The Winter Queen (RH/Why Choose, MM, MF, MFM, FF) ✅

Chapter Ten

Marielle

I had been too stunned for my mind to operate correctly after I had gone into my room.

I had paced the floors, anxious and unsure, and much more upset than I could have anticipated.

It was not that my husband did not want me.

For I did not want him either.

In my heart and my mind, I knew the truth.

I was upset at the idea of Cyprian not wanting me.

Kind, steadfast, beautiful Cyprian. With his good heart and his soft way of speaking to me.

If there was a man the king could choose that I would as well, it would be Cyprian.

Though, to be fair, Warwick would have been acceptable as well.

There was something in the way my body and mind responded to those two men. In equal, yet different ways.

But Cyprian was who the king wanted.

And my body and heart was drawn to him as well.

If I was to be... bedded, I could not have chosen someone better.

But the way he dismissed me made me sure he did not want me.

I could not blame him. I was not like the women he was used to. I had seen so many of the cold lands women in the streets, their beauty something foreign to me, but it was undeniable. Their thick, dark hair, their fuller bodies meant to keep them warmer, their warm brown eyes.

I was so small in comparison. I lacked the curves that women like Gwen had been blessed with. Heavy breasts, rounded hips, thick thighs. They were the bodies of women I had seen in fine art from many different periods of time. The apparent ideal representation of womanhood.

Of course a man who was given the option between the ideal woman and me, would be disappointed to have to be with me.

I could not blame Cyprian.

But that did not mean that my heart did not feel crushed to powder in my chest.

Then the door was opening, and there he was, with his tender words and his understanding eyes and his own hesitations and confusion.

I could not be sure of his true feelings regarding the situation.

Until he told me that he could never say that he was not attracted to me. That he would rather say he could not perform his duty than to lie about his feelings toward me.

A warmth bloomed through my chest, spreading outward until it seemed to overtake me completely.

And I knew.

It was the right decision.

He was the right man for the job.

Then his lips were on me, careful, coaxing, trying—it seemed—not to startle me, to be too demanding of me.

He could not know how my body had already come alive, how my heart was pounding, my skin was overheated, and there was that newly familiar ache between my thighs.

My hands slid over his forearms, then slowly upward, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath the fabric of his clothing. And, somehow, that only managed to intensify my longing, making my lips press harder into his.

Taking my lead, he deepened the kiss, his lips almost bruising into mine.

As my arms wrapped around the back of his neck, his own moved from my hand and my face to my hips, pulling, lifting me up as though I weighed no more than a feather, then settling me on his lap, my legs on either side of his.