immense wave, and he’s riding it with me, and the sound of our pleasure mingles in the air between us. I’m sucking him in deep, squeezing tighter and tighter as my orgasm races up into my throat to the base of my skull. I’ve never felt something like this as long as I’ve been alive.

Buried as far in as he can be, Jakol finally unleashes. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him as close as I can, even though I’m panting and trying desperately to bring air back into my lungs. I just want to feel him everywhere while his cock continues to throb and drip inside me. Jakol is gasping, too, and he hastily brings my lips to his, kissing me deeper than he’s ever kissed me before.

We stay like that for what feels like eons, just breathing against one another while we wait for the storm we’ve conjured to cool down and float away. Eventually, he softens up and gently withdraws himself from me. His cock doesn’t retract back inside, as I expected, but lies against his thigh, dripping with both of our fluids.

I drag a finger up his chest, then down again to where the fur begins at his groin. I want to memorize all of him so I can remember when he’s gone again. Jakol puts an arm underneath my head and brings me in as close as he can, then kisses my forehead over and over.

“You are marvelous,” he says, running his hands down my belly like he’s wondering the same thing I did—what will his generous amount of seed do in there?

“So are you.” I sigh against his neck, and it’s a deep, contented sort of sigh. “Thank you.”

He chuckles. “It’s my absolute pleasure. I will happily do that with you for the rest of my existence.”

I find that I don’t mind the idea of that too much, either. My lover may be a beast, but he’s my beast.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Ten

Jakol must return to the Burbarre lands in a few short days to help oversee the rebuilding. I offer to join him, so he says, “Please, come and visit me, so I can show you my homeland, too.”

It feels like a great step forward in our journey—our marriage—and I agree. He will be gone for many months, perhaps even a year, and my heart sinks every time I think of it. But I plan to join him once the discomfort of being apart grows too great, and I always have the painting of him outside of my conservatory.

But that time comes sooner than I expect. I thought I would be able to last at least six months without him before my heart grew too weak, but in our excitement to experience each other’s bodies as many times as possible, we’ve created a new and different complication.

I examine myself in the mirror as yet another of my periods fails to arrive. There’s nothing visible just yet, but I’m only three months in. At least I’m no longer sick at all times of day for no reason at all—but there are still some foods that taste like nothing, or worse, like warm trash. Things I liked become things I hate, and things I hate become things I crave more than anything else.

Arnwell has the most obnoxiously knowing look on his face. Finally, I break down and confess.

“So,” he says, arching an eyebrow, “on the matter of princes and princesses? Shall we start discussing the approach?”

I shake my head. No, I have to inform Jakol first, before I do anything else. He has no idea. While my advisors warn me against flying such a long way, it’s better I do it now than when I’m big and round.

It is a long trip, and the swaying of the zeppelin makes me feel constantly sick. I throw up over the side more times than I can count.

Then, at last, we arrive in the Burbarre’s homeland. It is beautiful, green and sprawling, dotted with lakes and rivers and golden meadows. I’ve never seen a place as lovely as this.

As we fly down toward the city, I see why Jakol has been stuck here for so long. The avalanche sank nearly a third of the buildings that lie within the walls. Now the rock is being carved out, cut away, restoring what was taken one inch at a time. This was devastating. Yet I can’t help the little thrill growing in my chest as we approach the landing site, and I see a surprised, somewhat flustered King Jakol waiting for me.

I’m down the ramp and in his arms before the zeppelin has fully settled. Jakol buries his face in my hair as he pulls me hard against him. “My love,” he says. “My Queen.” He kisses me fiercely, and I realize just how long it’s been since I’ve seen him. I want to rush away to privacy right now, but there are important matters to attend to.

“You came sooner than I expected,” he says, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Did you miss me so soon?”

“Yes, of course, I did. But there’s, um, there’s something else, too.” Perhaps with so much loss and chaos around him, this will be one small spark of joy. I pull his hand down so it rests on my belly, which is only just starting to swell. “There’s this.”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “There’s what?”

I give him a meaningful look. “When you visited, and, you know,” I stand on my toes to whisper in his ear, “all those times you came inside me?”

Jakol’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open like a caricature of himself. “You mean we—?”

I nod again. “We did.”

The massive whoop that he lets out takes me by surprise. He picks me up around the middle and starts to swing me around, and while adorable, it’s making all my sky-sickness come back.

“Wait, wait,” I moan. “Please.” He sets me down, and immediately, I go and throw up right there on the landing site.

“Oops,” he says, but he’s smiling as broad as can be. “Sorry, my love.”

When I’m recovered, Jakol is glowing even more than I am, as if he’s the one carrying our baby. He shows off everything in his great city to me, and I have to admit that while very different from Fiore, it is special and beautiful in its own way.

There is a memorial every night for those lost in the landslide, and Jakol holds my hand tight during the moment of silence. The families of those lost have cried themselves out, and it is a sobering reminder that just as life can begin with a surprise, so can it abruptly end. By the time we return to the royal quarters, inside the beautiful, gilded castle that King Jakol calls home—and I suppose that now I ought to, as well—there is a somber air about us. He is quiet as he takes me that night, nuzzling his face in my throat. The feeling of him is beyond what I’d ever dreamed possible. My King is gentle with my tender breasts and rough with his tongue until I’m thrashing and gasping. He makes sure I am soft and slick before entering me, and then his arms curl with longing around me as he eases himself inside. He doesn’t stop until I’ve climaxed more times than I can count, steadily whipping me into a crying frenzy. His tail caresses me, and his furry haunches butt up against my thighs as he thrusts into me from behind.

“I missed you more than a plant without sunshine,” he says, still deep inside me after our sweaty bodies have finally recovered. How he is so thick and swollen, I can’t fathom.

“I may not have pretty words like you do, but I missed you, too.” I settle back against his nakedness. Jakol’s fingers trace along my belly. His chest shudders. I can’t see his face.

“I’m not sure now when I’ll be able to return,” he says, melancholy. “But I want to be close to you, near to you, now more than ever.”

I want this, too. There will be many challenges and new experiences, and I hate the idea of facing them without him. But my kingdom needs me, too. I have always put them first, as is my duty.

I ask what you, the Queen, want for yourself? I remember his words once upon a time and wonder if perhaps I’ve found it. I want my family to be together, to traverse all of life’s joys and trials as one.

“Then I’ll stay.” I snuggle up closer to him on the bed. It is a massive thing, covered in beautiful, soft pelts. “I want to get to experience this together.”

Jakol nods, and I can feel him smiling even with my head against his chest. “Me, too. And perhaps this new prince or princess will bring my people the hope they need right now.”

Once I’m pregnant enough that it’s obvious to anyone looking at me, King Jakol and I announce it to his people—to our people—and they roar and cheer. This will be the story that truly unifies our countries and brings us together into a single kingdom.

I handle missives from home as they come, but for the most part, I’m allowed to just rest. It’s the first time since I became Queen that I’ve allowed myself the privilege of simply resting while Jakol works hard, attending to his people’s needs. I’m glad I have Arnwell back home, taking care of things while I wait for our new addition to arrive.

Naturally, we must discuss the matter of inheritance. I don’t want to change my country’s ways and deprive my people of their chance to choose their own leaders.

“Then we will endeavor to raise a child whom they will want to choose,” Jakol says. “And if they don’t, then our successors will have to figure it out for themselves.”

“Leave it in the hands of the future?” I ask. “What if it comes to war?”

“There are already citizens from your country coming here to trade and settle,” he says. “They will find a way forward.” His hand lands on my belly, where we can both feel the quiet, steady beating of a heart. “I believe in them.”

Though I am more tender than ever, Jakol treats me with the greatest gentleness when he makes love to me. “Our people say it is good for the baby,” he tells me.

“Are you just making that up so you have an excuse to keep bedding me?” I ask, but jokingly.

“Not at all.” And he isn’t wrong. In fact, he’s lying behind me, sliding in and out, when I feel the first shockwave of pain.

“Shh,” he says, cradling me against him. “It will help. I promise.” And as the pain ebbs, and he makes me shudder and drip all around him, I can feel it happening.

I am ripe with fear when the midwife arrives. But my husband is there with me, his hand wrapped tight around mine, wiping the sweat from my brow as I moan and sob.

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing my shoulder.

“You should be,” I growl.

But, as Jakol predicted, the birth is a little less horrible than I thought it would be. Our baby emerges with thin, soft fur from the waist down. She has small indents on her forehead that might become horns one day. She is perfect.

“We made this,” he says with wonder as she sucks on me.

“We did.”

His eyes are bright and giddy. “Can we make more?”

I chuckle, and it makes me ache between the legs just to laugh. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

Soon the city is flourishing again, and we fly back to my home country to present the new princess to her people. She is received with joy and cheers, and after some time, we find her a name.

Sarina. A perfect name for our wild little daughter, who runs with her white hair blowing in the wind, held back only by the two horn nubs on either side of her head.

We often travel between our two kingdoms, even when I’m big and swollen with our second one. I don’t know what their lives will look like yet, but I know mine. Our peoples are happy and cared for, just as we are, and that is all I could ever want.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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MORE FUN BOOKS TO READ

Stealing the Troll’s Heart is the first book in my Trollkin Lovers fantasy series, where humans and trollkin are at war—but some may cross the lines for love.

The Monster Menagerie is an anthology featuring six short stories and seven sexy monsters.

My Minotaur Husband is a sweet, fluffy, super steamy book about a human woman and her trial marriage to a rather… large minotaur.

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Also by Lyonne Riley

TROLLKIN LOVERS

Stealing the Troll’s Heart

Healing the Orc’s Heart

Capturing the Orc’s Heart

Charming the Troll’s Heart

Keeping the Human’s Heart

Tempting the Ogre’s Heart

ANTHOLOGIES

The Monster Menagerie

STANDALONES

My Minotaur Husband

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About the Author

I come from a traditional publishing background, which is rewarding but often too rigid, so I shifted to self-publishing to pursue my real passion in writing: extremely sexy monster romance. I probably should have known I would end up here after spending most of my young adulthood writing erotic fan fiction, but it took me a while to find my way back to myself.

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Acknowledgments

I would like to thank everyone involved in helping me through the process of putting out this book. This was a rocky road, and I can’t say enough how much I appreciate the help and encouragement of the people around me. Thank you to my friend Keith for creating the spot illustrations that decorate this book. Big thanks to Ash Raven for designing this great cover. To my critique partners, especially Ruth, who give me phenomenal editorial feedback: You all make this possible. And of course, my amazing spouse, who has always supported my dreams—and given me lots of inspiration for my characters’ sexy adventures.

I couldn’t have done this without the expertise of my fellow self-published romance authors. Thank you for inviting me into your circles and helping me through this process.

And thank you to my readers, who gave this book a shot.

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Introduction

A Note on Piracy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

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Also by Lyonne Riley

About the Author

Acknowledgments