I did not.
A messenger appeared in the garden, informing us that we were required again in the grand hall. I thought this odd, for the court had already gone about its own business, and the messenger seemed quite sure our presence was needed, not just mine but Hadley’s as well. We looked at each other questioningly, but we were each as bewildered as the other. In case we should not get another chance, Hadley and I embraced once again, said our quick goodbyes, and returned swiftly.
Within the hall, Branford sat next to Camden. As I entered, King Edgar and Princess Whitney stood and began to walk toward Hadley and me. Whitney’s eyes, narrowed in a cruel smirk, found mine and then looked abruptly away.
“A word, Hadley,” King Edgar said as I continued on my way to my husband’s side, and Hadley stopped to speak to her king.
As I approached, Branford’s gaze met mine, but he quickly looked back toward Camden, his expression furious. King Camden did not raise his gaze to me but kept his eyes trained on Branford.
“I said I did not wish her to be summoned,” Branford said with a growl under his breath.
“It must be done, Branford,” Camden said quietly with a shake of his head.
“Then I will do it in my own way!” Branford stood abruptly, his eyes still glaring at his adoptive father. He huffed out a breath through his nose, closed the distance between us, and grabbed for my hand. He took a step toward the main doors, where King Edgar still stood with the princess and Hadley, then turned quickly and led me out the small door behind the thrones.
He practically dragged me up the narrow back staircase and threw open the door to the hallway. Once we were in our own rooms, he shut the door with a crash and turned to me. I cried out in surprise as he lifted me into his arms and wrapped them tightly around me.
“I never, ever want to hurt you.” He moaned his words against my neck. “Never…I love you…cherish you…you are my world…”
“Branford…what are you talking about?”
“Please…my wife…my Alexandra…I need you…”
“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.
It was his way. When he was distressed or angered, he took my body and entered me like a zealot comes to a temple. There he would worship his troubled thoughts away
until he could again think clearly and with the best interests of his people at the forefront of his mind.
This was my sacrifice to Silverhelm.
And what sweet sacrifice it was.
He thrust his hands under my skirts, and he pushed them up and around to the back of my legs. He pulled at my undergarments, discarding them quickly before his hands captured my bare flesh instead. I started untying the laces of my bodice though I doubted I would have the chance to take it off.
With his mouth pressed tightly to mine, he lifted me from the floor, turned, and pushed my back against the door to the hallway.
“Branford…someone will hear…”
“Let them listen,” he responded. “Let them hear what I do to you.”
He reached for his trousers, and they fell quickly to the floor. I felt the tip of him at my entrance and gasped. A moment later, he was inside of me, and my head dropped back against the wooden door as he began the measured movements of his hips. My body hit the door with each thrust, creating a knocking sound that I was sure echoed through the hallways as my mouth turned up into a wry grin.
Yes, people of Silverhelm. In case you were wondering, this is what your prince does to me.
He tore at the remainder of my clothing as he continued his relentless pounding. He finished the laces I had started to untie and pulled the whole dress up and over my head without breaking his rhythm. In turn, I released the ties of his shirt and ran my hands up his chest and down his arms after the garment was tossed to the floor.
Branford pulled out of me, pushed away the clothing that still clung to us, and tossed my naked body over his shoulder. I squealed as I felt his large, warm hand squeeze my buttocks before he walked us to our bed and tossed me onto the center of it. He crawled up my body like a wild, hungry animal—with blazing eyes and panting breaths.
Branford’s gaze stayed locked with mine as he rose up on his knees, bringing my legs with him. He entered me again, slowly pushing and pulling but with increased intensity. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at me—desperate, needy, longing—that made me realize something was very wrong. I had no chance to think about it.
With my ankles in his hands, he brought his arms behind his back, wrapping my legs at his hips. I held on to him as he moved forward, filling me as he reached up above me and grasped the headboard of the bed.
“Hold on tightly to me,” Branford said in a low whisper. “Tell me if it is too much for you.”
I could only nod in response as his arms tensed, and he gripped the top of the bed with his fingers. Using the wooden frame for support, he began thrusting into me—slow and hard.
I cried out as he pulled back and entered me roughly. I reached for his body, and my hands splayed out on his chest as I tried to keep up with his movements.