Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Alfred

I wake up sprawled on my back with a leather-clad princess braced over me, her dagger against my throat.

My dick doesn't get the message and goes from semi to full mast in an instant.

I eyeball her. She glares down at me; her hair is a wild mess, and her lips are a little puffy. As my eyes lower to her throat and her heaving tits that are challenging the little buckles of her leather tunic, I see the unmistakable blush where I have marked her skin.

I reach my hand up slowly and scratch absently at my beard. "Has something happened between you going to sleep and now that I'm unaware of?"

"No," she says tartly.

"Alright then."

I try to decide if she is actually going to slit my throat or has something else in mind. I've every reason to believe the blade is sharp. Given that she is dressed, I expect she has returned all the daggers I liberated from her to their rightful slots. I feel like I should be more worried at this point. But really, I'm not.

Our impasse is broken when a warrior blusters into the tent.

"Sire, we are…" He trails off.

I don't turn to look at him. There is a woman with her blade against my throat, and that's taking priority.

"Thank you, Aiden, I'll be out shortly."

"Sire?" His voice comes out in a strangled squeak.

"Don't mind it, lad. The princess and I are just having a little chat."

He stumbles back out of the tent. I hear a distinct thud and a grunt, followed by a curse—I believe he has just tripped over in his haste.

She takes the dagger away with an inelegant grunt and slots it back into a little sheath at her hip.

"Does nobody knock in your heathen culture?"

"When you're in a tent it is a little hard to knock."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. For all he knows, we might have been…" She blushes as she trails off.

"Rutting… Happen he would have gotten an eyeful." My grin is all teeth. "Besides, knocking is not really a barbarian thing. I am the king and need to be available at all times." Sometimes lasses take that a little too literally with their propensity for sneaking into my fucking bed. "If I were busy and wanted him to leave, I would tell him to fuck off and come back later."

Her expression is one of bafflement. She has called me a heathen, and her expression and words remind me constantly that I am coarse and uncultured to her.

I still want to take her under me and plow her needy cunt which does not mind my coarse ways. My eyes go to the mark on the right side of her throat—when an alpha marks a woman, it is very much a sign he has claiming on his mind.

She swallows as though sensing the wayward direction of my thoughts.

"I need to return to my father. You will let me go."

Her constant issuing of orders is getting a little wearing. I roll, taking her under me, which is probably a dangerous thing to do, but I can't fucking help myself.

Beyond the tent, the gray as dawn approaches, and I hear people moving about.

I just want everyone and my duties to fuck off so I can strip her of these leathers and remove her many daggers again, and stake my claim.

Alas, she is a princess. I am a barbarian king. I see no future where we might find a compromise on these two very varied and conflicting roles. And besides all of this, we are currently on the cusp of war.

Still, she is my prisoner, sort of, and it feels right to have her hands pinned above her head as she squirms against my hold. My dick is hard and wedged against the entrance to her pussy. I feel irrational hatred toward the leather clothing getting in my way. "You will accompany us when we talk to your father," I say.

"Unhand me, barbarian!"

Her wriggling is doing predictable things to me. She is a beta. Even the lusty lasses of my clan, many of whom have been with alphas before, need a little training before they can handle me.

None of this matters to my dick which is making detailed plans.

Only, I am not a free man but one bound by duties, just as she is not a free woman and has responsibilities of her own.

And so, despite my clamoring instincts, I heave myself off of her and hold out my hand to her wary acceptance, helping Penelope to her feet.

Penelope

I'm disappointed when he rises and more so when he dons his clothes.

I question why this is.

Am I so bored with my life that I court the attention of the big, gruff alpha, who is clearly the worst choice of romantic interest I could possibly find?

No, it is not romantic interest, but the unmistakable pull of lust that makes me watch meekly as he opens a cloth-wrapped bundle and extracts a wicked looking axe. He inspects the two crescent blades before slipping a leather jacket over it and slotting it at his hip.

It is insanely hot that the man knows how to handle himself, weapons, and me.

He does a double take as he glances across at me, and his nostrils flare.

I don't even care that he is likely scenting my arousal—I believe I like that he does.

His eyes narrow. "Don't give me any trouble, little girl. We shall ride out to meet your father to speak. There is more at stake than your mischief. A lass mated to two of my clansmen has been taken prisoner. She is with child and already bonded. If your father does not yield both the lass and the alpha he holds, make no mistake, there will be war."

My loyalty should be to my father and whatever he intends, but I've already abandoned that cause. Instead of talking to my father, I snuck out of the city and got myself taken prisoner.

"I know," I admit. "I spoke to Aston in the prison. He impressed upon me the sacred nature of their bond and his love for the omega. I left the city to find his mate, Lor… or you, should Lor have fallen. My father will exchange them for me."

He blinks a few times before his expression turns thunderous.

"Why the fuck did you not say?!"

I lift my chin. "I was distracted, then vexed, then distracted again."

"Lass, you are in so much fucking trouble. It has not escaped my notice that you did not get the bare bottom spanking I promised."

"Sire! We are assembled!" A guard calls from beyond my tent.

"I will be out when I am fucking ready!"

Goodness, he has just ordered an entire army to wait while he… he can't really intend…

He cracks his knuckles before unhooking his axe and resting it on the nearby map-covered table. "You will be in a better frame of mind to behave afterward, mark my word."

"You can't mean to spank me now." My voice is little more than a squeak. I take a step back. I should reach for a dagger, but we've already been there several times, and the foolish male would keep coming at me even should I stab him.

Common sense dictates that we yield to the hail of his warrior and make haste to meet with my father.

Only Alfred is not like anyone I have met. I get a firm impression he does not make idle threats. If he says he will spank my bare bottom, then I believe he will.

"It is for your own good," he says. "Clearly, you have been spoiled that you thought this matter of such trivial importance."

"It was not that?—"

"It is a tragedy that no one has cared for you enough to correct you," he cuts me off.

I frown. I'm a princess, and many covet my enviable life. Everybody cares about me. My father is indulgent and gives me anything I desire. Oh, he sometimes complains bitterly before he yields.

I get the strangest impression that Alfred's determination to correct me comes from a place of deep caring. This rough barbarian sees me in ways no one else has. Worse, he is right. No one has ever held me accountable for my actions.

I have done wrong. I should have explained myself yesterday. It was no lie when I said I was distracted, but that does not mitigate my actions nor lessen the crushing guilt I feel when I remember Aston's desolate expression when he spoke of his worry for his mates.

Alfred sits down.

Why does he sit down?

And pats his lap. "Come along, princess. We don't have all day. I have a king to set straight, possibly a battle later, and the days are short at this time of year."

Is he joking?

No, he is not joking. He wants me to go over, to accept this punishment, which feels so much harder than when he held me down and spanked me yesterday.

Beyond the tent, I sense that many are waiting.

I swallow.

Here, within this tent, I am cocooned from my future and the consequences of what I have done. Here, I am no longer a princess. Here, he is no longer a clan king. I don't need to worry about anything beyond being a woman submitting to a man. And so I face my fears and vulnerability and step forward until I am standing before him, right before him in the wide V between his spread thighs.

"Pants and panties down."

Goddess, his stern voice issuing instructions brings a sweet, achy clench to my pussy.

There is no more hesitation. Worse, I feel a sense of urgency to comply with his wishes. My hands shake as I undo my pants, and with heat filling my cheeks, I thrust them down to my knees.

He purrs. A sweet, rumbly sound of approval that makes my insides soften.

"Come on over. Let's get this done."

I shuffle forward, and with as much grace as one can muster while their pants and panties are around their knees, I lean over his lap.

Somehow, this feels even more intimate than last night when I was face-down in his bed. I'm aware of his thick muscular thighs, of his strength, of his hard cock poking me in the side.

Everything else fades away. There is only me, Alfred, and this delicious pull between us.

He cups my ass, squeezing over one globe and then the other.

"I think you might benefit from a sterner punishment," he says gruffly. "Maybe a cane or a crop applied to this deserving bottom. Marked by my hand." His voice lowers to a growl. "Marked as mine."

Then his hand lifts and connects again with a crack.

I moan. His hand lifts and connects again.

Spank!

It stings. While I am tender from last night, it also feels unbearably good. My pussy feels like it is in a state of readiness, still tingling from his attentions and every sharp spank of his big hand. The pain is all heat and stinging, but I welcome every clap, every gasp, every clench that delivers yet more delectable pulsing pleasure between my thighs.

Spank! Spank! Spank!

If only one of my suitors could make me feel like this: small, cherished, dominated.

Spank!

"Take your punishment like a good girl," he growls, "or I will start the count again."

Spank!

Count?

I moan.

Spank!

He has broken me. I should recoil from this, yet the breaking feels so good when every sharp clap of his big palm liberates me from chains.

Spank!

My hips are rocking, pushing up for more, teetering on the brink of something cataclysmic, and I need to reach the other side.

He stops, surges to his feet, and tumbles me onto the floor.

Humiliation hits me as he towers over me, swept away under an avalanche of lust.

His chest is heaving as he swipes a hand down his face.

Today, I understand alphas in ways I never have before. Or maybe it is a barbarian thing. I wouldn't know either way, and I'm in no fit state to care. His dominance blazes like a beacon as I look up at him from my lowly place.

I'm a princess, the future heir to a kingdom, yet I would willingly be nothing more than his little girl.

He stares down at me with an ungodly fire in his eyes. He wants me, not as a pawn for power but as a woman, one he desires.

He reaches out his hand to me, and I take it, feeling the shroud that holds us prisoner flutter away. As I rise, the sounds around the tent penetrate my dazed mind. My ass aches and my pussy aches more, with a desperate longing to be touched, to feel his fingers there…his mouth moving over me.

My breath catches.

He cups my chin and tips it until our eyes meet, then grabs a handful of sore ass.

I yelp.

He chuckles, releases me, and hefts his axe from the table, tucking it once more at his hip, leaving me to pull up my panties and pants with a huff. Then, with my hand in his, he escorts me from the tent.