The Crowned Captive

Morana had eaten properly that night, fear no longer gnawing at her gut and food finally tasting like something other than dirt. The roast lamb had been succulent, the gravy so rich that she had moaned at the first mouthful. Rowan had snickered from her doorway, and she had blatantly flipped him off, earning more laughter. But she continued shovelling spoonful after spoonful of food into her mouth, marvelling over the creamy mashed potatoes and fresh peas. The herbs balanced perfectly, and the sheer effort, the time, that had to have been put into the dish baffled her. She had never eaten anything like it.

Her gut was aching and overfull when she finally rested her cutlery on her plate, having cleared it as best as she could without picking it up and licking the gravy from it. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes, hissing at the pain that shot up her back as she did so. She heard the door rattle and opened one eye to see Rowan stalking toward her.

“You seem to have enjoyed dinner far more than last night,” Rowan noted as he picked up the plate.

Morana made to sit up to give him some witty remark, but pain flashed through her again as she bent forward. Rowan’s eyes flashed with concern, and he placed the plate back down, looking at her more closely.

“It hurts that bad, does it? Where?” He asked, hands hovering over her as if he could feel where the pain might be.

“Everywhere,” she grumbled. It truly was every muscle in her body that caned so, likely thanks to Cordan’s damned exercises.

“I know the response is likely to be no, but I can help work the pain out. It won’t take it away completely, but it will be better.” His eyes seemed genuine, even slightly apprehensive.

“And how are you to do that?” She snapped.

“A massage, nothing more. You have my word. Just go to the bed and I will do the rest.”

Morana very nearly declined, but no playfulness or predatory hardness was in his face currently. After a long moment, she hobbled over to the bed and sat on the edge, kicking her slippers off but keeping her nightgown on.

Rowan knelt in front of her then, a sight that she never thought would send her blood racing so. With one more look up at her, as if to confirm she was agreeing to this, he grabbed her left foot and started kneading the flesh there. She had to fight not to moan as she worked over it, massaging out every knot that she didn’t know she had. He went to the other then, giving it the same treatment, and Morana felt herself begin to liquefy under his touch. His hands crept up her legs, eliciting a pleasant ache as he slowly increased the pressure. Her breathing hitched as he worked upwards. His face was schooled into blankness as he worked up her legs, lifting the nightgown higher as he went, but he stopped a semi-respectful distance up her thigh.

“How much do you trust me?” He asked, emerald eyes staring up at her intently.

“Little,” she bit out, already knowing it would take next to no cohesion to get her to agree to anything now.

“Smart,” he chuckled, his face softening. “But if you trust me enough, or your want for relief outweighs the distrust, take off your nightgown and lay face down on the bed. I can get your full back that way. I promise I won’t look.”

It took Morana a long moment of watching him before she finally nodded. Rowan touched the manacles, letting them retract back, then spun around as if on queue. She checked no guards beyond the door could see her before she undressed and climbed further onto the bed. A few seconds after she laid down, her face against the feather-down pillows, she felt Rowan climb onto the bed behind her. The scent of spice wrapped around her as he positioned himself above her, those deft fingers setting to work on her neck. Morana initially hissed at the pain, but soon dissolved under his touch.

Morana was a puddle when Rowan finally reached her lower back, his fingers grazing over the peak of her buttocks. She felt herself stiffen as he paused there.

“I can stop if you wish, but you will be holding pain in them too,” Rowan said, still hovering over her with his thighs against hers.

“Go ahead,” she breathed.

Rowan’s hands were respectful as he pushed the ache from her buttocks too, but the touch was far more intimate than she had received before. Something shifted in Rowan’s smell, a musky scent washing over him, and she wondered if that was arousal. She smirked into the pillow at the thought as he continued to work the ache from her muscles.

She was not sure she could stand when Rowan pulled his hands from her skin and gently draped her in one of the throw blankets on the edge of the bed. He rolled over beside her, looking down at her gently as she sagged into the pillows. She opened her eyes, smirking as she saw the tightness of Rowan’s trousers. It was arousal indeed.

" Was the massage satisfactory?” He asked as he grinned at her, ignoring where her eyes sat.

“It was satisfactory,” she confirmed, sinking into the sheets beneath her. She did not have the energy for his teasing now.

“Next time you require such services, I will have your room more prepared with scented oils. It is heavenly.” Morana frowned as he stood from the bed then, though she knew she did not want anything more tonight. “Goodnight, Princess.”

Morana did not have the will to redress as Rowan dimmed the witchlight in her room and left.