Her King - Kingdom of Raultshire

“Stop. Please,” she begs with her words, but her hands tell me something different. I do stop because I have to be inside of her now.

“Are you ready for me, Braya?” I ask as I move up her body and line myself up with her opening.

“Yes. Take me,” she demands, wrapping her legs around my hips, effectively pulling me closer to her. I smile as I guide my cock into her slowly, pushing past her innocence. I am dangerously close to coming, but I surge forward, moving my hips faster and faster.

“Christofur,” she moans loudly, her legs tightening around me.

“Braya, fuck,” I growl, pounding in and out of her without restraint or regard for the bed. It creaks and groans under us. The only other sound in the room is our flesh and the little mewling sounds she makes.

I can feel her tighten around me as she screams her release. I fill her with my seed. The only thought in my mind is breeding her, making her mine in every way possible.

I pull out of her and lay beside her, so I don’t hurt her, but I drop kisses on her forehead. She reaches down and pulls the blankets over us; just as she settles down again, the door to the room bursts open.

“Braya?” A man yells, storming into the room. He grabs her by the hair and drags her from the bed. At least she has the foresight to drag one of the blankets with her.

“Father, you are hurting me,” she yells right back. Damn, this will not be good.

“You have dishonored our family and the king,” her father says.

“Take your hands off of her, sir,” I demand, getting out of bed, forgetting that I am not dressed.

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing his head.

“You have not released her,” I growl, and he immediately does so.

“I have other whores, better ones than she,” the tavern master says.

“I am not interested in whores. What is your name?”

“Robert Lyons.”

“Mr. Lyons, I must ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“I am afraid I cannot give her to you, my lord.”

“Excuse me? I am your king; I was merely asking out of courtesy,” I growl. This man is pissing me off mightily.

“She is already betrothed, and I have taken her bride price.” I look at Braya and feel utterly betrayed. She belongs to another man.

“What?” Braya screeches. “To who? When?” It appears my girl didn’t know this, but it hurts all the same.

“Just this evening to Lucas Kreacher.”

“Lucas Kreacher is an old man,” Braya says.

“So, he will not notice what a whore you are. Get your clothes and get out of here at once.”

Braya looks at me. Her eyes plead with me to interject, but there are some things a king should not do, and breaking contracts, especially betrothals, are one such thing.

She has tears in her eyes as she grabs her clothes and walks out of the room.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for my daughter’s behavior; she knows better.”

“It was my fault, Mr. Lyons.”

“Even so. I will beat the whore out of her.”

“You will not,” I growl, upset that he would lay a hand on my girl.

“All due respect, Your Majesty, I will do as I please with regards to punishing my daughter. There is really nothing you can do about it. Are you sure you do not want the services of one of my whores?”

“Fuck off,” I say, and he glares at me before bowing his way out of the room.

I need her, and there is no way in hell, I will let anything happen to her, nor will I allow her father to live long. As king, I am afforded the right to do as I please. She is what pleases me. I get dressed and storm out of the room, calling for Carlise as I go. He appears out of nowhere.

“Prepare the horses; we are leaving at once,” I tell him. If he is surprised by my order, he says nothing. He bows and leaves to do my bidding.

The only other door along the hallway that is closed has to be where she is. I kick the door open, startling the inhabitants. It’s not who I am looking for.

"Fuck," I shout. I leave the couple and go downstairs into the kitchen. I find her alone in the corner. She's dressed again, and there are tears in her eyes and the beginnings of a bruise on her face. Without a word, I pick her up and carry her out of the tavern in my arms.

“Oy! Where are you going with my daughter, Your Majesty?” her father demands from behind the bar as I stride to the door of the debauched establishment.

“I am taking her home,” I say, walking outside, daring anyone to try and stop me. I set her on her feet and swing up onto Dredge. I grab her hand and pull her up to sit in front of me. It’s a cold night, but luckily, we do not have a long way to go.