Cordelia is mesmerized by his fresh, soapy scent. He hadn’t smelled so clean—he had even shaved—showing off his strong, flattering jawline. She doesn’t respond, watching the wet droplets cascade down his chest, right past his bellybutton, hitting the towel below. The thief raises a curious brow—he definitely notices. She feels a jolt in her gut, the yearning to feel him within her was strong. No, she couldn’t do this—why was she seduced by his bare chest—she saw it all the time!

<You’re sizing me up like a plate of meat.> His tone is delicious.

<You’re wrong.> She humphs. <I’d never do such a thing.> Her cheeks are hot—her body twinges with excitement as he approaches her. His hot violet eyes are melting her—she breathes warmly in response.

<Deely, are you alright?>

She turns away but feels a fiery need for his hands to explore her. She bites her lip, her steel-blue eyes examining him as he notices the bottle. His eyes widen in horror.

<When did you drink this?> He commands.

<It was about fifteen minutes before you came back—why?>

He groans, looking at her. <You drank a wine that was meant for …god damn it Alteus. Look, you'll feel you want to fuck anything that moves for at least an hour—maybe two, but it’ll calm down eventually.>

<What on earth do you mean? I’d never!> Cordelia purses her lips—he didn’t need to be so crude, even if every word he said was true.

<What you drank is sold to Alteus’ private clients, to spur carnal desires—damn bastard, I told him not to!>

<Well if it’s how you say it is, then do what you have to do.> Cordelia blushes, knowing very well what she’s insinuating. Of course, she had to drink a cursed bottle—it was only a matter of time that she be cursed for her sins!

<Not like this.> He scowls. <I’m not touching you while you’re under the influence. It’s not right.>

<Just did what you did back at the Locke Manor, it’s fine! I’ll do anything to stop this incessant ache throughout my body.> She whimpers, feeling panicked that even he wouldn’t touch her. The intensity within her spikes, as she grasps the skirt of her chemise. She yells, <I’m at your mercy, and you still won’t take me?>

<It was never about having you at my mercy. I want it to be your full, conscious choice.>

<Except you’ve refused to lie with me.> Cordelia crosses her arms in detest as she backs away.

<I told you. You’re the Princess.>

<And why does that matter suddenly? You had no problem back at the Locke Manor.>

<I can’t in good conscience lie with the Princess of Wellspring. It’s just not right.> He mumbles.

She blushes. <Well, it’s not like I’m a princess anymore.> Cordelia lifts the fabric of her chemise over her head. <And I have no desire of going home.> He has to stand up—looking at her now made him incredibly warm and bothered.

Cordelia had stripped once again—the coolness of the room felt good upon her hot skin. She walks up to him, pressing her chest behind his bare back.

He jumps, pushing her off. He gives her a blanket, his own cheeks developing a rouge colour. <Please, you’re making this difficult.>

<I know.> She moves around to face him, ripping the towel off from around her waist. <But if we’re being honest, I’ve been longing to feel you within me again. I know you want to do the same, no matter how much you deny it.>

<Of course I want to, but…>

<I’m the Princess, you’ve said. What, you don’t want to get attached in case you change your mind and kill me?>

<No—I have no intention of killing you, not at all!> He scrambles to get his towel back, but he fails.

Cordelia’s eyes wander downward—if his current stance meant anything, he clearly wanted to bed her. She didn’t care if it was some drink making her outwardly hungry for it—she didn’t like being denied. She leads him on his back. <Well, a kiss shouldn’t be too bad—should it?>

He glances up, looking at the perfect woman on his chest. Would a kiss be so bad?

<Fine, but—just a kiss.>

Cordelia pulls him into a sweet, satisfying embrace, her lips hungry to taste him. The sweetness tasted too good, but it only quelled the fire within her. This wasn’t helping—it made things worse.

She stops, gripping onto him. It no longer felt good, it felt overwhelming.

He can see the discomfort on her face, immediately getting up.

<I feel hot—my insides are throbbing—this is too much.> She speaks between words, the sweat on her forehead builds.

The thief looks at her, confused about what to do.

<Stay right there.> The thief grabs his clothes, slipping them as he grabs the bottle. <Don’t leave this room. The men out there won’t think twice about taking advantage of you.>

He was right, but there was no listening to reason now. Now that she no longer felt overwhelmed, she crosses her arms, pulling the sheets up to her. She appreciated his sincerity, but she needed to be satisfied--there's no way the thief would do it now. If he would't satisfy her, there was one man that she knew would.

Now, where could she find him…

***

With the bottle in hand, Radjerd storms down the hall. He doesn’t care that it’s approaching midnight! He doesn’t give a shit that Alteus was likely entertaining his own needs. He should have never put something so dangerous in the hands of the princess!

Radjerd slams open his friend’s door—his eyes widen when he sees the bare rear of his wife grace his eyes—she turns around, her long dark hair covering her well-endowed chest. She frowns, as Alteus peeks behind his wife.

<Radjerd, if you wanted to join us so badly, you should have brought your pretty little wife. I mean, it’s only fair if you’re going to interrupt me so rudely.>

<Rudely, me? Says the man who gave my wife such a powerful wine!> He walks over, shoving the bottle in his face.

<It’s a thank you, of course. It’s our establishment’s finest wine—consider it a gift. You and your missus seem to have some bedroom problems, as you were grumbling about, so this is the least I can do for you, right, friend?>

God damn it… Radjerd had been grumbling, but he needed to let out his frustrations somehow. He knows Deely would have been more than willing to share his bed, but… She was the thing keeping him from a massive fortune. He didn’t want to kill her, but, it just felt wrong using her. She was royalty—he should have felt proud. But all he felt, was guilt. Why couldn’t he just take advantage of the situation in front of him?

He frowns. <She’s acting like an alley cat in heat.>

<Well, it’s only going to grow worse unless you do something about it.>

<Against her will?>

<She’s your wife. It wouldn’t be against her will.>

His wife frowns. <No, I think it’s admirable that he doesn’t want to take advantage of her without her consent. Because, dear husband, if I ever find out you did that to me, I will cut your balls off while you sleep.>

<No, of course, I wouldn’t do such a thing, my love.>

Radjerd interrupts their lovers’ talk.

<Look—like I’ve said—I’ve only lied with her once. That was after our wedding. She’s still nervous, and this is the wrong way to do it.>

<Be at ease, friend. She’s not in harm's way. The wine only enhances what is wanted—if she’s acting so hungry as you claim her to be, then know you’re not doing her any harm.>

<She’s not comfortable. It’s too much for her. Now, do you have an antidote that can cure it?>

<No, but if you insist on holding off, it should wear off in about a couple of hours.>

<She drank half of the bottle.>

<Oh, dear. You better cure that poor girl, or she’s going to be beside herself in torture.> He laughs. <Not that it should be a problem for you.>

<Now leave us be, unless, you’d like to take part.> His wife lowers her eyebrow. <Enjoy your Weltish Minx.>

He shivers at the thought. His restraint had been fantastic—this was going to be equally as torturous on him as it was for her.

But, he had to remain vigilant.

Radjerd, defeated, lowers his head as he returns to his room. He gasps when he sees that Cordelia isn’t there. His heart stops.

God, don’t tell him that she’s…

He races out of the room and down the hall—if she went to seek pleasure elsewhere—good god! He heads down the narrow hall to the dimly lit bathhouse; he can hear some noises coming from the hall. He freezes when he recognizes that one of the moans is coming from the princess—dammit! He doesn’t care that his feet might slip on the tile—whoever is touching her will have their face beaten in.

Radjerd’s jaw drops when he sees Deely on the lap of a dark fellow, with eyes a vivid amber colour—was that even possible? He gladly accepts Deely’s advances, as she moves her hips on his bare waist liplocked—god, they weren’t—no, he could see the man’s pride hanging between his legs. Anger boils within him as he grabs Deely off of the man, punching him square in the jaw.

<Hey—what gives!?> He glowers, staring at Radjerd with his amber eyes.

<That’s my wife you have your grubby hands all over.> Radjerd growls.

<She’s not complaining. It’s not my fault if you choose not to satisfy your woman. You haven’t checked up on her very much this week—this poor girl’s starving for attention—and I’m more than happy to oblige.> He smugly says as he rubs his cheek, refusing to admit that Radjerd’s punch hurt. <Weltish women are just my type.>

Radjerd kicks the stool that the man sits upon, a loud smack is heard against the tile. The man appears dazed, but that’s about it. Radjerd decides this is the best time to escape. He carries Deely over his shoulder as he returns to their room—she grumbles, upset at the memories it brings back.

Anger flashes through his eyes as he closes the door, easing Cordelia off of his shoulder. <You two didn’t—> He says, but is cut off immediately.

<No, of course not—I didn’t have the chance to before you showed up.> She stiffly says. <You had your chance, but you blew it.>

<Deely, you can’t just philander about without thinking first!>

<I don’t care, this is torture!> She whimpers. <If you won’t fix this, I’ll find someone who will.>

<Do you even hear what you’re admitting to?>

<I told you, I’m not the princess anymore—it’s far too late to go back now.>

<You were going to give yourself to some stranger!>

<Branton's not a stranger—besides, I don’t see you doing anything about it.> She hisses. <Now let me go!>

<Fine, I’ll give you what you want—but you better not fault me for it in the morning.> He says, pinning her on her stomach. He hikes up her chemise, throwing off his towel. <Is this what you want?>

<Yes!> She squeals, as he eases into her, she grips the pillow with intensity. He would have called her moans exaggerated, but that wine was setting her body aflame with desire. She viciously thrusts her hips against him—it was more than he needed to ease the regret. A week of torture turned into unadulterated bliss. His hips remained stationed at her waist, she was doing all the work.

Wow, the man in the bathhouse had been right—she was starved.

She whimpers in a language he can’t understand, but he doesn’t need to. Her enjoyment is music to his ears. She raises her hips, her fingers crawling between her legs as she begs for him to continue.

God, his self-restraint had been good until now.

He eases out of her, lying on his back. With a finger, he motions it towards him. <I’m curious to see what you can do, princess.> His purr is unmistakable, but if she wanted him—she was the one who had to prove it.

Deely complies, carefully easing him into her. She was good for a beginner. He lets out a groan, her tightness tugs with each thrust. Her back arched slightly, she strokes her hips in gentle movements, then harsher ones. It’s making him go crazy. She didn’t have the rhythm perfected, but he doesn’t care. Whatever she was doing—it was amazing. The dimly lit room created a cozy atmosphere, accentuating the flushed spots of her skin. Her eyes were glossy, full of yearning, her sweet moans caressing his ears.

It was like he was seeing life in pink, for the very first time. He was not going to let this woman go.

He tenses, feeling himself at his limit—no, this was pathetic. He couldn’t fold so easily, not like this. He had to close his eyes, the soft bounce of her flesh wasn’t helping him stay grounded.

<Kiss me!> She speaks, her voice still wavering from her current state. Her full, luscious lips press against his, as she wraps her arms around him. He does as he’s told, her mouth is irresistible.

That was his biggest mistake. He moans against her lips, holding onto dear life as he twitches against her. She lets out a satisfying gasp enjoying the ecstasy of his release. He hates himself for finishing so early.

Radjerd’s surprised when he sees the Princess’ glossy stare turn normal, as she stays linked to him. <Don’t you dare leave.>

Now that’s the commanding tone he’s used to.

<I don’t plan on it.> He whispers, parting her blonde hair behind her ears. <In fact, you’re never leaving my sight again.>