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“I hope you remember that when the war comes.” Neo warns him. “We will also protect her from you if we must. Give us a reason to not trust you and we will have her buried so deep in the mountains that your family’s offspring will still be hunting her after you are dead.”
“Christian is my husband and I trust him.”
“He is a Beaumont.” Nickie pities me. “Do you believe the church, or his father will let him be married to you? They will laugh when he brings you home. You will be burned with that babe in your belly and his family will go on as if it never happened.”
“No one is harming the Princess.” Father O’Toole cuts in. “I have not raised a sword since I was a boy. I will raise one for her.”
“We should move.” Christian climbs onto his horse. He pulls me up in front of him and the old man behind. “If my brothers are searching for me, I want to put more distance between us.”
He kicks his horse into a fast gallop. The great animal does not strain under our weight. The Bloodtakers keep up with the horse with ease as they sprint beside us on my right. A few moments later, I see a pack of shadows moving close to ground on the left. They are Neo’s wolves carrying his men on their backs. Neo looks up at me with dark eyes. My heart catches. How did he tame them so? The same way Nickie Lockton hid what he was and the reason I am what I am. We are magic. That is why the church is hunting us. Not because we are hunting humans. Because we are ourselves.
Both groups fall back when we reach the clearing hours later. Only the horse carrying us breaks cover to race across the open field to the church in the distance. Who would build this for a Christian priest? I do not get to say goodbye to my childhood friends and it upsets me. I am happy to have seen them at all. A woman and young man run outside to meet us. They help father O’Toole down and fuss over him worriedly. The woman hugs him for longer than I know is proper. The younger man takes his elbow to help him regain his balance after sitting on a horse for so long. The woman clings to his other arm the way a wife would. She is clearly in love with the old man and the young one. What manner of church is this? I ask myself when the woman casts her dark eyes upon my Prince in invitation.
“Tempest.” The priest says tightly. “Joseph, kneel before your Prince.”
“Your highness!” Joseph falls to his knees and the woman curtsies beside him.
“Welcome, your Highness.”
She is breathless and in awe. They are both shaken by being in the presence of royalty. I forget that he is the King’s son sometimes.
“Rise.” Christians turns into a Prince. “We expect your hospitality. My wife needs a full bath and food.” To the young man he says, “Stable my horse.”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Right away, Highness.”
“Please come inside, Chris. You can rest and share a drink with me.”
The old man hustles us inside behind the stone walls. The young priest closes the heavy door behind us. My husband’s relief is immediate when he drops his pack and the leather armor covering his chest. The woman scoops it up before I can.
“I will see to my wife’s comfort and join you when she is settled.”
“Tempest can assist the lady, Highness.” The priest laughs at the idea. “It is beneath you.”
“Maeve is my wife, Father.” The Butcher says softly. “She is mourning her family and carrying my seed. I am the one she wants, not Tempest.” He kisses my forehead. “Show me to our chambers.”
“This way, Highness.”
The woman bows her flaxen head. We follow her swaying hips down the single hallway branching off from the great room. The cell assigned to us is cold and sparse, but it is clean, and the bed looks soft. She puts my husband’s things in the empty chest at the foot of the bed before turning her hot eyes to him again.
“I am warming food and water for her bath. Is there anything else I can do for you, Highness? Will you want your own chamber?”
“Get out.” Christian is irritated with the woman already. “That is what you can do for me.”
“Yes, Highness.” She bows deep before leaving us alone.
“She wants you.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and look down at the stone floor.
“They all want me.” The Prince begins to undress. “She is a comely wench.”
“Will you bed her?”
It is common for men to tumble the willing maids. There are always women batting their eyes at my husband. Maids like her laugh, tease and make sport of getting their lords into their beds. This woman is a greedy bitch. Maybe that is her purpose for being here.
“No.”
He kneels to remove my dusty shoes before he sits beside me. The bed squeaks under his weight. It will scream under the weight of us both.
“Why would I bed a common wench when I can make love to you, my love?” I smile when he puts an arm around me and kisses my cheek. “I want to bed my bride.”
“Does it matter if you love me? Why should it stop you from having her if you want her?”
“It matters to me.” Christian holds my hand in his. “I enjoy holding you and kissing you. I love being inside you. I would rather watch you sleep than tumble a maid.”
“What happens when I am big and fat with your child?”
“There will be more to love, my sweet wife.”
Christian turns my face so that he may better see my eyes when his lips come down on mine.
“I have gone a year without feeling the warmth of a woman’s body, Maeve. Pleasing my cock is last of my worries when I am a husband and soon to be a father.”
“What if they send your brothers after me?” I press him. “What will you do then?”
The Beaumont’s eyes sparkle like jewels. They are set into his beautiful face with the artistry and craftmanship of a fine jeweler creating with his best emeralds. They are cold and hard. The same as he.
“It will be a great loss. My brothers would leave me no choice but to stop them however I must.” His hand rests on my belly. “This is my child. None except you comes before it.”
His remorse for killing them is woven throughout his words before the deed is done. The sadness is already here when he has yet to strike a blow. It will be hard for Christian to strike them down, but the Butcher lays in wait. A berserker who will take any life as easily as his next breath. He is trapped inside this beautiful Prince with hungry eyes and a long, handsome nose. This Prince who treats me as if I am the Princess and he is the pauper.
A lock of yellow hair falls into his face. I push it back to better see the demons in his eyes. It is all there in a mixture of nightmares and blood. There is fierceness and bravery. There is sadness and joy. And there is his yearning for me. For, this butcher of mine is more brutal and deadlier than the stories told. There is also a kindness and love inside him that the stories left out. For I found love, kindness, and the protector that lives inside him in the small unsullied space in his black heart. The last of his innocence that he has given to me for safe keeping. My own broken-down, beat-up heart, I placed in his hands in return. Every time we kiss or make love, I wrap my work-wrinkled hands around his so that he can hold it better. I love him so.
“Maeve.” He whispers desperately.
“My darling Christian.” I choke on his name.
He is tearing at my dress in his haste to get it off. I am kissing him so hard that I taste blood. His blood. My heart races faster. It makes me wetter. I kiss him harder, moaning deep in my chest. My breast aches. My cunt aches. I need him inside me. I need to feel his weight on top of me. I want him so badly, that I cry out when my husband enters me and stretches me wide. So wide that it burns some at first. I move underneath him. Fuck me, husband. Fuck me hard. Christian smiles tenderly, but it is the butcher who covers my mouth with his mouth and fucks me hard. Not as hard as he would like, but he hovers on the edge of too hard when he thrusts. My sobs are mumbled behind his kiss when I arch my back and my body shudders with release.
“Maeve.”
My Prince watches his pink cock moving in and out of my wet, black lips. It is coated with cream and as slick as oil from my climax. His big cock pulses and jerks against my tight walls when he spills his seed.
“Christian!” I scream in sweet agony. “Yes!”
“Maeve!” He cries out in return. “My darling.”
Christian watches me and catches his breath as I lay shuddering in the afterglow of the pleasure that we give each other. I bite my lip when he pulls it out of me inch by glorious inch.
“That was wonderful, Princess.” He whispers in the dark. “It is always special with you.” His big hands hold my head. “It always will be.”
I close my eyes when he kisses me. I press closer. Christian holds me tighter. We kiss like star-crossed lovers who have finally found each other after a lifetime of searching. My taste, and the feel of my warm body close to his, is enough to stir his passion and make him hard for me again. This young Beaumont is so knowledgeable in the ways of love. His cock stays hard for hours on end, but he takes care not to harm the child growing in my womb. He wakes me before sunrise to take me again as the suns first orange and yellow rays spill through the window. My thoughtful husband tied back the covering to allow in the morning light. Its warmth strengthens my body. Christian’s love making strengthens my love for him. Afterwards, when I fall back to sleep bathed in the sun’s glow, he slips out to find the priest.
“Your Highness.”
Father O’Toole kneels. Christian Beaumont helps him to his feet and back into his chair before taking the seat at the head of the table. The woman kneels before she places a platter of food before him a moment later. The ham is sizzling, and the eggs are warm. She pours him a cup of watered wine and kneels again. He ignores her because she is of no use to him.
“Good morning, father.” Christian tears a hunk from the loaf of bread gifting the old man with a bright smile. “I hope you slept well.”
“There is a message from the battle to the north.” The priest says grimly.
“What did it say father?” The Beaumont spreads a soft-boiled egg on the bread before devouring a third of it in a single bite. “Was our victory swift?”
“I fear it is not good news.” Father O’Toole braces himself. “It is word of your brother’s death.”
The food gets caught in his throat and he [is] forced to wash it down with drink.
“Which brother, Father?”
“I fear it was Jeremiah.” The priest watches the grief-stricken young Prince keep a straight face when he learns of his eldest brother’s death. He is quiet as he considers the idea of not having him in his life. “And young Elijah with him.”
“What?” The Prince jumps to his feet. “The both of them?”
“I am afraid so.” The priest frowns. “You will be the new heir when Ezra takes the throne.”
“We both know that Ezra will never wear the crown.” Christian says thoughtfully. “He enjoys his freedom far too much to settle for a kingdom. I am heir to the throne.”
“What will you do?” The priest asks him. “If you refuse to serve as king, the crown will be passed to one of your cousins and your line will be broken.”
“My father will not live to see the next season. I will be King before the year ends.”
“That makes her child your heir, Highness.” The priest is uneasy. “The church will murder them both and find you a proper bride.”
“Hold your tongue, priest.” Christian warns him. “That is my wife and child that you speak of so casually.”
“Will you return home to bury them?” Father O’Toole pours his wine un-watered. “She can stay here until you return.”
“Maeve is a Princess and my future queen.” The Beaumont reminds him. “Her place is with her Prince in the palace.”
“Is it safe, Highness?” The priest is careful not to offend. “Not even you can deny what they will do when they find out you married her in secret. You are the bravest, and favorite son, but they will not let you have both woman and crown.”
“I will have both.” Christian slams his hand down on the table. “Anyone who tries to stop me can expect a day with the executioner. Be them friend or foe. I ride for the castle in three days to give my wife time to rest for the journey. I need to send word to the palace.”
“I can transcribe it myself, Highness.” Father O’Toole pats his shoulder with his wizened hand. “I shall return with you to pay my respects to my Princes.”
“Keep my wife close to you when we get there.” The Prince tells the priest. “Trust no one.”
“My loyalty is to you, Highness.”
“I will appoint you Chaplain at the palace. You will be my spiritual advisor.”
“I am [a] traitor, Highness.” The old priest refuses the position. “I am unworthy of—”
“Shut up, old man.” The Prince pulls out his pipe and exotic tobacco. “I will tell them that you were being held captive when I found you. None will question me.”
“I am honored, Highness. But to be honest, I love my church here and my parishioners. We are few in bodies, but mighty in spirit. There are Christians here who intermarried, and they come here to worship freely with their tribal spouses. It is quiet, and the countryside is beautiful. I would take this over the filth and devilry of the city on any given day.”
“I am sure you will fit in well, father.” Christian brushes aside his protests. “The people need an honest priest like you wearing the Beaumont colors. Your new parishioners number in the thousands. Think of all the good you can do with so many ears listening.
“Indeed.” The priest blushes. “The lord put us together for a reason, my son. I must think of the good that we can do together.”
“My father’s men will take up the Cardinal’s cause when he denies my wife. Their blood will wet the earth to bring them around. I will never give her up.”
“I mean to help you, Highness.”
I feel sick when we approach the castle ten days later by cart. Christian rides beside us on his stallion. A cheer goes up when he is spotted by the first peasant. A cheer that carries through the streets and up the river to the palace gates. They are open wide like iron arms to welcome home their Prince. The blue and gold banners are waving. Golden trumpets sound. All for him. He rides slowly with [his] back straight, and chin high to make sure every person cheering sees him as he passes. He is met by his guard who ride in full armor waving the Beaumont banner. His family and servants crowd the courtyard. We are separated in the crush. People are pressing forward to see him and blocking us in. I gasp when strange hands grab me and pull me down into the mob.
