A Small Favor
A short story prologue to King of Blades.
The day before he sets off for his yearly trip to Hellas, King Matthias of Ypres gets an unexpected visit from some old friends. Matters quickly become complicated when they ask to join the royal convoy, but a magical night with his beautiful witch queen Danaë sets his mind at ease.
- fantasy romance, MF
- Word Count: 6,000
- Heat Level: 3
- Published By: Belaurient Press
Danaë had been surprised to find out that pregnancy had only whetted her appetite for her royal husband. When she came through the mirror and found him washing himself, a astounding rush of desire flowed through her, making her fingers itch to touch him.
How was I so lucky to have been gifted with this man? She’d known he was a wise ruler and a steadfast warrior when they’d married a year ago, but she had no idea then that he contained such sensual depths, or that he looked so enticing naked.
Now, with candlelight and the glow from the fireplace dappling his skin and making the occasional water droplet glisten, she couldn’t help admiring the body she had grown to appreciate so much. Matthias was tall and long-limbed, with muscles that came from a lifetime of riding and working with sword and pila. A light spill of amber hair thatched his broad chest before leading downward across his still-flat belly in the most fascinating line. It was always enjoyable to watch him walk around a room shirtless and know exactly where that crisp trail led.
But it was far more enjoyable to watch him walk around naked. That way, she could enjoy the curve of his strong thighs and shapely calves, and a taut, beautifully rounded ass that belonged on the statue of some long-ago hero. His skin was hairless there, turning into more of a fine down that felt like velvet under her fingers. She smiled as she thought about how she loved clutching it while he was inside her.
Of course, he also bore a number of scars, which was unsurprising. He had never shied from fighting alongside his men, and a long, thin scar ran along his left side and down across his abdomen, a souvenir from one of the border skirmishes with the Albans. Sometimes she would run her fingertips across it while they rested in each other’s arms, talking about the day’s events. A shade deeper, a bit more to the right, and he would have been gutted on that rocky border.
But he wasn’t. He survived, and now he’s mine. The thought was fierce and possessive. She had fought a mirror full of demons to protect him the first week of their marriage, and she would defeat any enemy that tried to take him from her.