The Hunchback's Reluctant Bride ✔

14 | Present

Tonight, too, he moved away before she could hug him. It wouldn't last. She couldn't see past what was on his back and he couldn't take any more reminders. Bonn and his first wife had love, proper love that wasn't forced or manipulated into existence. Hell, in a sick way, he had it now with Shaza and yet he still worried. With those odds, Wyrn saw no future here with this princess—a princess trapped here by a spell, trying to make the best of it. Her interest in him now resembled the same pity she showed the animals, even that doomed lamb.

For weeks now, he'd been cold to her, but she still approached. He'd thought of pushing her away by hand, literally, not too hard, but sternly a time or two but didn't want to risk losing her presence entirely which was what he suffered the next day.

Dawn to dusk, she was a ghost. He promised himself not to look but that was what he ended up doing. He was sweaty and miserable from hurrying with his chores by the time supper was ready. Not everyone around him washed daily—he was the only one he was aware of. Mostly because he didn't mind cold water.

Today when he finished his work late due to her absence, he told himself not to care about whether or not he stunk.

He made it as far as his home before he gave up on that and headed back to the wash house. After dousing his head last, he changed into his new clean clothes and brought the old to his room rather than to deposit to be washed the next day.

Wyrn cleaned his own clothing—wives those of their husbands'—but he wasn't about to have a princess washing his underwear.

He slowed once he reached his room door. What was he doing? What was he expecting?

Without a doubt, he didn't know. But when he opened his room to find the princess sat on his bed, he hadn't expected that.

Surprise stole his reasoning, and he wasn't sure he'd closed the door until he took a step back and found it as a barrier.

Neither of them gave a greeting; instead, they stared at one another.

Wyrn decided to ignore her, which was difficult given that she was in his home. Once he threw his dirty clothes down into a basket, he turned to leave.

His feet felt heavy. His body felt heavy. His breathing felt heavy.

So he turned to her with the intent to tell her off finally. She should give him space. She should do whatever she did today and not interrupt his work. She should do the chores relegated to her without causing trouble.

What she shouldn't do was unlace her dress, push it past her shoulders and allow it to fall to the floor.

Below it, she wore nothing.

The sight of her stole his ability to breathe. Once he regained it, it came out in a pant and his lips parted.

On any given day, she was stunning. He'd taken to cutting her raven black hair to her shoulders. In his mind, he intended to keep his eyes on her face, but they weren't listening.

His gaze dipped down to her ample, bare breasts, roved over her pink nipples, then past her flat stomach and lingered where her legs met.

Something happened, and not just his body warming. Maybe he blacked out, because in one blink, she was a step closer, then two. When did she get so close he could smell the remnants of the flowers from this morning?

His trousers tightened as he went stiff.

He appreciated that she was too close to see. Any nearer, however, and his condition would be felt instead.

She was so close to his lips that he could almost taste her.

But what was she doing? Why was she doing this?