Previously, in Saving Prince Killian...

After spending many months living and working side by side, Prince Killian and Princess Emma have truly, madly and deeply fallen in love despite the obstacles that have barred their path to one another. Just when Emma has decided that she can trust her husband enough to consummate her marriage at last, he is called away to war on the very night she has decided to open her heart and body completely to him and invite him share her bed. The marriage remains, alas, unconsummated with shattering implications in the face of a new peril

Chapter 9

A few weeks later, Emma found herself working long hours as Castle Borgholm became both a hospital for the wounded and a center of strategic operations for the King's Army and the companies of all the highest nobles of the land.

"Good God, I'm exhausted," she sighed, sinking down in a chair after a long day of tending to a fresh influx of bloody, broken men. Her dress was torn, her hair disheveled and she had bloodstains all over her skirt and smudges across her forehead. She gratefully accepted a mug of water from the hand of Lady Ruby Hunt, Graham's younger sister. Ruby had journeyed to Castle Borgholm for the same reason as Emma: a sense of obligation to support the war effort as well as concern for her brother and her fiancé, Lord Willoughby, both of whom were involved in the fighting.

She and Ruby, a stunningly beautiful brunette, had become fast friends and co-conspirators. They had not only organized a makeshift hospital but had also involved themselves in planning and requisitioning food and other supplies vital to keep an army healthy and well fed. The commanders at first grumbled at their perceived interference, but ultimately their determination and implacability had worn down the initial resistance.

Fortunately, the news from the front had been generally positive. Led by the Prince, the army had systematically swept through the besieged towns and villages and gradually pushed the foreign invaders back across their own borders. Emma and Ruby had been elated initially to hear that the raiders had been beaten back, only to learn shortly afterward that the Prince had decided to press his advantage and resolve the continual threat posed by the Northern Kingdom once and for all.

As much as she tried not to worry and keep her mind focused on the many many daily challenges she faced, she had trouble sleeping and was beside herself with fear. She spent hours on her knees before she finally allowed her weary body to take any rest, praying for the success of the war, the safety of the men, the consolation of their families, but most of all, to spare Killian's life.

She was filled with regret, too, that she might have missed her chance, forever, to have lain intimately with him as a true wife. Sometimes she felt furious with him for having married her under false pretenses, for having been so weak and foolish as to fancy himself in love with a woman like Milah in the first place. Sometimes she felt like she wanted to kill Milah too, hating the woman who had corrupted his heart before Emma ever had a chance to touch it. The woman who had tried to destroy what little chance she and Killian might have had to find each other and make their marriage a success despite his prior involvement with her by means of the malevolent stunt she had pulled the night of the Grande Ball. She hated herself for having continued to hold him at arms length because she'd been too afraid to trust him not to betray her again with Milah, when her own heart had whispered to her that it was she, Emma, who ruled his heart now. She deeply mourned the passionate nights they could have spent together, the intimate and consoling memories that would have sustained them both, he in battle, she waiting anxiously for him.

Her remorse bloomed into a full blown sense of guilt when she realized that if Killian were killed, her own personal sorrow and broken heart would be only one tiny component of the shattering consequences for the Kingdom as a whole. The combined mistrust and folly she and Killian shared that had led to an unconsummated marriage also meant that he'd left no child in her belly to inherit the crown if Killian should fall in battle. In addition to the lifelong personal sorrow she would feel with no small piece of him left to her to provide joy and comfort, there were major political ramifications.

Although the King had already named his nephew Roland as the second in line for the throne, Roland was but a child, and far from the only royal relative with a blood based claim to the throne. Some of those potential claimants were powerful barons with armies at their back. The minute Killian died, they would circle like sharks smelling blood in the water. She would sink into an uneasy sleep, tormented with visions of her beloved covered in blood, dying in her arms, as she wept at her inability to help him.

Matters were not improved a few days later when rumors began to percolate that a huge battle had begun about a week after the Prince and his army had moved across the border. She and Ruby clung to each other, wordless prayers forming on their lips and terror in their eyes. The entire castle seemed subdued, waiting with baited breath for news of the outcome.

She was sitting by a dying soldier one day, writing as he haltingly dictated last letters to his mother and his sweetheart. Every once and a while, Emma would get up, remove the cool cloth from his head, and then go to the basin to freshen it and replace it on the lad's forehead. He couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen, and had been in service to the Duke of Moreston. They'd tried their best, but his wounds had festered despite their best efforts and it seemed likely he would die soon. Emma tried desperately not to imagine Killian lying somewhere similarly wounded, breathlessly dictating a few last lines to her and his father before he died.

Suddenly, clattering hooves were heard in the courtyard below the guildhall that served as their makeshift infirmary. Shouting was heard, followed by a rising rabble of voices cheering and yelling as people poured into the streets. Emma ran to the window, straining to hear what they were shouting about but could hear nothing coherent. She hoped the generally happy hoots and smiles meant good news.

Ruby burst into the ward and she turned and almost ran toward her friend. "Is there news?" Emma demanded breathlessly.

"Yes it's good news! The most blessed of news…." Ruby was laughing and crying simultaneously, hugging Emma.

"We have been victorious then?" Emma pressed, returning the hug fervently but still madly curious to know what had happened and, most importantly, was the Prince safe?

The messenger who had thundered into the courtyard below a short time ago now entered the room, located the Princess, and hurried to her. He bowed and fell to his knees.

"Yes, your highness. The Prince has won a famous victory and totally routed the enemy and taken their capital city. I am sent by His Highness the Crown Prince to give you this message personally," he was out of breath as he handed her a sealed parchment letter.

Immediately recognizing Killian's seal, she tore it open and eagerly read the letter. It appeared to have been hastily scrawled while he was on the move.

My darling sweetheart,

I am alive and unharmed for the present, thanks be to God. God has been good and not only spared my life, but has granted a famous and total victory over the barbarian enemy. However, the wicked King that has been the instigator of so much of our torment these many years has escaped to a near impregnable fastness further north to rally his forces and I cannot rest until he has been captured and killed, and our enemies destroyed so they can harm us no more. I will not conceal from you that this will be exceedingly perilous as I will be leaving the mass of my army behind.

Emma, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love and duty to my Kingdom comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me that I shall return to you unharmed. If I do not my dear Emma, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness.

Emma, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

All my love,

Killian

As she read the letter, her initial smile of joy and relief turned to tears, and Emma wept as she read the letter, then clutched it to her breast, sobbing.

"Emma! He's alive! My brother and my fiancé are alive as well, and we have won! Why ever are you crying?" Ruby asked, rubbing her back and clucking over her like a Mother Hen.

"He's doing something impossibly brave and foolish," Emma gasped out between sobs, "Even though I begged him to promise me he wouldn't…" She collapsed into Ruby's arms, filled with dread.

As her sobs subsided into soft hiccups, Ruby turned back to the messenger, who looked traumatized by the reaction of the Princess to the letter. He'd imagined she'd have been elated to learn of the victory and the safety of her Prince. "What happened in the battle?"

She demanded.

"The barbarians turned and dug in to occupy the high ground just across the border. The Prince tried to give battle several times but they refused to budge. Then, under cover of night, the Prince moved part of his army through the marshes and mounted a surprise attack on their left flank. They were indeed surprised and gave ground, but the battle raged all day with brutal hand to hand combat. It looked like it might end in stalemate when the Prince rallied his cavalry and charged directly into the barbarian line from the rear, cutting down everyone in their path."

"I was there," he said proudly, "The nobles were arguing among themselves about what to do to break the stalemate when the Prince, who had been quite calm, suddenly turned and roared out a command. 'When in doubt, attack!' and charged off with his sword raised. The nobles and the rest of the cavalry galloped after him and the next thing we knew the barbarians panicked and started to drop their swords and shields and run for their lives. After that it was just a mop-up operation," the messenger said, wiping his sweat from his brow.

"What happened then?" Ruby pressed, shushing Emma, who had composed herself sufficiently to listen to the messenger's tale.

"We followed them and entered the capital city without any further resistance. But the King and a few of his most loyal troops escaped as we approached and retreated to what they believe to be an impregnable fortified position in the mountains to the north," the messenger explained. "The Prince left the bulk of the army to secure the capital and pacify the surrounding countryside. Then he chose a small company of his best fighters – all of whom volunteered – to follow the enemy King and capture or kill him. He told them it might be a suicide mission, but none flagged, and swore that it would be their honor to die in battle beside their Prince. Before he left, he wrote the letter and sent for me to bring it you, Your Royal Highness," he bobbed his head.

Ruby's face changed from one of wonder and elation to concern, as she now comprehended Emma's distress. She tried to tamp down her own selfish but wholly understandable fears that her brother and sweetheart might be among those who volunteered.

She led the messenger away to find him food and drink after his long, hard ride. "Tell me," she whispered, "Is Viscount Hunt or Lord Willoughby among the Prince's company?"

The messenger shook his head. "No, lady, he asked Lord Willoughby to organize governance of the conquered areas and he dispatched your lord brother back to the King to confer with him about the King's wishes for the future of the Northern Kingdom, an outcome that may depend partly on whether the Prince succeeds in his mission."

They left Emma standing pensively by the window, her face stony.

As another few weeks slipped away, Emma tried to remain hopeful, but the nature of the Prince's mission was such that no regular dispatches could return to report to the Castle commanders with news. She had no idea where he was, or even if he were dead or alive.

She kept reasonably busy as a steady stream of soldiers released from further service began to stream into the Castle for a meal and a warm place to sleep prior to making their way home.

It was from one of them that the first, horrible rumors came. Taking a long appreciative drink of ale offered to him by Ruby, the man looked pale and half-starved. The winters in the Northern Kingdom were bitter and cruel, and often the numbing cold and howling snow could defeat an invading army even in the absence of human resistance.

"What news of the Prince and the Barbarian King?" Ruby asked him gently. Emma looked up, already tense with fear.

Sensing their distress, the man hesitated, looking from one to another.

"Please, sir, even if it is the worst news, it is important for us to know," Emma reassured him, her voice cracking only slightly.

Making up his mind, he gave Emma a compassionate look. "The rumor is that the Prince and his company have been slaughtered in the mountains. I'm sorry, and I pray it is not true and by some miracle they are able to survive both the unrelenting cold of the mountains as well as the attacks of the Barbarian King and his supporters."

"Is there any way to know for sure?" Emma asked, her voice still steady. She felt somehow detached, eerily calm, as if her conscious mind were hovering over the scene in which she found herself, as if she were watching a play.

"Lord Willoughby has sent out many scouting parties. Finally, one returned with news that they had found evidence of a pitched battle. It appears the Prince had been encamped nearby, and there was evidence some sort of engagement had taken place – broken weapons, lost belt buckles, even blood and a few frozen body parts. No intact bodies – it is thought the dead were buried or taken to be exhibited as trophies but no one can be sure at this moment. It is mysterious. From there the trail went cold. It is possible all were killed there."

Emma sank down into a chair, feeling as if a huge weight was bearing down on her chest. She felt like she couldn't breathe, that she was dizzy and might faint. She clasped her hands onto her knees firmly and tried to compose herself.

"Emma, it's not hopeless, they don't know," Ruby said, moving over to put her arms around Emma, rubbing her shoulders and back soothingly.

"I know, I know – we can't lose hope," she tried to give Ruby a faint little smile through her tears. That's what her parents would say, at least. Thinking about their unflagging faith and optimism, she felt strengthened herself. She needed to remain strong and to set an example no matter what happened.

Unfortunately, rumors continued to trickle in that the Prince had met his doom until nearly everyone had begun speaking of him in the past tense. Distraught, Emma had decided to travel to the capital to visit her father-in-law. She'd been corresponding with him regularly, but she feared the blow of losing his only remaining. It could break him.

The old King looked like he had aged another decade when she finally reached journey's end. He nearly wept with relief when he embraced Emma, her mere presence lifting his spirits.

They talked about many things far into the night, including the importance of maintaining hope as well as the ramifications if Killian never returned.

"Emma, dear," the King began, his voice soft and hesitant. "Is there any possibility that you are with child?"

Emma couldn't look at him. "None whatsoever," she said in a bare whisper, looking down at her hands and then reaching up to wipe away a stray tear.

Seeing her distress, the King patted her hands and tutted over her. "I'm so sorry, my dear, both for you and, honestly, for the Kingdom, but you mustn't give in to despair just yet."

Emma couldn't feel better. She felt lost, hopeless and guilty.

That night, after she had fallen into an uneasy sleep, she dreamed of him returning to her. As he approached, she began to run toward him, only to feel that familiar dream paralysis where every step is as if trying to run through a vat of molasses. She awoke with a start, her face damp with perspiration and her heart racing and she slowly realized where she was. And that she was alone. She wasn't sure what, if anything, the dream meant, but she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to return to Castle Borgholm. It was the first place to receive news from beyond the border, and it would be the first place to which he would return, if he ever returned.

Explaining her decision to the King the next morning, he gave her his blessing. "Seeing you has meant everything to me, daughter. You're a great comfort, but I understand. And it will be an important public affirmation of faith that he is not dead. Perhaps that will buy us some time before the vultures begin to circle."

Emma duly returned to the Castle, but as the weeks passed, nothing further was heard. It didn't appear anyone was even looking anymore as Lord Willoughby and the occupation army turned their attention to pacifying the countryside and putting down a plethora of local rebellions.

As time passed, she began to lose hope and began adjusting her mind to accept that he was really not coming back. That he was dead, and she'd have to decide what to do. She'd be the Dowager Princess and it was unclear what that role would entail. Would she stay on to support her father-in-law? Or would she be summoned home to resume living with her parents? Would a new political marriage be negotiated for her, and if so, who would make the decision? Her tired mind went around with circles, her fears like a leaden weight in side her.

Waking one morning, she felt utterly claustrophic remaining in the castle walls a single moment further. To lift her spirits, she decided to take a walk in the meadows now blooming with the onset of spring that lay outside the castle walls. Wrapping a shawl around herself against the light chill in the spring sunshine, she wandered through the fields and meadows, taking deep breaths of the fresh spring air, warmed by the sun on her face and the scent of new growth all around. Her mind felt clearer and her heart gladdened by the sheer peace and beauty surrounding her. She closed her eyes and imagined for several blissful moments that all was right with the world.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and turned to walk back to the Castle when her eye was caught by something moving far across the field, out on the horizon. As the shape moved closer, she could make out a single rider on a slow moving horse. She sighed, thinking it was probably another half-starved soldier making his way home after the hard winter campaign. She tried not to hope it would be a messenger who would at last bring her definitive news – for good or ill. She needed to know.

She began walking back to the castle again to let them know a hungry soldier might soon be arriving and to prepare some food when she stopped herself, and slowly turned around. There was something about the figure of the rider and the way he sat his saddle that seemed familiar. She squinted hard into the sunshine, straining to see him as came into view.

Oh my God, she said, it can't possibly be….can it? Wouldn't she have gotten word if he were truly safe and en route to return to her? She couldn't dare let herself hope, only to be disappointed. She closed her eyes and shook her head a few times, trying to clear her mind from the possibility of a mirage based on false hope and an overactive imagination. Her heart in her throat, she laid a hand on her breast and tried to slow her breathing.

As she watched, she saw the horse lurch and stumble. Horse and rider stopped and the rider heaved himself off and began to lead the poor beast instead. And when she saw his walk, and caught sight of his disheveled black hair, she knew he was no illusion.

She began to run as fast as her skirts would allow her toward the still distant figure, her blonde tresses streaming wildly behind her like banners in the sunlight. She was not even conscious of the tremendous exertion so focused was she on her target. She couldn't even hear her own voice screaming his name.

Then, the tired, dirty and disheveled solder caught sight of her running towards him and heard her frantic shouts, and suddenly he felt the exhaustion drain away as he dropped the reigns and began to run at speed toward her, their eyes locked together in mutual joy and recognition.

When she reached him, she threw herself into his arms so violently that he nearly lost his balance and toppled over backwards, bringing her along with him. Instead, he took a steadying step back, swept her feet off the ground into a crushing embrace, and swung her around in a joyous burst of exuberance as she buried her face in his neck and locked her arms around tight around his neck. He could feel the tears of joy and relief from her eyes wet against his skin. She could feel the scratch of his now much fuller beard and hear him murmuring ardent words of love as she sobbed out "I thought you were dead!" over and over.

He set her down, gripped her shoulders and held her in place to gaze upon her face wonderingly. "Let me look at you for a minute, my beautiful girl. I have to reassure myself you're real. I've done nothing for months but dream of this moment. Let me savor you just for a few moments." He felt like he was drowning in her sea green eyes and suddenly all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her.

She returned his rapt gaze, falling in love all over again with his sapphire blue eyes that made her think of the limitless sky. His hair was long and disheveled. He had a terrible slash across one cheek that looked like it would leave a nasty, though perhaps dashing, scar. He was dirty, sweaty, and his clothes were torn, tattered and obviously hadn't been washed in months. His beard desperately needed trimming. Yet he had never looked more handsome to her. Her lingering gaze finally paused to fixate on his full, sensual lips.

He moistened his lips, drinking in the sight of her as her lips parted and her head tilted toward him as she raised herself on tiptoe to feel his lips close on hers, his tongue roughly probing as hers pushed against him and twisted to taste him. He wound her hair around his fist and held her fiercely as she pressed her palms against his chest and inhaled his rough masculine smell of blood, sweat, and violence. She felt lightheaded from the heat of his body and the passionate intensity of his kisses.

"How is it you're alive?" she whispered, as they broke away for a few moments and she reached up to caress his face.

"Long story, darling," smiling down at her as he cupped her chin. "I'll tell you everything while we're walking back to the Castle. I need a hot bath and then I need to make love to you – immediately and many, many times."

She blushed and smiled at that, causing his heart to nearly burst with a bewildering combination of tenderness and lust.

Then her expression turned serious and she locked her arms around his neck. "No," she said firmly.

Oh God, he thought to himself, a bolt of alarm coursing through him. She can't be denying me again! Not after everything he'd been through to get back to her. Not after the way she had looked at him, the burning desire of her kisses, could she?

Seeing his face fall, Emma laughed, "I don't mean it that way! I mean no, now. I want you to make love to me right now."

"Emma, you can't be serious. I haven't bathed in a week. I'm dirty and I smell. We're in the middle of an open field…." He trailed off, bewildered as she jutted her chin out in the stubborn way she did when she was set on a particular course. He knew that look too well.

"Killian, I've been in hell waiting for you these months, thinking you were dead, that I would never see you again. I regretted….so much," her voice was stricken, ragged. "Don't you want me?" This last in an intimate whisper that he found unbearably sexy.

He laughed at her, then, taking her hand from his face and boldly placing it against his the hardness in his trousers. As he pressed her hand against him, she almost yelped in surprise as she felt his cock jump and become even larger and harder beneath her touch.

"I think that should answer your question, beautiful," he said in a husky voice as he pulled her into another burning kiss and then tumbled them both onto the ground.

So it came to be that, at long last, the Crown Prince and his Princess consummated their royal marriage not in an elaborate carved and gilt bed enveloped in silk and satin, but pressed into the soft fragrant earth surrounded by the buzz of insects and the occasional cry of a bird.

She loved the fact that he was unwashed and his natural masculine scent only excited her passions further. She kissed and licked his neck and chest, caring nothing for the dirt but reveling in his salty taste.

He was nearly insane with pent up longing and desire for her and it was all he could do to restrain himself from throwing up her skirt, pulling out his painfully hard cock, and slamming into her like an animal. He did his best to be gentle, remembering she was a virgin and wanting desperately for it to be as good as possible under less than ideal circumstances. In his imaginings of this moment, he would take his time with her, linger over her body like a sensual feast, teasing her with his lips, teeth and tongue, prolonging their mutual pleasure and building her excitement with finesse and exquisite tenderness.

Instead, they were both so eager and desperate for each other that he quickly found himself yanking down her bodice to tease and lick one nipple as his fingers kneaded her other breast and pinched the nipple. Then he took each nipple in his mouth and sucked hard, milking them, and occasionally grazing them with his teeth as she writhed and moaned with pleasure beneath him. Occasionally she would cry out a little when he bit her too hard, then shudder and moan with pleasure, driving him wild with arousal. God, how he had longed to feel her perfect breasts and pert nipples beneath his hands and mouth, her hands pressing his head against her, urging him on as she panted beneath him.

The sensations he aroused in her as he devoured her breasts seemed to shoot an electric current directly to her core and she felt herself clenching with need and rolling her hips up to grind against him. She loved the occasional sharp pain that shot through her like an arrow when he sucked or bit her too roughly, only to feel her pleasure heightened as his soft warm tongue would soothe the inflamed tissue. Her face flushed and she felt hot despite the coldness of the earth against her back and she could feel herself becoming wetter. Her core ached to be filled, her need to be touched, possessed, and devoured by him unquenchable. She didn't want him to be gentle. She needed to feel his body hard against her, his hands gripping her tightly.

"Please touch me," she whispered, capturing and pushing his hand between her legs as her thighs fell open, inviting him in.

He almost came right then.

He pulled back a little, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before pulling away slightly, pulling up her skirt, and nearly tearing off her pantalettes.

"Why must women wear such complicated garments?" he complained, struggling to free her.

She giggled then. "Why, what kind of garments would you prefer, my lord?" She reached down to help him.

"For you, my goddess, nothing. I'd prefer you never wore anything," he confessed.

"What would people say?" she teased, flirtatiously.

"Nothing," he growled as he reached between her freed legs at last. "I'd keep you chained to my bed and never let you out – oh bloody Christ…." He ran his fingers through her slick, swollen skin, surprised by just how wet and aroused she was.

The combination of the mental image he created of her chained to his bed as he ravished her over and over and the first touch of his hand on her sex caused her to rocket her hips into his hand as if she'd been set on fire. She felt like her body was in flames and if he didn't fill her she would explode.

All it took was for Killian to gently rub what he thought of as the "Emma Button" with his thumb while pushing two fingers slowly into her to cause her to fall apart, legs trembling, body quaking as waves of shuddering pleasure coursed through her. He could feel her core clamping down around his fingers, spasms of pleasure that seemed to run directly from his fingers sunk deep into her warmth to his straining, needy cock

He didn't hesitate. He spread her open, climbed between her creamy, supple thighs, and rubbed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against her drenched, gorgeous cunt as she continued to moan and rut against him, begging him to fill her. Clenching his jaw to maintain his discipline, he slowly, inexorably pushed into her hot, wet core.

She gasped and moaned as he filled her, eyes widening as he watched her, his eyes black with lust. She rolled her hips up and wrapped her legs around his waste, allowing him to plunge more deeply into her, screaming as he sank himself into her, buried to the hilt in her tight, silky warmth at last.

"Are you alright, darling? Am I hurting you," he murmured tenderly, stilling himself for a moment.

"I want it to hurt," she panted, her voice a fierce whisper, "I need to feel you, all of you, inside me. I need to know I'm pleasuring you, too."

He groaned in response, then began to move in and out, keeping his strokes shallow at first to allow her to accustom herself to the stretch of his size, then began to pick up speed as he powered into her.

"Harder," she whispered, driving him into a frenzy and he rutted against her in the field like two animals in heat.

Knowing he couldn't control himself much longer, he reached between them to gently caress her swollen nub. She seemed shocked as she orgasmed again, screaming his name and sobbing with the dizzying sensations that rocked her body and made her see stars and explosions of light as blue as his eyes.

He could feel her supple, strong muscles milking him almost painfully as he filled her in a shuddering, violent orgasm, his cock pulsing over and over as he poured himself into her. "I love you so much, Emma," he rasped, his eyes shut, his face contorted into an ecstatic grimace.

They clung to one another as they came down slowly, Emma letting out startled whimpers every time she felt another unexpected, and unfamiliar, burst of pleasure. She'd had no idea, not even the wildest fantasy, that he could do these things to her body, that the pleasure could be so exquisite as to be nearly painful, and that it could go on and on for so long. She'd known it would feel good, and that he would be a good lover, but she hadn't had a clue, really.

Holding his weight on his elbows, he kissed and nibbled at her neck playfully. "I apologize that your first time wasn't more…romantic," he said bashfully.

Emma was staring off into space, dazed and confused in the aftermath, but his words brought her out of her stupor immediately.

"Stop. Don't apologize or you'll make me angry," she chided softly. " I couldn't have imagined that my first time, and the first time you made love to me, could ever be any more romantic or perfect. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I could feel anything like that. Was it…was I …was it nice for you?" she felt a little anxious, a tinge of jealousy lurking.

He was silent a moment, then bent his head down to capture her lips in his in another, searing kiss. "Emma," he said tenderly, trailing his fingers across her cheek and down her neck. "I promise you I have never felt such heights of pleasure, such perfect fulfillment, as I feel inside your body. I'm afraid it will be difficult for me to ever get enough of you."

He dropped his voice into a threatening growl. "You may not get much sleep."

Emma shivered with delight, slightly flustered when she felt him beginning to grow again inside her.

"You're … becoming aroused again?" she said, eyes wide. "So soon?"

"I warned you," he said, bemused, then rolled them both in the dirt, Emma squealing with delight.

It was some time before the Prince, tired, but sated for the moment, and his beautiful Princess, exhausted, but with a gleam in her eye, triumphantly entered the Castle, to the cheers and shouts of the crowd that gathered quickly as word spread. She clung to his arm, never taking her adoring eyes off her beloved as he graciously acknowledged the greetings and encouragement of the happy populace.

Eventually, he was even able to have his hot bath.

To be continued….

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