Page 33 of Tamed for Her Pleasure

I need to think about something else lest I fuck her again.

The snow is starting to settle.

“We need to ride hard,” the guard who appears to be in charge says, a sour expression on his face.

I clasp arms with my brother, hug my sister, and ruffle the hair of my little nephew.

“We shall be back in the summer, lad. Happen by then, the princess will be plump with child, and you will have a little cousin on the way.”

One of the guards makes a blustered, choking sound. What the fuck is wrong with them? Do they not breed their women in the palace?

I lift Penelope into my saddle and mount behind her, ignoring the horse standing riderless that was clearly for her.

She huffs out a little breath. I don’t mind it. She will get used to my ways.

Amid cheers and well-wishes of the Baxter clan, we ride out.

The snow begins to fall heavier, and we ride hard, stopping only briefly to walk the horses and give them a rest. As night falls, we meet a dozen guards who escort us the rest of the way until, finally, the city of Pershore comes into view.

Yet more guards are waiting as we near, and as the great gates open, they form ranks around us.

We slow our horses to a trot. I have never been inside a city, and the explosion of sound assaults my ears. People, so many fucking people, streets upon streets of them: they hang from windows and gather at doors and street corners, calling out greetings.

The only time I see this many people is when I am going to war.

“Gods, who the fuck are all these people. What are they waving at?”

“They are waving at you,” Penelope says, a distinct smile in her voice, making me realize that I have said that out loud. “And also me.”

“Well, tell the bastards not to wave at me. They do not know me. Also, there are far too many for you to know either. How do you keep track of all their names?”

She laughs outright. It has a pleasing timbre and makes me want to pin her down and fuck her despite her laughter being at my expense. Which I realize does not make a lot of sense, but it is what it is. Likely if she breathes wrong, I will want to fuck her. It feels like forever since I rutted her in my furs… I wonder if they have furs on their beds here…. More likely, they have some fancy things that I will not like at all.

The snow is not as heavy here, leaving only a light dusting on the cobbled streets and rooftops. The houses are tall and narrow, rising many stories, and so tightly packed that they seem to lean in on one another.

Yet there is grandeur here, too, as the smaller houses give way to larger ones with walls and gardens.

We turn a corner and, ahead, the inner castle rises above all, enclosed within a high wall. The double gates are gold and shine under the light of many lanterns. They swing open as we near, opening into a courtyard.

Lights blaze in every window of the castle, its turrets reaching toward the dark sky. Painted a brilliant white, it glistens with an otherworldly glow—I can only wonder at the time and effort that went into building it.

It is daunting and foreign to me, yet also beautiful.

Her father, the king, the annoying advisor, his assistant, and an entire row of people in fancy clothing gather upon the steps leading to a grand entrance.

In the very center of the courtyard is a high podium with a statue of a woman. I gesture toward it. “That looks remarkably like you?”

“My mother,” she says softly. “She died during my birth. She was a legend who thwarted a treason plot.”

Well, that is a big shadow to live under. I sense there is more to this, but now is not the time.

As we bring our horses to a stop in front of the welcoming crowd, liveried stablemen rush to gather reins. I give my horse a pat. Poor bastard. He’s going to wonder what the fuck has happened to him, being stabled here.

I dismount and help Penelope down, although she glares at me. My lips twitch as I take her small hand in mine—I want to toss her over my shoulder and carry her in like a prize, but I get the feeling that would be frowned upon here.

“Welcome home,” her father says, embracing his daughter like she has been gone a year and not less than a day before turning to me. “Be welcome!”

As the crowd of nobles bows or curtsy deeply, I worry anew for the state of things to come.

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