Springtime Steps (18+)

Chapter 4

Our footsteps seem to echo in the hallway. Maybe it's just the effect of leaving the loud Grand Hall for the empty halls of the palace. Either way, the sound is deafening.

The clink and rustle of metal armor behind us reminds me that we have a permanent tail. Our personal guards don't make this any less awkward.

Neither does Joel ahead of us. He doesn't speak a word.

Harold holds his hands behind his back as we walk. I can't help but wonder if he failed to offer me his arm out of spite. Maybe my drinking and refusal to stop when he told me to irritated him to the point of ignoring me.

It's a rather bad time to choose to do that. It is expected of us that we consummate the marriage. We are being led to our chambers, after all. We are to enter our conjoined room, and he is not to leave until he has released inside of me. I am not to leave until I cannot hold my legs together any longer.

My breaths are shallow as we approach our wing. Joel slows and comes to a stop in front of the door to Harold's chambers. I'm worried my nervous sweat is visible.

I'm not surprised when Harold yanks open the door and steps inside without a word or a glance back. What happened to ladies first?

One deep breath to steady myself. I'm unable to manage a smile as I wish the group a 'goodnight,' before slipping inside and shutting the door behind me.

I catch a glimpse of Harold before he disappears behind a door. I don't bother taking a look around as I chase after him. I can safely assume these rooms are a mirror image of my own, the conjoined room at the very center.

My guess is correct. After turning the corner from his entry room, I find myself at the door to a bedroom slightly smaller than the ones we have to ourselves.

A beautiful sage canopy drapes across a mahogany frame. The color reminds me of Gavyn's skin.

The sheets are undoubtedly of the finest quality. Images of trees adorn the walls, like a reminder of how a small seed can grow into something powerful and beautiful and cherished. The symbolism isn't lost on me.

I expect it is lost on Harold. He seems, as usual, entirely uninterested. Perhaps they should have hung a portrait of my father on the wall if they wanted to excite him.

He stands near the window, at a table. He's slowly removing pieces of his outfit, including his lapels and tie. He then slips off his suit jacket to hang it on the chair at the table. Only then does he turn to me.

"Well?" His voice comes out annoyed and exasperated.

I take another step into the room. "Pardon?"

He gestures to the bed. "Lie down."

Typically I would ignore a command, but my mother's words ring through my head. 'You want it quick and easy.'

I keep my mouth closed and approach the bed on shaky legs. I don't know how to do this. Does he want me to lie on my back? Does he expect me to lie on my stomach so he can bend me over like another lord's son?

He is no simple lord's son anymore. He is my consort. A king promised to my kingdom, as I am promised as their queen.

I begin to turn to Harold and ask, "How-"

But he's already upon me. His hand pushes against my chest and I fall onto the bed. On instinct, I catch myself on my elbows. Harold crawls onto the bed, leering down at me.

"Oh, Yvette," he tuts, yanking at the strings that hold up his pants. "Shall we get this over with?"

I swallow a snarky response. Quick and easy. Quick and easy. Quick and easy.