“Why leave the room?” he asks. We have never made love outside of the privacy of our bedchamber, but his words awaken something in me.
“Here. Now,” I groan as his lips and tongue dip under the bodice of my dress.
Before I know it, I am bent over his throne, holding on to the arms as he owns me from behind. I am not a quiet girl, and I know everyone can hear us, but I cannot bring myself to care. He does this to me. He makes me feel alive.
“I love you,” I scream, looking over my shoulder at him. All we each have on is our crowns. We look every bit the passionate royals we are. I love this man with everything in me, and he loves me. I knew from the moment I turned around in my tiny bedchamber over the Lyon and Thistle that he was mine. In the year I have been blessed with him, the sadness has left his eyes, and he smiles and laughs. He says I showed him what love truly was, and I can honestly say he showed me too. We needed each other to right the wrongs of the past. I vowed to murder all who had him; it turns out God took care of that for me, and he is all the better for it. He can breathe free in the knowledge that he is not like them. He is better, kinder, more everything than his father and brothers ever thought to be.
Everything we are now is because we found each other. Devotion. Love. Passion. ‘Tis all we need to survive this world.