I don’t think King Rowan had the heart to see her executed, and when he asked me I told him I was happy for her to be shown leniency. But she died through natural causes, and was buried with her own people near Sedgwick.
The mother that I knew, who my adoptive father had so long mistreated as she did me, has come to see us from time to time, but she has never warmed to me, nor have my sisters. Nor have I warmed to them. But I treat them always with the graciousness and respect that they so long denied me. I remain grateful to them for keeping me alive, even if I was not always happy under their roof. If not for them, I would never have met Bors. And for that, I remain always thankful.
Bors’ breath against my neck preceded the nip of his teeth and I hissed and pressed my head into the pillow as his hand drifted down my naked body. That was another break from royal tradition. We slept without night clothes, lest the seamstresses be working constantly to replace one torn garment after another.
“Your royal cunt is drooling for my cock, my queen.”
“Yes, my husband. It seems starved for you no matter how much you feed it.”
“Well, my duty to my queen. I will fill you again.”
“Duty?” I giggled as he rose up, threw the covers back and climbed over my bare body.
“Aye, in duty there is purpose. You, my sweet angel, are my purpose.”
His body on top of mine warmed me like nothing else could. I ran my fingertips down his shoulder and biceps, then down his chest and rippling stomach muscles. I raised myself up slightly on my elbow and nibbled his ear.
“It’s time for you to put another baby in me, Sir Bors.”
“That time again, is it?” he asked with a grin.
He teased me with his cock at my opening, only just dipping into my wetness, caging me in with his massive arms on either side of my body.
“Think you’ve earned it?”
I dragged my tongue down his throat and cradled his heavy balls in my hands. He gave me the special groan that he always did when I touched him there—the groan that told me, though I was curvy and soft, he was entirely outmatched by my strength and charms.
“I’m at your mercy. You fucking know it,” he whispered, and pressed his cock into me.
As he entered me, he kissed me with lusty dark fury that made me forget myself.
“Mine,” he growled as he drove into me.
His.
Always.
Forever.
Bors
Epilogue – Twenty-six Years Later
Sara’s screams are punctuated by the steady thump, thump, thump of the dressing table against the wall. She’s bent over the hard oak, her dress a chaotic mess of pleats and ruffles and folds of fabric, hiked up now above her waist, her ample tits spilling out over the front of her bodice so that I can grip them hard as my dick pounds deep inside her from behind.
Her yelps and obscenities remind me of the screams she made with the birth of each of our children, when I refused—to the utter dismay of the midwives—to leave the room while she was giving birth.
My wife.
My queen.
The mother of my three beautiful children.
No fucking way would I leave that to chance.
“Whose cunt is this?” I demand, pulling on her hardened nipples to punctuate my words and bring her back to the room. The rain outside obscures the horizon beyond the window, but I love the scent of it in the room, mixing with the scent of the fireplace.
“Yours, my king.”
“Fucking right, it’s mine.” I take one hand away from her tits and twist my fingers into her hair, tugging it back so that her neck arches and she growls with the pain. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
I plunge deep inside her and on a yelp she sweeps her arm across the wood, knocking over a vase and a bottle of perfume. The Lenten Roses, her favorites, tip out onto the floor, along with the scent from the bottle, but the vase miraculously stays teetering on the edge of the dressing table, its water dripping out onto the thick rug, much like the dampness trickling down my girl’s thigh.
“Please,” she gasps, and I grin.
“What do you want from me?”
“Please let me cum.”
“You want this cock?”
“Mmm hmm.” She rocks back onto me, trying to take me deeper, but I pull away and slap her ass, watching it wobble in response to my hand.
“What do you want?”
“Give it to me. Please, Bors. Your cock, harder. Harder.”
“Who am I?”
“My husband. It’s your duty.”
I laugh. She’s teasing, trying to make me angry, deliberately avoiding the answer she knows I want. I smack her ass hard and she gasps, moaning as she wiggles it for me, asking for another, which I give.