Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 2: Strip

Chapter 3 is nearly finished, and steamier than this one. You should have it in a day or two. Enjoy!

Sabine watched warily as Roland got up and walked to a nearby trunk. He leaned over it for a while, catching his breath, and then opened the lid and rummaged through it. He soon found what he needed, a small jar and his spare sword belt, a double length of thick leather linked by steel rings, with attachments for his scabbard and dagger.

When he turned back to her, Sabine made a desperate attempt to creep away. Gone was the blasé yet attentive courtier. His brows were drawn together, his jaw set, his eyes cold and focused. On her.

She swallowed hard, and summoned her anger to get a hold of her rising terror. He had betrayed his promises; he was no better than her tormentors. It was only natural that she tried to defend herself. He had no right to touch her.

Roland cracked the end of the belt against his boot. The whimper was out before she could block it, and she shrank away from him. Suddenly, she was back in her castle, surrounded by cruel mercenaries. They made a game of whipping her, betting on how loud her next scream would be. Her voice had deserted her, every inch of her body burning in excruciating pain...

"Eyes on me, Sabine, do not close them!"

She shook her head. She'd rather not see the blows coming.

"Last warning, Sabine, look at me. You would be wise not to challenge me." His tone was stern but calm.

She peeked through her lashes. He was crouching in front of her, the strap of leather folded in his hand.

"Do you really think I would flay you?"

She cleared her throat and held his gaze. "What else would I think? That's what men do when they wield these, isn't it?"

"Men without honor, certainly. I gave you my word that I wouldn't hurt you. You, however, broke our agreement. You were not to fight me."

She was outraged. "I never agreed to anything but to avoid public humiliation. And you only mentioned undressing me. You are no better than those men, you tried to trick me into giving in to you."

Roland's bellow resonated in the room. He purposely appraised her naked body, allowing his gaze to linger on her long legs, honey colored curls, and round breasts. She was a little too slim for his taste, accustomed as he was to the curvaceous ladies of the court but she had a good handful of what he likes, where he liked it. Her ivory skin, marred by a few fresh bruises –no doubt due to her resisting arrest- was clean and fresh-smelling, a light scent of moss and wild flowers. Roland was delighted; as a child, he had followed his father in exotic countries, and had acquired the local taste for frequent bathing. Even after several years of service in the King's Chambers, he still noticed the stench of unwashed bodies under the strong perfumes the courtiers used to cover it. The Louvre itself reeked of human waste as most of his occupants used the many room corners as impromptu latrines.

Overall, she was acceptable. And stronger than her lithe form would predict, as he had had the displeasure to find out. He reminded himself of the reason she was there. She was a rebel, and a criminal. She had killed two tax collectors in cold blood. He had made the mistake of being courteous and compassionate, in regard of her gender and circumstances. She had proven him wrong. She wasn't a fragile damsel in distress and deserved no courtesy. The King would be there soon. Roland had to break her spirit, trick her to confess so that they could catch her accomplices. And he knew exactly how to do that, without using methods Louis would disavow.

So he put a blank mask on his face and answered: "Do not flatter yourself. You are pretty, I will give you that, but you wouldn't meet the needed standards to share my bed. Not quite voluptuous enough, and if I may say, rather plain."