The Beggar Princess (Fairy Tale Heat Book 4)

by Lidiya Foxglove

  “What will I rule now? The chickens?”

  He pointed at the bird. “Follow my orders or I will find something to do with you.”

  He shut the door and I regarded the feathered corpse on the table. I don’t know what it was. I never saw my dinner looking like this. I tentatively touched its feathers and shuddered back.

  The thing was, I don’t think he really wanted me to pluck the bird at all. He wanted to do something to me. And I wanted something to be done to me.

  And so I left the bird alone and turned back to my papers until he came in from the stables.

  Chapter Twelve

  Princess Bethany

  The thrill of defiance surged through me when the door creaked open again. I stood up. He took two steps inside, the floorboards creaking gently under his boots, ominous and thrilling.

  Wordlessly, he picked up the bird and started plucking the feathers. “Read me what you’ve written,” he said, in a very level voice that nevertheless dared me to argue.

  I didn’t expect that. To read what I’d written stripped me naked in a way more vulnerable than when he asked me to take my clothes off.

  He glanced up. He had the most beautiful eyes in the world, I thought. I wished I knew how to describe them. They were tender and dangerous and seemed to miss nothing.

  I swallowed. “‘Along the coast of Bondino, a warm breeze blew day and night, and yet Anabella could not suppress a chill as she approached the rear door of the manse.’”

  “A little louder,” he said.

  I forced my voice to be more bold.

  Once, she would have come in a carriage, clad in silk and lace that whispered as she walked, and entered through the front door into a glow of candlelight and the caress of music in her ear. Summer has gone forever, she thought, glancing down at her plain gray gown. The grasses blew gently, a cloud passing over the sun, as she knocked on the low, weathered door set in the stone wall.

  The door opened slowly, scraping the floor as if the years had settled it badly in its frame. The woman who answered was as weathered as the door itself, with eyes as black as raisins.

  “Raisins?” Jack interrupted shortly. “They’re really sort of a brown, eh? Are her eyes shriveled, too?”

  “Raisins are black,” I said.

  “Are they?”

  “Maybe you have different raisins.”

  “Have you ever really looked at a raisin?”

  I growled. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

  “I do indeed. I must know what was more important than dinner.”

  I kept reading, a little embarrassed by the parallels between Anabella’s situation and my own. She was ashamed to have fallen so far, to be a mere maid when she had once been a lady. Only, she got to be the maid to a gentleman in the form of Mr. Valimont. The first time she saw him was when she had to bring him dinner. I was blushing by now, because my first drafts of my gentlemen were always more lurid than the final product and I knew what was coming.

  She had never seen a man like him before, with shadows in his eyes and something cruel and tormented in his mouth, like he had eaten something bitter. He was not the bland young men she knew. He lived in Bondino, the land of sunshine, and yet it seemed that this life-giving light had never touched his pale skin. When he lifted his eyes to her, she actually jolted back as if she had been struck, as if she had known him in lifetimes past. Desire…coursed through her…awakening her small body beneath the dour woolen gown…

  My voice started to falter.

  But by the time I got that far, Jack had finished with the bird.

  “Get in bed,” he said. “On your hands and knees.”

  I put down the papers.

  “No,” he said. “Keep reading. I like hearing your stories fresh off your head.”

  He put the chicken in the pot and tossed in a few vegetables and some water and herbs. A very simple stew, but my mouth watered, as I had not eaten meat in more than a day.

  “Go on,” he said.

  The bed curtains were parted. I climbed onto the soft mattress, putting the papers before me.

  Anabella set down the tray on the side table and lifted the silver lid off of the plate, presenting it to him, drawing so close that her skirt brushed the arm of his chair. “You are the new maid?” he asked.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Anabella.” Now she placed the coffee pot before him, and poured him a cup. “Do you need anything else, my lord?”

  He caught her hand. “You look like—”

  She paused. “Like whom, my lord?” Now that she had drawn close, her eyes cast down briefly, and she realized his pants were tight with a stirring that matched her own.

  “Leave me,” he said. “I’m afraid I will have to let you go.”

  “But I have only just started working here today.”

  The coffee pot rattled, as if touched by an unseen hand.

  “Go,” he said, and when she did not immediately tear herself away, he repeated the word with his teeth bared. “Go.”

  I stopped. “That’s all I have for now.”

  “Does she go?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. For now.”

  Jack had walked back over to me while I read. I heard him pull his shirt off of his head, saw it fall across the foot of the bed when he tossed it. He lifted my dress, exposing me to the cool air.

  “I think that scene could use a wee bit of improvement.” He folded his body over mine, his voice close to my ear. His hands stroked my aching shoulders and I sighed.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “You are the new maid?” he prompted.

  “Yes, my lord,” I breathed.

  “You’re not a very good maid, are you?” His hands slid down my body, caressing the curve of my breasts and waist, drawing anticipation out of me. My body had not forgotten what he’d done to me yesterday. The merest brush of his fingers, and I was in a state.

  “I used to be a lady. And then I lost everything. Now I’m here…scrubbing your floors, cooking your meals. But I don’t really know how. I’ve never worked before.”

  “I think you may be right. You’re hopeless, aren’t ye? That oatmeal was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, truth be told. But how will I teach a lady humility? How will you learn what it means to serve something other than yourself?”

  “I want to serve you, my lord. In a way that will please you…and does not involve suffering through my oatmeal.” He kept gently stroking my body. His touch had a language of its own that I felt I understood. I clenched the bedcovers with my fingers. “I beg you, my lord, let me serve you the ways I do best. Let me write for you when you’re gone, and devote myself to your pleasure when you’re present. I want my heart to be your captive until the end of my days. The ribbons that bound me to your desires? I want to feel their echo, even when I am free. I have been given everything I’ve ever wanted, except the one thing I wanted—surrendering myself to a man who loves me enough that he doesn’t see me as a princess, but merely as a girl. I beg you—I beg you!”

  He gripped my shoulder and threw me down onto my back, and then he kissed me with a passion that seemed to carry the weight of ages, as if we had known each other across years, miles, and lifetimes.

  I was not sure whose tongue was more eager, whose mouth claimed whose. I could not wait for him, but there was no need to wait. This strange, rugged man, with the handwriting of a gentleman and the skills of a peasant, knew everything I wanted and needed. I dragged my hands through his hair, the locks brushing my fingers. He grabbed my hands and kissed them and then lifted them over my head, and I sighed with longing.

  “Your begging has pleased me,” he said. “It seems you have a way with words, lass.” He pulled my skirts up, lifting them over me. I shifted position to help him free me of the drab brown dress. Now he suckled my breasts, making the flesh harden and tingle. He teased them as my senses churned.

  “Please,” I said.

&n
bsp; He paused, considering. “Back on your hands and knees,” he said. I obeyed, glancing back at him, standing tall behind me. Quite tall, or maybe this bed was just too small compared to my bed back home. He unfastened the laces that held his trousers closed. His cock was quite a bit above my ass.

  He put his hands on my thighs and lifted me up to meet him. I had to walk my hands back a little, barely finding my position before he thrust into me with one deep stroke. My passage was tight but so slick. I cried out with relief, to finally have him inside me, to finally be filled with him. My inner walls convulsed around him. I wanted to hold him there forever. His hands clenched my thighs, and he fucked me like he’d been waiting for this all his life. The teasing had built up both of us up to a point of unbearable anticipation. My body rocked the whole mattress and made the frame creak.

  Every stroke of him brought intense pleasure and sensation, like nothing the captain of the guard had ever managed. Jack was not much bigger but he was so much more in command. He wasn’t afraid of breaking a princess, and oh, but I thought he would break me! Before long, I couldn’t even help the sounds I was making. I was so far from the castle or any other person, in any case. I didn’t have to worry about being discreet.

  “You’re not fit for cooking and cleaning, but ah, you are fit for pleasing me, my princess.”

  He was relentless with me, his manhood like an army storming my castle. (A good line, I thought; too bad I couldn’t put such naughty scenes in my books.) I ached from the strength and speed of him, and it was the sweetest pain I had ever felt. Heat rose with me. I don’t think I felt my arms and legs at all anymore, but I panted from the strain of my long-built desire.

  When I started to fall, it was almost frightening; such a precipice it was. “My lord!” I cried.

  “Not yet,” he said sharply.

  “But—”

  “Not yet.” He let go of my thighs a moment, the spear of his cock still holding me up, and pinched my nipples sharply enough to hurt. This seemed to draw some of the sensation away from my nether regions and with tremendous effort, I managed to hold back.

  But not for long. I was almost sobbing with the effort. “Please,” I said. “Please allow me, my lord.”

  “Almost…” He gripped me at the top of my legs, fingers wrapping around me, drawing me closer to him. His cock throbbed within me.

  “Come now,” he said, and I did. My pussy trembled around him and it seemed to spread up my entire body like a chill, but it was glorious. His hot seed filled me and I was almost laughing with the ecstasy of it, my voice low.

  Now I suddenly felt the exhaustion of my limbs. I sagged in his arms, and for a moment he held me, still inside of me, and then he put me into bed with my head on the pillow. “I hoped it was you,” he said. “From the moment I saw you and your haughty little head. You’re mine now. All mine, my Lady Whittenstone…” He trailed a finger lightly down my body from my throat to my cleft. I arched my hips into his touch. Sensitive as I was, I still yearned for more.

  “Who are you?” I asked again. “Did my father know about this? Is our marriage true?”

  “Aye, it is. I am a man of means, and I asked your father for his approval.”

  “So he was in on it all along,” I murmured, a bit grumpy even as I wasn’t complaining. “How sneaky of him.”

  “He really wasn’t sneaky. The sneakiness was all on my part.” He chuckled. “He was, however, relieved to find someone willing to put up with his spoiled little darling.”

  My mouth snapped open with indignation, and before I could say anything, he kissed me again. Even the sound of a kiss is very nice, more intimate than a whisper, slow and sweet.

  “I will do a lot more than put up with you,” he said. “I promise you that.”

  He kissed me once more, before he rose to stir the stew. It was a long night indeed, long and sleepless in the best sort of way, as we made love, and the night was so quiet that we worried for nothing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  King Brennus

  Tomorrow I would have to return to my castle. Whether I had impressed upon my bride the duties of an elven queen, time would tell. I expected I would endure a few jibes about falling for a spoiled human girl. But I knew without a doubt that she would make me very happy, and if she ever treated her servants cruelly, I would send them away and she would serve me.

  Come to think of it, I ought to apologize to the servants in advance. She was wont to do it on purpose, just to goad me.

  I was still hoping to catch a rabbit, but first I went to the guard post to assure Torsin that we would be heading home soon.

  As I approached, my instincts pricked. It was very quiet, with no men outside keeping watch.

  I notched an arrow to my bow string as I approached, keeping my footsteps silent. “It’s too early,” I whispered, assuring myself. “Not yet winter.”

  There was a chill in the air, but it was still the friendly season. Red and gold leaves carpeted the road. The trees were bare, except for the evergreens, of which there were many, but I could see through the forests all around me.

  I came to the door of the patrol base. Blood trickled down from the stoop. The door was shut. The blood came from behind.

  And all was quiet.

  For a moment, my heart stopped.

  Carefully, silently, I traded my bow for a knife, for fighting in close quarters. I opened the door.

  Orisel’s body fell across the stoop, bloody and mangled. Half-eaten. I had a strong stomach, but this—

  The cabin was dim, the curtains drawn. In the second before my eyes could adjust, I heard a familiar voice croak, “My lord…”

  “Torsin!” I hurried around the table. He was slumped in the corner. “You’re alive? Gods, but Orisel…”

  He laughed dryly, with pain. I lifted my water flask, fumbling with the cork. “They left me alive. They hoped you would come find me.”

  “Who?”

  “Wolvenfolk. Two of them; I don’t know if there are more. They called themselves the Living Brothers. They said they’re here to take back the woods.” He took the flask and drank it down.

  I had a chance to survey him. His face was scratched, his clothes were torn, and his foot—one foot was mangled, likely beyond repair. They crippled him and left him here to watch Orisel die. My stomach twisted with fury and I got to my feet.

  “I left Bethany at the cabin. The horses are there. I’ll run back and get them and we’ll hurry to the village.”

  “Blow the horn first,” Torsin said. “I wasn’t able to reach it. Summon the other guards to our aid.”

  The horn hung on the wall. I blew it twice, signaling for any other men in the area to gather.

  “That ought to do. I’ll send them along your way as soon as they get here. Hurry. I hope it’s not too late,” Torsin said. “I’ll pray to all the lords of the forest.”

  “I left her a sword.”

  “A sword is nothing to them, Brennus. They took Orisel out in seconds. They left me here wounded on purpose. Be very careful. We must not lose you.”

  Never in my life had I run a mile so fast. My feet scarcely touched the ground.

  The door to the cabin hung open. The garden was trampled.

  That was when I knew I had made the most terrible mistake of my life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Princess Bethany

  I had a great sense of relief now that we had finally made love, and I knew that Jack had my father’s approval and our marriage was real. Soon, I thought, he would bring me to his true home and I would find out what sort of life I was in for, but it didn’t seem to matter now. I lounged in bed, sleepy and pleased, watching motes of dust float past the golden sunlight streaming in the window.

  Then, I decided to go pick some apples.

  I still didn’t know how to work, really, and I was in no hurry to scrub floors. But the worst of my stubbornness had melted away.

  Maybe all along, all I wanted was the chance to fall in lo
ve and the ability to keep writing. I never thought I could have both. I had been sitting on my secrets for so long. Now I finally had someone to talk to, and the whole world seemed more beautiful.

  I had a basket at my feet. The trees were so full of apples that I had filled it in no time. Now, I would have to try and peel them.

  I heard a rustle in the forest and instantly went alert. I reached down to pick up the basket, but when I heard a second rustle, I abandoned the apples entirely and rushed into the cabin. My heart was racing. It’s probably just a fox or a hare or something… I wasn’t used to being alone. I shut the door behind me and picked up the sword, and one of the kitchen knives too. I peered out the window.

  Two men were walking through the garden, their footsteps crushing squash vines. They were tall and lean, but broad-chested, with golden eyes and messy black hair and long arms with claws. They were handsome in a dangerous sort of way—I might enjoy seeing them as actors at the theatre, but I was terrified of them now. Wolvenfolk. They sniffed the air and I ducked as they turned toward the cabin.

  I heard one of them say, “Look at all these apples. Bloody elves have got a whole damn orchard out here in the woods.” Funny enough, despite looking so menacing, he talked like any old peasant and didn’t even have a deep voice.

  “Toss me one of those. I haven’t had a good apple in months.” Well, never mind. The second one had such a deep voice that it might make the very earth tremble.

  “Aye, what I wouldn’t give for a pot of Auntie’s spiced applesauce…”

  “I’d still rather have the girl who picked the apples.”

  I hadn’t realized wolvenfolk liked apples. But I suppose they were as much man as they were beast.

  But the apples wouldn’t distract them for long. I couldn’t let them see me.

  I dropped to the floor and crawled to the bed, hunching in the space between the bed and the corner wall.