Page 9 of Taken By the Barbarian King

And it's the truth.

Whenever I pictured myself with a wife it wasn't with one who hated my guts for uprooting her life and trapping her in a loveless marriage.

Well, in fact, whenever I pictured myself with a wife it made me sick. Married life isn't for me. I don't need to be married to know it. I've seen the results of this wretched tradition all over, on my friends, family, and strangers alike.

What I want, what I truly want, is to be free. Free to kiss, free to drak, and free to love a woman without a hidden purpose behind it. Without a mandate to provide heirs to the throne. Without the clerics tracking my every move, her every cycle, our every encounter and–shudder–give us pointers.

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" she asks.

I shake my head and clear my thoughts.

"I'm genuinely sorry for how things have transpired. If I could change things..."

"What kind of a prince are you if you can't change things?"

I look up at her and see her defiance and strength. How she refuses to succumb to her fear, and her determination to speak her mind. She may be small and physically weak, but there’s no denying that she can be a formidable opponent.

As much as this situation has become a debacle, at least I picked a worthy woman to be my mate. There's that consolation. Now whether she'll think I'm worthy of her too remains to be seen.

I guess that's why the isolation interlude exists. To make her see me. The real me.

"Unfortunately our traditions overrule even me."

She grimaces and places her hands on her hips, the move accentuating the shape of her body and making her even more desirable than she is already.

Gods help me.

"Well, I don't think I've heard bigger bullsh—” She catches herself, then lets out a heaving sigh. “No, wait. I have. Perhaps we're not so different after all."

"Perhaps we're not." I agree.

We stare at each other for a few moments. This is probably the first genuine connection we've had beyond the physical, and despite that, I still feel the desire coursing through my body. Desire for her. For those eyes to look at me like that for the rest of my days. For her lips to decorate my skin like trophies, for her fingers to trace every muscle. Before I know it I'm hard again and this time, I don't think it'll be as easy to get rid of it. Not when my dick craves her touch more than it's ever craved anyone before.

There's a sound from the other end of the room which makes her jump. The thing balled up on the bed starts yapping once more, as if trying to ward off an invisible threat.

"Wha-what was that?" she asks.

I smile at her and turn to the door, where the sound originated. I approach it and open the service hatch. When I return to the bed Alexandra's eyes open wide and the Thing is doing circles around itself, staring at the tray.

"What is all that?" she asks.

"This is our nuptial nourishment. All harvested from the most nutritious, most luxurious, most pristine parts of my world."

There are red berries from the jungles of Borg, dragon fruit from the caves of Lorganoth, capsicae from the desserts of Fair, seaweeds from the Tarthgon ocean. The best my planet could offer.

I hold up a red berry to her. “Here, try it.”

Alexandra makes no move to take the fruit, staring at it suspiciously.

“Have faith. It’s perfectly safe for humans to consume.”

Still, she hesitates.

“I’ve liberated you to be my bride. Why would I go to all that trouble only to kill you now?”

Her lips flatten into an expression I’m beginning to understand denotes annoyance. But she plucks the fruit from my hand and pops it into her mouth.

She chews, then pauses, then gasps.

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