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Isabella leans against the ramparts of the castle, arms crossed on the stone wall, and watches the sun set. Her forearms ache to the bone, her busted knuckles have scabbed from the dried blood and now burn when she unclenches her fists to stretch out her fingers. Underneath her armor and dress, she is tacky with dried sweat and desert dust.
Surely everyone left alive were bathed by this late into the evening. Rising from the inner courtyard were the sounds of a raucous, drunken feast. To celebrate, what? Not only had her people lived today, but the prophecy fulfilled its promised king of the seven realms, Richard of all unsuspecting individuals. She should really be down there as well, bathed and redressed, unarmored as propriety dictated. But the pleasure of a desert sunset, the color of ripened pomegranate, she hadn’t experienced while locked in a dollhouse or preparing for war. She experienced it now though, as the rapidly cooling evening air carried the scents of spiced banquet meats.
Only after the sun set fully behind the mountains did she trudge to her new rooms. A maidservant unstrapped her armor and unlaced her dress and chemise. She submerged her feet into tepid water that would have been boiling hot a couple hours prior. The maidservant stood by the fireplace with a towel and clean chemise.
Isabella glanced over her shoulder while she scrubbed under her armpit. “That’s alright love, just leave those on the bed. Go enjoy the feast.”
She grinned and bobbed. “Yes m’lady.” She laid out the clothes and practically bolted for the door. Isabella huffed in amusement and sprawled in the copper tub, eyes closed and feet hanging over the edges. Even as the fire crackled, the sounds of music and drunken laughter wafted down the halls. If she could muster the energy she might join them, if only to see Galavant. Her fiancé now. When she dawned armor only hours before, she thought she would die without ever seeing him again, she thought she would die without his love most of all. She could certainly manage life without Gal, but she couldn’t imagine it being a happy one.
She smiled to herself, they’d be married soon. Her hand drifted down her stomach at the thought. As a princess with any possible political marriage to unfold, the only act of compliance to her parents she ever upheld was her virginity. No kings or princes married a princess already fucked. She knew her own fingers, she wasn’t a nun. But she thought of Galavant, her soon to be husband. Not only her husband, but so very-she thought of the broad naked line of his shoulders and chest, the sharp cut of his hipbones above his laced-up riding trousers. Not every princess, rather, hardly any princess had the sheer fortune and fairy tale luck of marrying the very masculine, heroic, charming, beautiful man of their dreams. Galavant made her ache.
She startled at the sudden jarring noise of a fist knocking on her bedroom door. Her ankles clacked against copper, she cursed, and splashed her way out of the tub to the towel laid across the foot of her bed.
“Just a moment,” she called. She pulled her chemise over her still damp skin, looked helplessly for any sign of other clothing. Only, she had no idea where her belongings were, probably still in that damn jewelry box. Propriety be damned, she opened the door enough to investigate the hallway. A freshly bathed, trimmed, and redressed Galavant smiled toothily at her, hands clasped behind him.
“Hello darling,” he said. “I was worried when you didn’t show for the feast. I tried to save you some wine, but I’m afraid Gareth drank every last bit of it.”
She laughed and leaned against the door. “I’m so tired and thirsty from the battle I think it would only have knocked me out. I stayed out to watch the sunset.”
Remarkably, Galavant’s eyes darkened in understanding. Though their reuniting words were brief, he inferred her imprisonment, and contrary to her parents-and seemingly every other idiot in the seven realms, he understood her lingering distress. Just another positive of Galavant, opposite of any other posh nobleman or king her parents tried to marry her to, Galavant had experienced true adventure, true war, bloodshed, and horrors too. He understood and sympathized with the last two years of her life.
He glanced over her shoulder before he smiled shyly. “It might seem impetuous and scandalous, but everyone is either drunk or already passed out, may I come in?” She glanced down to her chemise and then to the youthful hope in his eyes. Oh, what the hell?
She opened the door to let him in. “Propriety be damned, we just won a war today.”
He laughed and spun around to embrace her, though his hands froze before he could clasp her waist. His eyes tripled in size as he glanced her up and down.
“My love I would not have barged in had I known you weren’t dressed.” She swallowed around a dry laugh as she noticed that the white chemise was rendered clear as glass across the damp curve of her breasts.
“I-I don’t know where any of my things are.” Her words came out much smaller than she intended. Somehow his expression softened, and his large hands slowly rested on her hips.
“Would you like me to fetch you something then?” He asked. Beautiful, wonderful, unassuming man that he was. He didn’t need servants to do his bidding. She cupped her hands over the curve of his shoulders, to cradle him a little closer as she smiled up at his, frankly, unfairly gorgeous face.
“If you’re not too scandalized by it, I’d really prefer you just stay here with me for a bit. I haven’t seen you in so very long, Gal.” One of his hands traveled up to cradle her jaw.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to kiss you now, as its been so very long.”
She laughed into his mouth, and she felt his lips pull into a grin against hers. He kissed her quietly for a moment, unassumingly. To catch up for lost time as it were. But then he tilted his head just so, or maybe she did, and her lips fell open a little, and then his did too. And then the kiss was deeper. His grip on her hip tightened and she tilted her head back a little more, and then his tongue tentatively edged past her lips. Did people kiss like this? She prodded with her own tongue in question, feeling like an idiot. But he huffed a gentle laugh and then tugged her bottom lip with his teeth. Oh God, her fingers dug into the meat of his shoulders. Oh God, that made her ache, made her want to widen her legs and beg for something, the hard edge of his belt, his fingers, his—
She made a sound into his mouth, heat travelling up her chest and neck. His mouth slid away from hers, slick, as he gasped hot humid breaths against her jaw. His teeth caught against her earlobe, then playfully at the column of her throat, as his beard dragged across her skin. The shot of arousal at the feeling seemed to reverberate through her, fast as a blink. She dug her fingers into him further, it surely hurt by now.
“Gal I-”
“I know,” he groaned. “I’ll stop, I just-” His eyelids lowered, coal black eyelashes dipping low. “I just-God I can see your breasts, and-”
She smoothed her hands down his shoulders so that they rested on the small of his back.
“I was not telling you to stop,” she snapped. It came out much harsher then intended. It’s just, everything about him, from those stupidly dark eyelashes, to his shoulders, hands, the way that one chunk of hair sort of just flopped onto his forehead, his ridiculously kind eyes, made her want him. She loved him, for all his bravery, loyalty, and all the stupidity and idiocy in between. But every masculine line of his body, his smile, his-could she even mentally admit, his musky smell, fine damnit, his musky smell, made her want him.
He grinned, syrupy slow as molasses. She watched him gut men without hesitation only a few hours before, but he had never looked more dangerous and predatory than in this moment.
“Of course, princess,” he murmured. She briefly thought, I’ve misjudged, before he began kissing her again, a little harder and deeper now. He held the back of her neck and kissed with urgency, with passion. She squirmed her hips a little. There was little point to it, she felt slicker then polished marble, and searching for friction could only serve to embarrass her. But Galavant immediately noticed the movement of her hips, and both of his hands clapped over them like iron. He grinned against her mouth and languidly opened his eyes.
“What do you think you’re doing, princess?”
She blushed, hotter then the desert sun at noon over the castle. She ducked her eyes to focus on the fireplace and wished for another invasion. His hand, gentle, nudged her chin up. His eyes glinted so very dark and lovely in the firelight.
“Would you like a proper bedding, princess?” His lips quirked up in a smirk as he said it. She blushed further, though refused to drop her eyes again.
“Gal-it’s not that I don’t want-it’s just you see I’ve never-and I know it’ll hurt-and I-”
His alarmed face shut her up. “It won’t hurt. Anyone that’s told you it should are lying or have had a much worse bed partner than I ever intend to be.”
She squirmed a little more and his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. Slowly, while he held her gaze, and an iron grip on her hips, he rolled his forward into her. His belt buckle slipped against her and she couldn’t help but squirm more. God she just needed-
“God Gal-please I need something inside me,” she moaned in frustration.
Galavant swore, “fucking Christ, Izzie.” And he hoisted her up by the backs of her thighs and carried her to the bed. He sat, more collapsed, and settled her onto his waist, thighs bracketing his own. He rucked her chemise above her knees while he kissed her, a fair bit more sloppy and wet now. She braced her hands on his shoulders as his hand wormed between her legs, under the chemise. He huffed into her mouth and then slipped a finger right inside her.
She sighed into his mouth and rocked in his lap while he curled his finger inside and rubbed his thumb in her slick and against her.
“Gal, another-another please.” She felt that as a princess, she had a world too much dignity to ever beg. But she would most certainly beg for him.
He thumped his forehead against her collarbone and groaned. But he acquiesced and slid another finger inside her. His fingers were certainly thicker and longer than hers, rougher too. Her own small hand had never quite been enough to satisfy her when she ached at night, for someone, God-a man inside her. She ground down on his fingers and clenched just to feel herself tighten on something solid and thicker than her own hand. Sweat gathered between her breasts and thighs, everything felt too hot and sticky.
Gal beneath her rolled his own hip, though he couldn’t be getting any friction or relief. His fingers really weren’t enough either. She stilled his hand with her own and cradled his jaw. He gazed up, adoringly into her eyes. Is she were an onlooker she might guess him bewitched, with the liquid smooth cant to the arousal and love in his eyes.
“Please Gal, I want you-I need you inside me.” And she once thought herself above begging.
But Galavant’s response made her pleading tone more than worth it. He keened like a wounded dog, and kissed her, violently now. She could not see, trapped in the slick and desperate heat of the kiss, but she felt him unlace his belt and trousers with one hand with quick jerky motions. He shoved up her chemise a little further to reveal herself, slick as a glistening dew leaf. His hands grabbed her under thigh and hoisted her a little. She caught one, lightning swift glance of him, thick and flushed a florid red before he murmured into her mouth.
“Lower yourself as you want, darling.”
She dipped her hips forward, knocked against his damp head, fumbled for an awkward moment, and then he bumped against her entrance and caught like a puzzle piece. She circled her hips down, waited for the pain, felt none, and then she just let herself sort of fall onto him.
Galavant moaned into her shoulder. “Fuck-fuck, thought you would go slower, love.”
She lifted her hips, feeling a slight ache now, but ground against him again. She gasped, this, this was what she needed.
“Please Gal, move, fill m—”
The words fell halfway out her mouth, and before she could feel any embarrassment, Galavant swore a violent, fuck, before grabbing her hips and thrusting into her in earnest. She moaned and rocked her hips, though couldn’t quite match his rapid pace. Instead of meet him thrust for thrust, she wiggled her hand between their grinding pelvises and rubbed her fingers against herself.
She arched her back a little and moaned at that. “Yes, Gal, beautiful, a little harder— Gal—”
Gal moaned, squeezed his hands so hard on her hips it began to hurt, and thrust once, twice, three times, violently so hard that the bed clacked against the stone wall and her eyes watered. He thrust again and—
“Shit—Isabella, oh God.”
She felt him come inside her and marveled at the feeling. She still rocked for a moment, even though he stilled and hissed. His hand fell over hers to grind her fingers harder against herself. She rolled her hips up-up and came with a long open-mouthed gasp while he slipped out of her.
They both gasped for a moment and then his hands cradled her face and he gently kissed her in between their heavy breaths.
“Darling I love you,” he murmured in between kisses. Their lips smacked, and he smiled, dopey and more love smitten then she could ever have believed a man capable of for her. “Darling I adore you.” He murmured again.
She would not cry, she told herself. She didn’t, but she did murmur back, while she stoked her hand against his ridiculous beard. “And I love you, as violently and everlasting as the sea, the moon and the stars.”
He grinned. “What about the sun?”
She cupped his face and kissed him, once, twice, before whispering against his lips. “And I love you as brilliant and steadfast as the sun.”