ELARA'S POV
"Yes… oh God… yes." I moaned boredly, my voice as hollow as the vaulted ceiling above me. The feather mattress groaned beneath the weight of Roland, my ever-dutiful guard, stationed between my thighs and failing miserably at the task of pleasuring me with his tongue.
My eyes drifted upward to the white canopy, its tiny embroidered stars more stimulating than Roland's efforts. I counted them one by one, praying they might finish the job he could not.
If he thought my refusal to take off my gown was modesty's sake, he was sorely mistaken.
It was mercy. The heavy silk kept him from seeing my expression. A flat, unimpressed look that would have unmanned him quicker than any blade. Perhaps I should have let him see it. He deserved to be as turned off as I was.
"Princess Elara…?" His muffled voice dragged me from my ceiling-watching. Thinking my brief silence might have thrown him off, I rewarded him with another hollow moan. "Yes… oh yes…"
"Princess," he called again. And this time I noticed he wasn't between my legs at all. He had abandoned his post, sitting dutifully by my thigh. "I'm done pleasuring you."
But of course.
I sat up. He made to stand, but I caught his collar and dragged him down before climbing on top of him. He tried to sit up aiming for a kiss but I pushed him down again and placed my hand on his chest to keep him there. I don't do kisses.
"Oh, Princess…" My guard moaned beneath me as I rode him… boredly. It was almost insulting how much more fun he was having.
I kept my eyes anywhere but on his face. The canopy. The wall. The empty corner of my room where I decided I really ought to add another pillow. Or two. And perhaps change the linen while I was at it.
"Princess… I'm coming…"
Second time's the charm, I had thought after he'd released embarrassingly quick the very first time yesterday. Yet here he was again, not even granting me the courtesy of surprise. My gaze drifted instead to the vase by my bed. It was starting to look distasteful.
"Princess, I'm coming…"
Perhaps flowers would help. Roses. Yes. I do love roses.
"Princess…"
This time, the voice jarred me. It was higher, distinctly feminine. My brows pinched, though I refused to look down at my guard. He didn't deserve the attention.
"I'm coming," Roland gasped again, in his very masculine tone. Which only convinced me I must have imagined the other.
"Princess…!" The sharp familiar and feminine whisper jolted my gaze to the door. My maid, Lumina, stood there pale and frantic.
"Roland isn't coming, the King is!" she hissed.
My confusion lasted half a breath then realization struck. My eyes widened. I scrambled off Roland at once.
"Off my bed!" I snapped. He looked disappointed, as though climax were a royal privilege I'd snatched away.
"The King is almost here," Lumina hissed again. That did the trick. Roland shot upright, grabbing for his discarded clothes, then bolted toward the door.
"Are you mad?" I hissed. He froze, wide-eyed, then began scanning my chambers for cover. There was, of course, nowhere sufficient to hide his broad, very unclothed frame.
"The window," I said flatly, pointing.
Without hesitation, he vaulted out. Good riddance.
I snatched the nearest book, flipped it open, and perched primly on my bed just as the door swung wide. To any observer, I was the very picture of a princess at leisure, deeply engrossed in literature rather than in the distinctly unliterary exercise I'd been enduring moments before.
"Princess Elara."
I turned, smoothing my gown as if I hadn't been caught mid-debauch. "Father. I didn't see you there."
His mouth was pressed in that familiar, thin line of disapproval. He lifted a hand and pointed without once looking away from me.
"Your book is upside down."
"Oh." My laugh came out brittle. "Yes, well I was testing if I could read it that way. A little… brain exercise." I tossed the volume aside, where it landed face-down on the coverlet, defeated.
Rising to my feet, I clasped my hands with exaggerated decorum. "What brings you here, Father? And the truce? Is it settled yet?"
He studied me for a long moment, as though weighing whether to chastise me or remind me once again how the soon-to-be Queen of Novami ought to conduct herself. In the end, he only sighed, no doubt realising it was a hopeless cause.
"The truce will be held later this evening. But I have come to discuss something far more important."
My brow furrowed. More important than a truce with the Werewolf King? The Devil himself?
"You are to be married off to Elder Harold before those monsters set foot in my palace," Father declared. "If matters go awry, I need you in safe custody."
I blinked, then let out a small laugh, as if the words themselves were some absurd jest. "Forgive me, Father, but did you just say I am to be married off? To Elder Harold?"
"It is as you heard."
"Father, surely not. Elder Harold is no Harold, he is a harlot. He collects wives as readily as the moon graces the night sky. You cannot possibly wish your only daughter—your only child—to be paraded as one more notch in his tally of conquests."
"I do not wish that upon you," my father replied, his tone iron yet weary. "But it is your safety I care for. That is why I make these decisions. Harold holds estates far beyond Novami's reach. He will hide you where no one suspects."
"Father…" I stepped forward, fists tightening at my skirts. "I do not wish to marry Harold. You have places across the kingdom, keep me in one of them if you must. But I would rather stay and fight at your side than flee like some caged coward. Please, Father. I am your warrior first… and your princess second."
"The order has already been given," he said, eyes darkening. "Elder Harold will come for you himself. You will not leave this chamber."
"But Father—"
"That is an order!"
His voice cracked like a whip, filling the room. He turned toward the door, but paused at the threshold and looked back at me. "You are not to see Lumina or anyone else. Guards will be stationed at your door to ensure you remain until your husband-to-be arrives."
"Father…" My voice splintered.
He lingered a moment longer, with an expression that I couldn't decipher. "Everything I do is because I love you, Elara."
Then he left. The door shut, and the bolt slid home with a cold finality that rang louder than his words.
Tears came, and for the first time in a long while I did not bother to hide them.
I have never been a perfect princess, but I have done my best to make Father proud. I have ridden beside his banners, learned to read maps by candlelight, and kept my temper when courtiers tested me. Yet because a brutal, arrogant, and powerful werewolf makes trouble at the border, he signs my life away.
I wish he were dead. I wish I could be the one to kill that thing. If I had done it, my father would not have to bargain my life for what he calls safety.
Just then, a loud thud snapped me out of my thoughts. I spun towards the window just in time to see Roland—naked, graceless, scrambling upright after his jump. I had totally forgotten about him.
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, fast, before he stood to his full height. By the time he looked at me, my face was dry stone.
"Princess," he began, voice heavy with pity, "he only—"
"Save it," I cut him off. I loathe pity more than I loathe boredom, and Roland had already given me both in abundance.
Funny how I used to find him very attractive before I bedded him.
He tried again, stubborn as a mule. "If there's anything I can do—"
"Yes," I said, folding my hands neatly in my lap as I sat back down on the bed. "You can put some clothes on and get out."
He hesitated, shifting where he stood, still all bare muscle and misplaced confidence. "If it's any consolation, Princess, I am happy to have been by your side before you are married off."
I stared at him in silence. No consolation at all. In fact, the remark made me cringe. It made me want to shove him out the window properly this time, instead of letting him leap of his own accord.
But then, an idea struck me.
I rose and tugged my hair up into a knot before stripping myself of my gown, and allowed it fall carelessly to the floor.
Roland's eyes widened. His lips parted. His gaze lit like a torch. He thought—dear gods—he thought I wanted another round.
Idiot.
I walked past him, straight to my wardrobe, and pulled out the plain shirt and trousers I used for sparring with my father's knights and tucked in some of my handy weapons. I dressed in front of him without shame. His eyes followed every movement as though I were offering him a show. He could not have been more mistaken.
"Princess… what are you doing?" His voice was half-hopeful, half-terrified.
I laced my trousers, fastened the belt, pulled the shirt over my head and finally turned back to him. "What I should have done the moment you jumped out of that window," I said. Then I pointed to the bed. "Climb back in."
He blinked. "In your bed?"
"Yes, in my bed," I snapped. "I need you to lie down, pull the covers to your chin, and pretend to be me."
He gawked. "Pretend to be you? But where are you going?"
I strode to the window, already tugging on my boots. "To hunt."
He stared, lost, and tried again. "Princess, the King—he will—"
"Stop yammering and climb into the bed." I shot him a look, sharp as glass. "Pretend you are me. You can manage it well enough. Saints know you already do a fair job of pretending when we are in bed." My smile was thin and wicked. "Convincing, truly. If only your stamina lasted longer than the first thrust."
Roland flushed crimson and swallowed hard.
I placed one foot on the sill, then another, glancing back once more. "Do as I say. I will be back."
And with that, I slipped out.