I Love You, My Cursed Prince

On the next afternoon, when Muriel was blindfolded and kept in the now very familiar chair, waiting as Prince Vidar locked the door and stepped to his favored spot before her, she was still worrying over herself. When he spoke to her, she didn't hear him at first.

"Miss? Miss!"

"Hm? Oh, please forgive me, Your Highness. I didn't mean to be so rude to you."

She heard his clothing rustle, and she felt his body heat as he apparently moved closer. "You've been burdened by something. Mother was so worried that she altered your diet, but is it possible that this isn't related to your diet?"

Muriel would have drooped and fallen over if she hadn't been physically restrained. "I ... I suppose I've been concerned for my future."

"Oh? That's a normal thing to fret over." There was a mild cheerfulness in his voice. "But please don't let your worries damage your health. Too much stress can exhaust your body."

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness," Muriel said automatically.

But she still wasn't in much of a talkative mood. Prince Vidar was doing most of the talking, but after a few minutes, Muriel heard him snort ... or some other brand of exhalation ... and then he said with a tired voice, "Please, please cheer up. There's plenty of good in this world. You can find happiness."

"Sir, how ... how can you say such a thing? Were you not cursed by a fairy? People can be so vicious. The world is dangerous and cruel."

His fingers went right above her wrist, touching the space between the ropes and her sleeves. She was used to that by now. "Yet kind people remain," he said, "and they should be treasured." Muriel shivered when his breath touched her cheek and nose. He didn't stink. He smelled normal and clean. "And I believe you're a kind person."

Muriel shook her head a little. "You're teasing me."

"Perhaps I am." His fingers moved down, past the ropes and to her glove. One of those fingers dipped under the glove. "I wish I could hold your hand."

If Muriel's face was pink, she wouldn't have been surprised. She felt as if she had put her face near a roaring oven. "I don't know what to say."

He was touching the back of her hand.

Prince Vidar's breath quickened. His voice lowered into something that reminded Muriel of hot syrup drizzled onto a thick cake. "I could ... but maybe I could try something else."

Muriel was unable to speak.

Because something warm and smooth and careful was against her lips.

No ... was he ...?

She heard his light groan.

Felt something new.

Something thick and slippery and ...

Why exactly Muriel opened her mouth and let that thing inside, she couldn't have answered, and for more reasons than only one.

This ... this was a kiss ... a kiss of passion, of romance, and of ŀust. It was a swirling, pulsing, life giving kiss, even though Muriel felt weak. Her thɨġhs squeezed together. Her womanhood fluttered. Her fingers tightened. Her limbs pulled on the carefully tied rope.

He pulled back, making a wet noise, but he grumbled out, "Please forgive me."

"No," Muriel murmured. "No, I mean, please. Again. Again!"

His hand curled over hers.

And he kissed her again.

She whɨnėd into him.

It lasted a good while, but they eventually parted. Muriel's lips were wet.

He didn't say anything particularly romantic, but he did say her name, softly, tenderly, as if the name was part of a lullaby. Then he asked, "Tomorrow, would you mind showing me more of you?"

"Hm? More?"

"Yes ... a calf ... or an elbow ... something new."

She gave into her emotions. She laughed, but it wasn't a cruel laugh. "I don't mind."

"Tha ... thank you." His hand slipped away and his heat did the same. "I'll unlock the door and ring for the doctor. You need a rest."

Muriel thought he probably needed a rest too.