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“I know,” I assure her, chancing a few steps toward her. Again, she doesn’t move, but at least she isn’t running away. That’s a good sign for now. “I got in my head, and I panicked. I’ll say it as many times as you want me to. I’m sorry.”
A heavy pause hangs in the air, uncertainty setting in while I wait for her response. What if she doesn’t accept my apology? What if she decides she doesn’t want to work together after all? Could I have really ruined everything already?
I hope not, but my confidence is fizzling by the second.
Her reply doesn’t come, so I casually step closer until only a few feet separate us. I’m still not entirely sure what I’m doing–I should probably be keeping my distance–but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to her, like an invisible cord ties us together. Something deep-seated and primal says that being close to her is the only option that makes sense, and I’m too tired to fight it.
“Why would you panic?” Her voice is so soft I barely hear it.
I hesitate, wondering if honesty is the best option. Keeping things from her is how we ended up in this situation but sharing my conflicting thoughts feels too personal, too intimate. We’re still strangers, after all.
“We’re walking a fine line between treaty and treachery,” I say carefully. “It’s easy to get caught up in one side or the other.”
Understanding flashes in her eyes, and for the first time since I entered the room, she tears her gaze away, letting it drop to the floor. Despite my apology, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let her down. I’ve disappointed her, and even though we’re nothing but forced mates, brought together through an arrangement by those more powerful, I don’t want to fail her.
The realization has me shaking my head.
Something is clearly wrong with me that I care so much about her opinion, her approval. I’ve never cared for anyone’s approval other than my father’s. Why in Ulleh would I start now?
“Is that all you wanted to say?” she asks. “Your time is almost up.”
I fight the tug of disappointment dragging my shoulders down, determined to remain unfazed by her quick dismissal, and gently lift her chin with two fingers so that our eyes meet.
“What else do you need to hear?”
She doesn’t answer, but her mouth hardens into a line, like she’s fighting the urge to say something. My curiosity begs to know what she’s thinking, but I don’t pry. Instead, I wrap a hand around her and pull her against me, making her gasp at the sudden movement. The burning, primal feeling inside me is sated momentarily by her closeness. Everything feels right for a brief moment, like this is what I’m supposed to be doing.
I hate how much I enjoy the feel of her against me.
Her hands slip away from her chest, the material of her dress held in place between us, and they skate up my chest to land on my biceps. Chills start beneath her fingertips and roll down my arms, trickling down to my cock and making it twitch to life. Maybe I’m not too exhausted after all.
Off the top of my head, I can name thirteen positions I’d like to have the princess in right now, and twelve of those involve my cock buried deep inside her. The thirteenth is a repeat from last night, which I would happily do again if it means I leave drenched in her juices, but I fight the impulse.
I didn’t come here to claim her, despite how strong the temptation. I came to make things right between us, to repair our tattered alliance and get us back on solid ground. I’m almost convinced it was a success.
Almost.
I just need confirmation from her lips before I truly believe it.
We stand there in silence for a long moment, the seconds that pass feeling like hours. Tired as I am, I cling to this moment. I don’t want to rush it or let it pass me by. I don’t know how many of these peaceful, carefree moments I’ll get with her before the crown sits upon my head and she packs her things. I drink it in, tracings the features of her delicate face in my mind and committing them to memory.
She really is quite pretty, and before I can convince myself that it’s the sleep deprivation, the corner of her mouth twitches upward, lightening her expression. An unfamiliar tug in my stomach catches me off guard, but she cuts off the thought when she speaks.
“I don’t need to hear anything else,” she assures me. “I accept your apology.”
I grin with relief and run my free hand up the side of her neck, cradling the back of her head in my hand. She tenses as I lean in, but her lips conform to mine when I meet them. It’s a short, tender kiss that leaves me desperate for more when I pull away. Soon, I’m going to thoroughly ravage her body without hesitation, but not tonight.
Untangling myself from her, I watch as the top of her dress falls away from her perfect breasts. She doesn’t make an effort to cover them up, and I can’t help but wonder how she has so much confidence around me. Last night, when she pranced down the hall at my side, bare ass swaying with each one of her steps, I thought her assurance might have come from nerves.
Now, I’m not so sure.
Does she truly not care whether I find her attractive or not, and that’s why she doesn’t care if I see her? Does she know that she belongs to me–if only for a short time–and she doesn’t believe I should be denied the right to admire her freely? Or is it something else?
They’re questions that will have to wait for another night, because she’s soon gesturing toward the door.
“Goodnight, Nor.”
I cup her face a final time as gently as I can, wanting to show her I can handle her delicately when the time comes to finally claim her. It seems we’ve tossed protocol out the window, ignoring the tradition of consummating our marriage within the first day, but that’s okay. Rushed things aren’t often perfect, and perfection can’t be rushed.
