The Crowned Captive

Morana knew two things as she awoke. Firstly, it was freezing, even for a late autumn morning. The cold seemed to seep into her very bones, slowing her blood. Secondly, there was something so gloriously warm that she cuddled into which wrapped her in such a comforting spicy aroma. She could lay against it forever, listening to the steady rhythm in which his heart-

Morana jolted awake and away from her fae captor. She hurriedly made to exit the tent, embarrassed she had just been cuddling him, only to fall face-first into the bed roll again. Her cheek hit bare flesh and she once again threw herself back, trying to work out what had happened. She looked down and felt her lips curl. Those damned bindings were still on her wrists, which were now aching at the sudden pressure. She looked back to Rowan, who simply looked over with a lazy one-sided grin on his face, his head rested in his hand and one of his fangs bared. He lifted his hand, and with barely a twitch, the warmth flooded back into the tent once more. His eyes stilled then, resting on the gentle peaks of her breasts which were still so tight from the cold, and the nightgown hitched up high on her thigh. His eyes hardened and that grin sharpened, turning predatory.

Morana felt her skin flush and her core coil under that stare. He was damned sexy laying there like that, seeming to devour her with his eyes. Her heart flopped in her chest as those eyes shifted, roving to her face, full of mischief. He raised an eyebrow, a perfectly posed question. She turned her head, breaking the unbearable weight of those impossibly green eyes. Her eyes fell on his groin. Gods above, her attempt to scramble away had pulled his pants, one of his hips completely bared. The only thing that stopped the beginning of his shaft from peaking out was how tight they were over his groin. Her lack of experience caused her to take a moment to realise why. She swallowed and stared at the roof, willing the blood boiling in her veins to cool, and that tingle between her legs to stop.

“Do you like what you see, princess?” He said, his voice gravelly and deep from slumber still. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her heart skipped a beat and another wave of arousal washed over her.

“I wished I saw these ropes undone so I could dress,” she replied, attempting to keep her voice as level as possible as she felt wicked warmth building between her legs.

“Oh, I don’t think that is truly what you want,” he replied, and she opened her eyes and looked back to see him sit up, propping himself up with one outstretched arm. “I can smell your arousal all over you, Morana. Why deny yourself what you want? I would be willing to help relieve that itch if you asked nicely.”

Fucking fae senses. She felt a wave of crimson embarrassment wash over her then, burning her cheeks. She could deny it all she wanted, but he could smell it on her. Her own body betrayed her for this elven prick. And he seemed far too eager to oblige her wants currently.

“Undo the ropes, please,” she gritted out, eager to simply leave the conversation.

Rowan leaned forward and she felt his breath against her arms as those deft fingers undid the knots in a matter of seconds. His fingers lingered on her wrist for a second, but she ignored it as she leapt up, grabbed her riding clothes and exited the tent. A sultry chuckle, deep and gravelly, seemed to reach out and curl around her as she left, and she felt her core pulse again in response. Her body and she were going to have to have a chat about appropriate people to be interested in, she decided. Its reaction to her captor was completely and utterly inappropriate and unacceptable.

After she had dressed and managed to shake the lingering heat within her, Morana walked back around the tent with her head held high, determined to not let the ass shake her any further. He had returned to his usual state of bored silence, simply handing her an end of bread and cheese as she rounded the corner. Much to her relief, he had dressed and had already started packing some of their bags. She sat down a few metres away from him and started eating the bland breakfast.

“Would you like to ride your horse today?” He asked, seemingly completely innocent, around a mouthful of bread. Morana was quick to nod her acceptance as she ate. This far from any fae outpost, there was little chance the horse was of fae blood and could therefore take her wherever she pleased if she got the chance to run. She had no clue exactly where she would go, but with any luck, she could put some distance between the two of them. If she got back to a settlement of any sort, she could hopefully play the damsel in distress and get some help before getting the hell away from him again. She had heard the south of the continent was nice this time of year, and much milder over winter; maybe that would be nice. And far enough from fae hands.

No further comment was needed as Rowan started disassembling the tents and splitting the packs evenly between the two horses this time. Her heart thundered in her chest as she watched him finish packing up camp. He untied her horse from his, fitted the bridle and readjusted the saddle, then handed it to her.

Her fingers were clammy as she grabbed hold of the reigns, trying to act natural. Rowan raised an eyebrow at her, and she glared at him in response, but otherwise not a word was said. Relief washed over her as she swung herself onto the horse. It had been a long while since she had ridden a horse herself over any distance, but the bay gelding seemed gentle enough. Rowan swung himself up onto his mare then, and away they rode.