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“You have work to do. Please don’t let me keep you.”
Damn straight I had work to do.
“That’s right. These cows won’t milk themselves, will they?”
Milking cows was a fuckload harder than I’d imagined it would be. It took me a while to get the hang of it, and she almost died with laughter when I squirted myself in the face with one of the teats, but slowly I found my rhythm.
I listened to her directions, following everything to the letter. Whether she realized it or not, we were already locked in a dance that I wanted to take with her again and again. It was the dance of respect and obedience, of listening, learning, and obeying. Though it wasn’t my nature to be the one following direction, it was my job to show her how it was done… so that she could do it for me in return. On her back, in my bed, with my dick deep inside her.
And more.
Iris didn’t know it. Nobody knew it. But there was a side to me that would be ours alone, if I could ever let her into that secret.
When the milking was done, she reluctantly admitted that the stalls needed to be mucked out, so I scooped her up in my arms and off we went to the stables. She wasn’t one of those wilting, skinny women that I saw so often at court. I liked that about her a whole hell of a lot. It assured me that she was strong enough to take whatever I could give her. Goddamn it, how I wanted to give it to her, right there over the saddles that lined one side of the stables.
But for the moment, I forced myself be more gentlemanly. I mucked out, swept and scattered bedding. As I worked, we talked. I learned about all the work she had to do and all the responsibilities she had. It was way too much for one person.
“Do you have any help here?” I asked her, scooping some hay into a wheelbarrow. I knew full well she didn’t, but it was only logical that I would ask.
“Umm,” she said, with an awkward laugh, “sometimes. My father isn’t always here, but he’s usually pretty helpful when he is.”
Sometimes. Usually. Pretty helpful. Fucking bullshit.
A woman like her deserved round-the-clock servants, not some absent father who made her life one endless stream of chores. Asshole. But I held my tongue. It wasn’t my place to judge, no matter how strong I felt.
There was a moment of hesitation as she met my eyes with a sidelong glance, the blush rising on her cheeks.
“Sometimes I wish I had someone to just tell me what to do. To take away the responsibility. But the farm won’t run itself.”
Her words took me by surprise. “You don’t want to be your own boss?”
She shook her head on a shrug. “I do…” She hesitated and I could see the tension in her jaw. “I just wish I could let someone else take control sometimes.”
I met her eyes and thought I saw a glimpse of longing. “I understand.”
Back to work. I emptied the water buckets, scrubbed them out, and refilled them with cold water from the pump. She instructed me how to pick out the horses’ hoofs and how to clean the tack. Aside from one of the horses nearly kicking me squarely in the balls, I enjoyed all of it—it was work I’d never gotten a chance to do, and I reveled in the opportunity to live a normal life, even for one afternoon.
My own life wasn’t all that great even as a royal. I lived in a world of shadows and silent stares. Hers, though hard, at least didn’t make me feel ashamed. She lived in the light and I lived in the dark.
Hidden. Reclusive.
Despite my world of privilege, I was by most accounts unnamed and unknown to the world. I’d lived in the tunnels and lower levels of the castle most of my life. Some staff and a few guards came into regular contact with me but otherwise I was a ghost.
The time I spent with her that day was gold; getting to know her, getting to talk to her, getting to enjoy her presence up close rather than from afar. She was even more beautiful than I could have imagined. And I knew I would love her fucking always.
Once we finished in the stables and the chicken coop, I carried her back to the milking shed where I’d bandaged her leg earlier.
She turned to me with a smirk.
“If you go inside, open the cupboard under the milk jugs. You’ll see my secret treat there. You have to move the chicken feed aside, though. I have to keep it well hidden.”
I was on it. In the cupboard behind the feed, I found a few bottles of cider, sealed with wax. It was excellent cider, from one of the best brewers in the Aramoor valley. The bottles were small, and I knew they were valuable. Though I was thirsty from a long day’s hard work, I didn’t want to deplete her supply, so I brought a single bottle out to her.
