Danaë woke with a frown on her face, her mind full of muddled confusion. As she acclimated to the waking world, she found herself wondering why there was a strange warmth along her backside.
Opening her eyes, she saw the dim, grey light of early morning through the mullioned windows.
As she looked around, the richness of her surroundings, the fine silk of the sheets, the soft down of the mattress, and the muted crackle of the fire reminded her where she was.
And the strong, corded arms that wrapped around her body reminded her who she was with.
Cenric...
Not wanting to wake him, Danaë lay there observing, cataloguing the numerous unfamiliar sensations of the moment.
His hand, large and long-fingered, splayed wide across her middle, pulling her back against his firm torso.
As he breathed, she felt the slow rise and fall of his chest, felt his warm exhale tickling her ear.
And, beneath the sheets, she was disconcerted to feel the hot pressure of his erection against her buttocks.
How? He's not even awake?
Setting aside for the moment the enduring mystery that was male anatomy, Danaë mused that the experience of waking up next to a naked man, though incredibly new, was mostly pleasant.
Well, as long as that man's Cenric...
A chill stole into the cozy room, and suddenly, her mind flashed to a darker place, thinking about another man – the man she'd been running from, the man who was relentlessly hunting her...
Maxson.
Violent images passed through her thoughts, visions of her bound and brutalized by the man who'd murdered her parents – the man who'd destroyed her world.
His claim on the throne is unshakeable if he takes me as his wife...
Sickened shudders rolled over her body, and she closed her eyes against the horror, only to find her ears ringing with her own imagined screams.
No...
A wave of icy fear swept through her, cutting straight to the core of her being.
Shivering, she turned, nestling her face against Cenric's warmth.
I'll die first.
Lost in her waking nightmare, Danaë didn't realize that Cenric was calling her name until she felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking her.
"Danaë!"
Terror clouded her eyes for a moment, and she stared, unseeing, into his panicked face.
"Danaë?"
The genuine care and concern in his voice broke through her daze, and she crumpled, sobbing on his chest.
Cradling her head, he rocked her against him, murmuring soothing nonsense as she trembled in his arms.
When her nightmare abated, Danaë breathed in Cenric's distinctly masculine scent as he rubbed his hand along her back.
"Thank you." She mumbled, still pressed against his chest.
"For what?" he asked.
Her face burned as she answered, "Holding me."
Cenric chuckled, "You don't have to thank me for that – I spent three years imagining what it would feel like to have you in my arms." He paused, pulling her closer, "You were well worth the wait."
Danaë looked up, reading the sincerity in his dark, fathomless eyes.
In that moment, she forgot her fears, letting herself be mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze.
And she watched as his warm concern shifted into something fierce and ravenous.
Emboldened by his stare, she reached for him, tugging his face down to hers and melding their lips together.
He kissed her back with a hunger, a need - demanding control from her.
And she gave it freely.
As dawn broke over the eastern mountain, Danaë lost herself to ecstasy, letting Cenric's greedy hands and lips and tongue take her past the brink - to the place where everything was beautiful, and nothing existed outside of Cenric's warm, wide bed.
After a hot, hearty breakfast in the Great Hall, during which Danaë did her best to ignore the blatant staring and whispering, Danaë returned to Cenric's chambers and changed into a borrowed tunic and pants.
The garments, made of rough wool and only fitting her approximate size, were still leagues more comfortable than her travelling clothes had been.
But, as she finished off the ensemble with a pair of worn, leather boots, she made a mental note to take her cloak with her – anything to shield her unseemly attire from passersby.
When her hair was braided back away from her face, Danaë followed as Ebba led her through the castle and out to the training yard.
Across the way, barely hiding a sneer, Godric awaited her.
Dismissing Ebba, Danaë grit her teeth as she walked over to the man.
Godric smiled as she approached, seeming to sense her dislike. "Don't look so glum, my Lady, I promise you, we're going to have loads of fun together, you and I."
Danaë locked her knees, fighting the urge to turn around and flee.
The man before her was becoming unpleasant to her every sense, but she was determined to suffer through his insolent stares and jeering innuendoes.
After all, Cenric wanted her trained for combat, and she was going to endure the process.
For him.