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I swallow the knot of emotion in my throat, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes upon us, witnesses to our stark, naked truth. It's a truth born of midnight whispers and tangled sheets, a love fierce enough to incite revolutions.
"Henry," my voice quivers, raw with the magnitude of my devotion, "I give myself to you, in body and soul." The words spill from me, an incantation, potent and charged. "To honor your spirit, to shoulder the burdens of this kingdom with grace and fortitude." My promise is a binding spell, weaving our destinies together with each syllable breathed into the hush.
The officiant's voice slices through the tension, stark and final. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The declaration echoes off stone walls, a decree that seals our fates.
Applause erupts, a tempest of sound that cascades over us, but it fades into a dull roar against the thundering of my heart. Henry's gaze locks onto mine, fierce and unyielding, and in the space between breaths, we crash together, lips meeting in a kiss that brands us irrevocably to each other.
It's not just a kiss; it's a conquest, a claiming. His mouth devours mine with a hunger that speaks of dark, endless nights to come, of passion that consumes and devours. It's a taste of what's ours—a kingdom, a bed, a future.
We break apart, our breath mingling, the taste of him lingering on my tongue—a heady mix of power and desire. Our connection is palpable, a living thing that writhes and coils between us, hungry and insatiable.
This is our coronation, not of crowns and scepters, but of flesh and soul.
Rose petals cascade from the sky, their sweet perfume mingling with the warm air. They flutter down, crimson and pink against the ivory of my gown, a riot of color that paints our first steps into forever. The cheers are deafening, a cacophony of elation that swells around Henry and me as we stride down the aisle, awash in a sea of jubilant faces.
His hand is a vise around mine, his touch branding me even through the delicate fabric of my gloves. Each petal that kisses my skin whispers promises—a future ripe with passion and the entanglement of two souls bound by the fervor of their love.
"Jane," Henry says again, and his voice is the anchor that keeps me grounded in the here and now, amidst the swirling maelstrom of my emotions. Desire coils low in my belly, dark and demanding, waiting for the moment when I can show him just how much I belong to him.
And then we kiss again, a collision of lips and teeth and tongue that brands me as Henry's for all eternity. The crowd fades into obscurity. There is only the searing connection of our mouths, the taste of him that's like coming home.
"Mine," he growls against my lips, and I've never felt more alive.
The door to our chamber clicks shut, sealing us away from the world, and I am adrift in a sea of sensation. Henry's hands, those royal hands, roam with a hunger that ignites my skin, tracing the curves and planes of a body that has known labor, not love—until now.
"Jane," he breathes out like a prayer or a curse, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my bones. His piercing blue eyes, usually so calm and commanding, now blaze with an untamed want that mirrors my own.
"Please," I whisper, the word barely escaping before his lips claim mine in a kiss fierce enough to steal the breath from my lungs. It is not gentle. It is possession. It is claiming, it speaks of dark promises and even darker desires.
Our clothes are mere obstacles; they fall away like leaves in autumn, discarded and forgotten. My auburn hair spills across the pillow as he hovers above me, a beautiful conqueror claiming his new land. The sight of his short, dark hair tousled and wild sets a fire within me that no amount of royal decorum could ever quench.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, his gaze searing into my very soul.
"More than my next breath," I gasp, granting him the power, the permission to delve into the depths of my being where no man has ventured. Where only he reigns.
And then we are moving together, a dance as primal as the earth itself. Each thrust is a stroke of a master painter, coloring me in shades of passion and pleasure so intense it borders on pain. The lines between us blur until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
"Mine," he claims once more, each word punctuated by his relentless rhythm.
"Always," I respond, surrendering to the storm, letting it sweep me under. There is no Jane. There is no Henry—there is only us in this moment, raw and unyielding.
His fingers find mine, entwining them as our bodies collide, a testament to two souls merging into one indomitable force. He is the king, yes, but here, in this room, I am his queen, and together we rule a kingdom built of sheets and whispers, moans and declarations that echo off stone walls.
"Look at me," he commands, and my eyes flutter open to meet his intense gaze. In them, I see the reflection of my own lust, my own devotion. And something shifts within us, a deeper connection forming amidst the chaos of our joining.
We are a tempest, a fiery blaze that cannot be quenched. Our cries fill the chamber, a chorus of fervent need that crescendos into a climax that shakes the very foundations of our world. As we crest the wave, our bodies shuddering in unison, I know that what we have cannot be contained by titles or thrones.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs, sweat, and satisfaction. In the aftermath, our breaths come in ragged harmony, and the weight of his body atop mine is nothing less than a benediction.
"Promise me," I pant against his ear, "promise me this is forever."
"Beyond forever," he vows, sealing it with a kiss that tastes of eternity.
In this darkened room, we are stripped of crowns and expectations, left bare and wanting only each other.
He is my king, and I am his queen, but more importantly, he is my husband, and I am his wife.
