disappearing all the time, writing occasionally

The silk of your wedding gown hung from the wardrobe, catching the pale, mocking beams of the moon. In a few short hours, the sun would rise, and with it, your life would bleed away into the arms of Lord Graves.

The silence of the night was suffocating, heavy with the weight of the morning. Your night had been as restless as the hundreds that had proceeded it. Your feet were almost numb from the pacing, your thoughts blank as you tried to shut out any of sorrow. Unable to bear the sight of the white lace a minute longer, you threw a dark cloak over your shoulders and hurried toward the arched stone window. You swung one leg over the sill, your hands gripping the rough masonry as you prepared to drop to the ledge below. One night with the world at your fingertips. That was all you wanted. A first, and last, foray into a world unknown to you, so close and yet so far out of your reach. You needed to know what lay beyond a horizon entirely covered by a husband's shadow.

The heavy oak door swung open as you glanced around your chamber one last time, and Harry stepped into the room. He had been standing watch in the corridor, as he always did, and he must have known you were plotting an escape, as he always did. His dark eyes locked onto your silhouette, halfway out the window. He didn't rush forward, make any heavy handed attempt to stop you. He just folded his arms, a broad, leather-clad shadow in the moonlight, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“Need I remind you that you’re supposed to be sleeping?”

You pulled your leg back inside but didn’t step away from the ledge. “Would you sleep if you knew the rising sun meant the end of your life?”

Harry closed the distance between you, his footsteps heavy in the quiet of the night. “I’ve ridden into battle many times, never knowing if I’ll walk away.”

A bitter, humourless laugh escaped your throat. “Your life has never been in any danger, Ser Harry. Don’t pretend our situations are the same.”

“Your life is not in danger, princess,” he countered smoothly, his tone irritatingly level. “Once you’re wed, you will be safer than ever before.”

You stepped off the window sill then, anger flaring hot in your chest, burning away the cold fear of the night. You edged closer to him, looking up into his face. “Tell me, knight, all you know of the safety of marriage. The safety of childbirth after childbirth, the dagger against my neck if no heir is produced. Tell me of the safety in a life of boredom, things I assume you know much about?”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “I know of the bounty over both our heads if you do not wed the Lord.”

“You cannot answer my question,” you snarled.

“It is your duty to wed, princess, and you and I both know this,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, his words a reminder of the fate you were trying to outrun. “Did you ever think it would be different? Your father will strip you of your titles if you protest. He would sooner see my head on a spike than for this union to fall through.”

You stared at him, hurt and betrayal twisting tight in your gut. “You are selfish.”

“A fact we both know.”

“You will hand me to Lord Graves only to protect yourself.”

Harry stepped even closer, until he was looking down at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I held no power in this match,” he said softly, the iron returning to his voice, absolute and unyielding. “My duty is to protect you. Seeing you wed is protecting you.”

You looked at him, the desperation of a lifetime condensed into a single, breathless plea. “So come with me, as my protector. Just offer me this one last night of freedom.”

Harry stared down at you, his expression unreadable in the moonlight, though a shadow of weariness passed over his features. “You know nothing of freedom. Your life has only existed within the walls of this castle. When the sun rises, you will exist within the same walls, only within a different castle.”

“Then show me, knight,” you pleaded, your cloak brushing against his clothes. “Show me freedom, if only until tomorrow’s first light.”

For a moment, the only sound was the wind howling outside the stone window. Then with a slow, deliberate sigh laced with defeat, Harry reached for the buckles of his coat.

Piece by piece, he pulled away his outerwear, gentle as he laid it onto the heavy velvet of your armchair. Dressed in only a light tunic and dark leather breeches, he looked smaller, and yet somehow more imposing. He pulled a matching heavy wool cloak over his shoulders, flipping the hood up until his face was swallowed by shadow.

He didn't say a word as he led you down an unused servant’s staircase and out through a low side gate.

The stench of the lower town hit you instantly. Thick with the smell of woodsmoke, roasted meats, and stale ale. It could have been miles away from the sterile, clean scented halls of the castle. Under the clouds of midnight, the cobbled streets were teeming with the kind of people you had only ever looked upon from afar, merchants packing away carts, labourers drowning their days in taverns, and travelers whispering in alleyways. Wrapped in your cloak, you were one of them, if only in appearance.

Harry kept a steady pace, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours to navigate the press of the crowd, keeping you anchored. Eventually, he slowed his stride, looking down at you from beneath his hood.

"Where to?" he asked, his voice low, stripped of its formal stiffness. "What is it you'd like to do, princess?"

You looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by the infinite choices of a world without rules. The town was unfamiliar, the paths unmapped in your mind. The weight of your sudden autonomy paralysed you. "I don't know," you admitted, the confession tasting sad on your tongue. You’d longed for this for so many years, and yet had no idea what to do with your freedom. You looked up at him, trusting the shadow of his profile. "Continue as you usually would on a night like this. I will simply follow.”

You pulled your cloak tighter against the damp air as Harry led you deeper into the labyrinth of the lower town.

He steered you down a set of stone steps into a tavern. The air inside threatened to turn your stomach, thick with the scent of roasted mutton fat, ale, and the unwashed wool of dozens of labourers. It was loud, a chaotic roar of coarse laughter and slamming tankards that made your heart skip a beat.

Harry claimed a scarred wooden bench in the darkest corner, keeping his back to the wall. He ordered two tankards of dark ale without a word to you.

The heavy wooden tankards hit the table with a dull thud. You looked down at yours. The wood was dark, stained by decades of spilled spirits, and a thick, yellowish foam spilled over the brim.

"Don't look at it so closely," Harry murmured, his voice cutting through the din of a nearby table of card players. "Just drink. If anyone looks over here, they need to see a man and his companion sharing a quiet drink, not a lady examining the crockery."

You pulled your hood lower, your hands not quite steady as they tugged at the coarse fabric of your cloak. You knew what he said was true, but you couldn’t help the hesitation as you wrapped both hands around the rough handle of the tankard. The wood felt sticky, warm from the heat of the room, the bodies crammed inside. You lifted it to your lips and took a small sip.

The liquid was thick, bitter, and tasted unlike anything you’d tasted before. It burned the back of your throat, forcing a small gasp from your lips. Harry watched you, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remained vigilant, constantly scanning the room over your shoulder.

"Not quite the sweet wine of the high court," he remarked dryly, taking a deep swallow from his own tankard.

"No. It isn’t," you replied, coughing slightly to clear your throat. You took another, larger gulp, determined not to let him see you falter. This time, the warmth spread quickly down your chest, a welcome contrast to the damp chill of uncertainty that had settled into your bones.

The initial revulsion passed, replaced by the strange, intoxicating thrum of invisibility. A group of rough-faced dockworkers at the center table burst into a roaring song, banging their fists against the wood. A serving maid with a grease stained apron navigated the crowd, dodging loose hands with practiced ease. Nobody looked at you. In the shadows, you weren’t a princess, a piece on your father's chessboard, and yet you still had nothing in common with the bodies that surrounded you.

The illusion of safety shattered the moment you stepped back out into the cool night air.

Harry took a shortcut through a narrow, unlit alleyway to avoid the rowdy crowd spilling out of a neighbouring brothel. Halfway through the darkness, three figures stepped out from the shadows of a recessed doorway. One of them held a rusted hunting knife, another carrying an ancient looking axe. Their weapons glinted in the scarce moonlight, their faces mostly hidden by the shadows, but their delighted snarls clear. How fortunate for them, to have stumbled upon an easy mark, for they only saw two cloaked figures, one much smaller than the other.

They weren’t aware of Harry’s skill, or his experience. He was tall and broad even without the armour, but so many men were. And so many would do as they asked, hand over whatever goods they ordered, in favour of fleeing with their lives. They didn’t know that Harry would sooner die than see you injured.

"Hand over the coin purses," the one with the knife hissed.

You instinctively took a step back, your breath catching, but Harry didn't flinch. He moved with a frightening, fluid speed you had never seen in him. Before the man with the knife could even lunge, Harry closed the distance, catching the man's wrist and twisting until the bones cracked between his fingers.

The knife clattered to the stones at his feet, but the thief’s cry was cut short as Harry drove a heavy knee straight into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him and sending him onto the mud splattered cobblestones.

Harry didn’t stop there. He was already pivoting towards the man with the axe before the first thug had fallen. The second thief’s weapon came swinging in desperation, clumsy as it cut through the air, but Harry didn't try to block it. He stepped into the swing, letting the ancient blade graze the top of his shoulder. He jammed the heel of his palm upward into the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. His head snapped back, his eyes rolling upwards as his knees buckled instantly, the heavy axe clanging uselessly alongside the discarded knife.

The third attacker, who had been lingering in the back unarmed, froze. The entire exchange had taken seconds. His two companions were incapacitated on the ground, one groaning and clutching his shattered wrist, the other completely unconscious.

Harry stood between you and the remaining thief, his broad shoulders back, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. He didn't have a weapon to draw, didn't even need one. In the dim light, the cold calmness in his eyes far more terrifying than any blade could be.

The last thief swallowed hard, took one last look at Harry, and scrambled backward, tripping over his own boots before turning and sprinting back out into the main street.

The alley fell silent again, save for the distant, muffled noise of the tavern crowd and the heavy groans of the man at Harry's feet. He didn't bother looking down at them. He turned back to you, the intensity vanishing from his face, replaced by brows furrowed in concern. He reached out, his large hand surprisingly gentle as he checked over you.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

You shook your head, still trying to process how quickly the danger had come and then gone. Harry offered a small nod, then reached down to retrieve the fallen hunting knife, tossing it down a nearby storm drain with a sharp clink. “Come," he muttered, guiding you by the shoulder. "Let's not wait around for their friends."

He led you quickly through the remaining maze of side streets, his eyes scanning every dark alcove. As you neared the edge of the settlement where the buildings thinned out, Harry suddenly paused outside the shuttered window of a quiet alehouse. A couple of crates sat on the cobbles, left out for the morning carters. On top of one sat a stray, clay bottle of mead, likely forgotten by a drunkard or a distracted tavern hand.

Without breaking stride, Harry hooked two fingers through the bottle’s ceramic loop, lifting it smoothly into the folds of his cloak. A faint smirk touched his lips. "A tax for our trouble," he murmured.

Leaving the dirt roads behind, he guided you up a winding, grassy path that cut through the foothills. The noise of the town began to muffle, swallowed by the damp night air, until the only sounds left were the rhythmic crunch of your boots and the chirp of insects in the brush.

At the crest of the hill, the world opened up beneath you. The dark silhouette of the castle loomed imposing and silent just a half mile away, its high stone walls catching the pale moonlight. Below you, the town looked small, its lanterns twinkling like dying embers. Up there, the wind was clean and cool, completely free of the crowded streets stench.

Harry found a flat, dry stretch of grass and gestured for you to take a seat before settling down heavily beside you. His long legs stretched out in front of him, and he popped the wooden cork out of the mead bottle with his teeth, spitting it into the grass. He wiped the rim with his sleeve and extended it to you first.

You took a sip, nerves still on fire, before turning to face, your mind whirring under the quiet of the stars. You let your eyes gaze over Harry as he sat unmoving, perfectly composed, as controlled as he always was.

“Why is it that I know nothing of your life?” You asked, your question cut through the stillness, your voice louder than you had intended.

He didn't turn to you immediately, his gaze remaining fixed on the dark horizon as he reached out to take the bottle from your hand. When he finally did look at you, his expression held nothing.

“Have you ever cared to find out?”

His words had no venom. They were spoken with a flat, empty calmness. The silence that followed was heavier than before. It pressed into the space between you both, forcing you to look at the years behind you. Years where he had anticipated your every need, shielded your vulnerabilities, and carried your secrets, while you had never once even paused to ask where he went when he was dismissed for the night.

You opened your mouth to offer a defence, but the excuse died on your tongue. The burn of alcohol in your throat felt bitter, an unearned comfort provided by hands whos history you had ignored.

“It’s easy to forget that you are more than your service to me.”

His lips curved into a mocking smile as a cloud rolled away from the moon, the pale light pulling his face out of the shadows. “And yet you call me selfish.”

"I grew up in a village three days ride north of here," Harry continued quietly, his gaze fixed on the stars. "My mother died when I was young, and my father was a blacksmith. I thought I'd spend my life hammering horseshoes. I never dreamed I’d succeed as a knight, let alone live to see the end of the training." He let out a soft, humourless laugh. “They take boys from the dirt and break them until there's nothing left but compliance and callouses. I watched stronger boys than me bleed out on the training grounds or break under the winter frost before we were even old enough to hold a real broadsword."

You looked away from him, your fingers tight as they grasped the fabric of your cloak. His words left a cold, hollow ache in your chest. You knew his life would not have been easy, but he carried it so close to his chest. Your misery seemed small in comparison, and yet it still clawed at the very fibres of your being.

The sky wasn't turning grey yet, but you could feel the morning crouching just beyond the hills, waiting to spring.

"Harry," you said, your voice barely louder than the wind rustling the pines below you.

He didn't reply, but he turned to you, leaning back on palms pressed into the dirt behind him.

You swallowed hard, the words tasting like ash against your tongue. “What am I to expect from bedding the Lord?”

Harry’s profile hardened in the moonlight. You wondered if you had crossed a line, if the rigid boundaries of knight and princess would snap back into place as fast as you had broken them down.

When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its steadiness. It was rougher, grounded in honesty.

"Lord Graves is a soldier's son, raised on duty and conquest," Harry said, his gaze remaining fixed on your face. "He will look at your marriage as a campaign to be won. Do not expect gentleness, princess. Men like him take what they believe is owed to them by right of law and blood."

You shivered, pulling the cloak tighter around your shoulders, though the chill was coming from inside of your body.

"But he is not a monster," Harry continued quietly, his features softening just slightly. "He is a man bound by the same cage you are. He needs an heir to secure his house, just as your father needs this alliance to secure his borders. It will be a transaction. Quick, most likely cold. But you will show him no fear. You must hold your ground as I know you can. You are far stronger than you think.”

You stared down at the distant, flickering torches of the town, his words settling over you. The cold of the earth seemed to seep right through your clothes, chilling you to the bone.

“It sounds as though I will never feel pleasure in the ways I’ve heard about,” you said, the confession slipping out quietly, a lament for a part of your life that was being given away before it could even begin.

Harry shifted beside you, sitting up fully to face you, honesty etched across his features. “Your union isn’t seated in love,” he replied, his voice flat, devoid of comfort but entirely earnest. “So few are.”

You turned your body then, looking at him fully, studying the sharp lines of his jaw and the shadow that hid his eyes. A sudden, daring curiosity sparked through your dread.

“You have never wed, Ser,” you whispered, a steely edge to your voice. “Yet something tells me that you have experienced that pleasure.”

He didn't answer immediately. He looked down at his calloused hands, flexing his fingers as if remembering the feel of something far away from the cold confines of the castle. The wind whipped a strand of hair across your face, but you didn't move your eyes from his profile.

“A man finds comfort where he can,” he said quietly, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost swallowed by the valley breeze. “With people who expect nothing from you tomorrow, because neither of you is guaranteed to see it.”

“But that is not the pleasure you are mourning,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “You know little of what you speak of.”

“Do not mistake my lack of a ring for freedom,” he murmured, looking back out at the pale, bleeding edge of the sky. “We all serve someone. We all give up our bodies to a master. I give mine to your father’s wars. Tomorrow, you give yours to his peace.”

The distant torches flickered in the breeze like dying stars, while the town huddled in darkness, a vast world spread out beneath your feet. You could feel the minutes slipping away, courage rising in your chest as the morning drew ever closer. Turning your head away from the sprawling view, you fixed your eyes back on the dark profile of Harry’s face, the cold wind whipping around you.

“Your duty is to serve me, is it not?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper against the wind.

“It is,” Harry replied instantly, his gaze remaining fixed on you, though his posture stiffened.

“Your loyalty is to me?”

“It is.”

You shifted closer on the grass, the fabric of your heavy wool cloak brushing against his, swallowing the final inches of distance between you on the hilltop. “Then I order you to kiss me. Show me the passion you grant to those who will be gone in the morning light, seeing as I will wake in another’s body. Consider me a stranger, Ser.”

Harry’s entire body went rigid. The wind seemed to die in the trees below, leaving behind another suffocating silence. He didn't blink, didn't move away. He just stared at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as the weight of your command hung between you.

"You play a perilous game, princess," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, rougher than you had ever heard it. He didn't move toward you, but the tension radiating from his frame bridged the inches between your bodies. "You command me as my sovereign, yet you ask me to treat you like a stranger. A common woman in a tavern. You cannot have both."

You didn't back down. You kept your chin tilted up, your eyes determined as they bore into his face. “I am bored of being told of things I cannot have.”

Slowly, Harry reached up. His calloused fingers, stained with the iron of his sword, brushed against the edge of your jaw. His touch was firm, almost bruising, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully. His eyes were dark, almost threatening in the way they searched your features.

"If I do this," he murmured, his breath warm against your mouth, "if I cross this line, there is no turning back. When the sun rises, it will rise with the images of tonight plaguing your mind. Can your pride bear that when you walk down the aisle?"

You stared at him, the desperation in your voice cutting through the damp air, leaving your heart bare between you.

“My pride will not be a part of me when I wed the Lord. I believe that after tonight, someone else entirely will inhabit my body.”

Harry’s hand tightened on your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly against your skin, but his expression remained a mask of tortured restraint. “That is a poet's tragedy, princess, not an answer. You speak of tomorrow as a death, but you will still have to look me in the eye knowing that you have laid yourself before me.”

“Do I not deserve to feel passion, if only once?” you argued, moving into his touch, your breathing matching the ragged rhythm of his.

“You do not know yet what the Lord can give you,” Harry countered, his voice straining against its own bounds. “You may grow to love him, to feel the pleasure you seek.”

“But it isn’t sure,” you whispered, leaning into his space, your lips a breath away from his. “I may give myself to a life of emptiness.”

With a low, defeated growl, Harry closed the final fraction of an inch between you. He didn't kiss you with the gentle, reverent patience you expected from a knight doing an unfeeling favour for his princess. He kissed you exactly as you had commanded, like you were a stranger. His mouth was hard and hot, heavy with a pent up hunger.

His hands tangled themselves in the thick wool of your cloak, pulling you on top of his legs. Your knees fell either side of his hips, any other feeling ebbing away as he anchored you to him.

The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, and the heat radiating from him was intoxicating, cutting through the chill of the night. It was a bruising collision of teeth and breath, tasting faintly of dark ale and the wild, open air. Your hands found the edges of his cloak, gripping the fabric tightly as his fingers pushed into the underneath of your hair, tilting your head upwards, giving him more space to slip his tongue between your lips.

You traced it with yours, curious and hesitant as you took whatever Harry would give you, copying his movements whenever he relented for a moment. You were dizzy, lost in the crushing grip of his arm around you, the rough friction of his calloused hands against the nape of your neck, intoxicated by the grip of a passion you never truly expected to feel.

Your cloaks had both been pushed off at one point, though you had no idea when. The soft linen of your chemise did little to hide your body from Harry, and his giant hand was tight against the curve of your waist, his heat searing through the thin layer of fabric.

His tunic hung open, the collar pulled towards one shoulder by the hold you had on the back of it, his chest heaving as his lips moved across your jaw, tracing a trail of fire down the column of your neck.

He pressed impossibly closer as a ragged breath escaped you, his calloused hand tracing the shape of your ass, fingers splayed across the curve.

And then it all stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Harry’s hands wrapped around your shoulders, pushing you away slightly as he stiffened, his lips pulling back from the gentle skin of your neck.

His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting in the quiet air, his hands still trembling slightly where they gripped you, your fingers still clutching at his tunic.

You looked up at him, the moonlight catching the sharp, tense lines of his face. He was a masterpiece, in a way you’d never noticed before. You should have heeded his warnings. A single kiss had not been enough, it had only lit a fire within you that would never be put out.

A panic coiled itself around your ribs, your heart hammering. You were overcome with a sudden, violent grief for the person you had been before your brush with freedom. You had spent the weeks leading up to tonight dreading what the morning would bring, but there, with the heat of Harry’s body still warming you, the taste of him still fresh on your tongue, you couldn’t breathe. You were in half a mind to ask him to fetch his sword, to end your life in one brutal blow just so that you never had to know what it felt like to try and go on, knowing the blazing fire of passion and yet never being free to feel it again.

He stared down at you, dark eyes simmering somewhere between fire and ice, passion and longing mixed with the weight of what you had made him do. You couldn’t take it. Your body felt much too fragile for the depths of your need, and yet it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Take me to my chamber,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands.

“Princess,” Harry murmured, a final, desperate plea for sanity in his tone.

“I know what I am asking of you, and I pray you will forgive me for it,” you continued, reaching up to brush a loose hair from his face. “But if the Gods are watching, they are already displeased. If punishment will come, it is better to feel that it is truly deserved, is it not?”

Harry stayed silent. His jaw was clenched tightly, a muscle twitching in his cheek, his eyes burning into yours, clouded in agony.

“If I am to mourn a life that was never mine, I will only get by with the memories of what you have given me tonight,” you pressed on, refusing to let the cold reality reclaim you just yet.

“You shouldn’t have to bear the image of another as you bed your husband,” he said, the words sounding heavy, like a sentence he was passing onto himself.

“I shouldn’t, and yet I will.”

Harry let out a ragged, defeated breath, looking up at the moon. “My oath is already broken. Punishment will seek me, as it often does.”

“Who will tell?” you countered, a fierce defiance rising within you. “Will you speak with my father in the morning, share with him that you defiled his daughter on the eve of her marriage? Do you expect me to share with the Lord that his bride is sullied?”

“We cannot count on the prayers that we haven’t been recognised tonight,” he reminded you grimly, though his gaze drifted down to your lips.

“So take me to my chamber, my Lord. There we will find no prying eyes.”

He looked at you for a long, breathless moment, his final defences crumbling to dust. “You are certain of what you ask of me?”

You nodded, your fingers steady as your thumb brushed across his cheek, tracing an old scar that wrapped around his jawline.

“I am certain.”

He wrapped his arms around you with a fierce tenderness, lifting you with him as he stood, placing you gently back on the grass. He reached for your fallen cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders, his fingers steady as he tied the leather laces at your collar. Before pulling the heavy hood up over your hair, he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

Harry pulled his own cloak on, snapping the hood up to hide his face in shadow. He paused then, giving you one last look in the moonlight, his dark eyes searching yours as if asking one final time if you had changed your mind. You hadn't. Your jaw remained set, your gaze unwavering.

Accepting your silent resolve, he took your hand in a grip that was tight enough to bruise the flesh, leading you back down the steep slope of the hill. The town below was nearly empty. The few still awake were either deep into their tankards inside the smoky taverns or long home and in bed, but Harry took no chances. He kept his large body positioned between you and the few stragglers who stumbled through the streets, his eyes constantly scanning the dark, careful not to lead you into danger again.

He pulled you along with a reckless speed, your legs barely keeping up with his long strides, only letting go of your hand when you reached the servant's gate at the base of the castle wall.

He paused, his eyes scanning the battlements above you, but the castle was still quiet. The guard shift wouldn't change for another hour. Slipping through the gate, he pulled you in front of him as you reached the bottom of the winding stone stairwell, letting you go ahead into the dark. As you neared the top, he moved close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured for you to check the hallway before stepping out.

You peered around the stone archway, heart pounding, but it was completely silent. No one ever came to this part of the castle at night, save for you and Harry. The torches were burning low as you crept along the corridor, casting long, flickering shadows across either wall.

Harry pushed open the heavy oak door of your room, stepping aside for you to enter first, then followed you closely into the dim, familiar space, the latch clicking shut as he closed the door.

You pulled off your cloak with shaking hands. Whether it was from fear or how badly you wanted this, you couldn’t tell. Harry turned away from you, his shoulders tense as he went to throw his heavy cloak over the armchair, still holding the outerwear he’d stripped out of before you left.

While his back was turned, you were struck with a fresh wave of courage. You didn’t have the time to hesitate, to wonder if you were making the right decision. You wanted him, you were sure of it. Your heart was flint and tinder, and Harry had struck it with his steel. You were burning from the inside out, thoughts hazy under the smoke of your desire. He had awoken something inside you that could not, and would not, ever leave you.

You grabbed the hem of your linen chemise with trembling fingers and pulled it over your head in a clumsy motion, letting the fabric fall from your hands onto the stone under your feet. You had to commit, and you could not go back once you had bared yourself to him.

Harry turned back around to face you, the room completely still as you stood bare before him.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his hands half raised as if he were still trying to smooth out his discarded cloak. In the dim, silver moonlight slicing through your window, his eyes traced the line of your collarbone, the curve of your waist, down to the fabric pooled by your feet.

"Princess," he breathed, desperation lacing the word. He tore his eyes away, forcing his gaze upward to the stone ceiling, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained. "It’s not too late to change your mind."

"You are trying your hardest to resist me," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the pulse roaring in your ears. You took a slow step forward, the cold biting at the soles of your bare feet. "And yet I stand bare before you, clearly having decided my fate."

A low, tortured sound escaped his throat. When he looked back down at you, the conflict in his eyes was almost frightening.

"You think you are breaking your chains," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register. He took a single, slow step toward you, almost the distance. "But you are only forging new ones for me. If I touch you like this, I will never be able to stand at the back of your court and watch his hands on you."

"Then don't watch," you whispered, reaching out to close the remaining space.

Your bare hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart. Beneath the thin linen of his tunic, it was thumping wildly, like a trapped bird desperately flapping its wings. Harry closed his eyes at the touch of your skin, his chest heaving as his hands came up, hovering just an inch away from your bare hips, trembling with the effort to restrain himself.

"Gods forgive me," he muttered.

His hands clamped down on your waist, his palms scorching against your bare skin. He pulled you flush against him, the rough linen of his shirt scraping beautifully against the sensitive peaks of your breasts as his mouth crashed down onto yours. He lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you both backward toward the heavy velvet hangings of your bed, his mouth never leaving your lips.

You stayed like that for a moment, the kiss less terrifying now that you had some grasp on what you ought to do, before Harry laid you atop the sheets. But instead of climbing over you as you’d expected, he stayed standing at the foot of your bed. He didn't move an inch. His dark eyes moved over every inch of your body, tracing your skin from your ankles, up the curve of your thighs, to your waist, and up to the frantic rise and fall of your chest. Up and down, up and down, over and over again, his gaze so intense and unblinking that the scrutiny began to feel torturous, sending a painful ache coiling through your lower stomach.

Only when your fingers curled into the blankets did he finally move. Harry reached down to pull his tunic over his head in one fluid, impatient motion, throwing it blindly to the floor and leaving only his dark breeches on.

The mattress shifted under his weight as he got onto the bed, his calloused hands on your body as he climbed over you. His fingers found your ankles first, and then they began to roam, sliding up your calves, tracing the backs of your thighs, and smoothing over your hips. He moved slow, as if he were memorising the shape of you, determined not to leave a single part of your body untouched.

"Not one word of this to anyone," he breathed, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly rasp as his attention shifted toward your chest, his large hand dwarfing you as it cupped the curve of your breast.

All you could do was nod, your throat tight, suffocated by the fear that nothing coherent would come out if you parted your lips to speak.

Satisfied by your silent compliance, his lips met the sensitive skin of your neck again. His mouth was hungry, rough with pent up passion, yet he was careful, his teeth tracing your pulse point but never biting hard enough to leave a mark that would betray you both.

His fingers on the other hand, you were sure would leave bruises. He seemed to forget his own strength at the best of times, but his touch was firm, so firm as he groped at your breast.

Suddenly, he stilled. He pulled back from your neck, just enough to look you directly in the eye, his breathing ragged, heat simmering in his blown out pupils.

"You have to tell me," he commanded, his hand sliding up to frame your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek. "If it's too much, you must tell me."

You nodded again, a fierce certainty overtaking the panic in your chest, before leaning up and catching his lips in a deep, all consuming kiss.

Harry pulled back after a moment, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. One hand wedged itself between your thighs, coaxing them open for him. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb past your lips, wetting it with your spit before moving down the bed, seating himself between your legs.

A hint of amazement was etched into his features as he stared down at you, his lips slightly parted, watching your expression as he ran his thumb lightly over your clit.

Your hips jerked upwards, your body betraying your confident mask, and you felt your cheeks redden instantly. How silly and immature you must look to someone as experienced as him, unable to keep a hold of yourself after just one touch.

But he chuckled, a low, rumbling vibration against your thighs, clearly pleased in some way by your reaction.

Harry placed a firm hand on your stomach, holding you in place, before running his thumb over you again, his lips spreading into a grin as you body reacted exactly the same way, only slightly held back by his firm touch.

"You are magnificent, princess," he murmured, his voice thicker than before. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours so you had no choice but to drown in the heat of his gaze. "I’ve spent years watching men boast of their conquests, but I would wager that not one of them ever looked at a woman the way I am looking at you right now.”

As if to prove his words, he shifted his weight, removing his hand from your stomach and sliding it beneath your lower back, tilting your hips up to meet his touch more fully. He ran his fingertip through your slit, collecting your slick, eyes locked onto your face as he pushed his finger inside you. Slow and careful as your brows knitted together, your mouth falling open. Your sharp, breathless gasp cut through the quiet when he curled and twisted his finger, just once. Your hands flew up, nails digging into the muscle of his bare shoulders as the heat inside you began to feel unbearable.

He stilled for a moment, waiting for the tension in your features to relax slightly, before pulling his digit from you, then pushing it back in, picking up the pace as the hint of a smile grew on your lips, your eyes screwing shut.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, his own breathing fractured as he traced the inside of you with a precision that showed how many times he had done this before. “Don't hide your face. I want to see exactly what I am doing to you."

You forced your eyes open, blinking through a haze of sudden, overwhelming sensation. Harry’s grin had faded, replaced by a expression of pure concentration. His eyes flitted between your face, and his hand between your legs. Every tiny shudder of your frame, every catch in your throat, was reflected in the tightening of his jaw. He looked as completely undone as you felt.

He slid another finger inside, then another, the fullness stretching you open and drawing a sharp, high pitched whimper from your lips. Your hips rolled upward against his hand entirely on instinct, desperate for the pressure, your fingers clawing at his skin as the friction began to burn.

"Harry," you breathed, his name a broken plea.

"I have you," he rasped, his thumb slurring over your dripping centre in perfect rhythm with the deep, steady movements of his fingers. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath branding your skin as his pace quickened.

The heat inside you coiled tighter and tighter until it became an unbearable, unrelenting ache. You looked at him through a blurred gaze, seeing the way his teeth were gritted, his brow furrowed in what looked almost like pain. He was hanging onto his control by a single thread, driven mad by the tight, slick heat of you wrapping around his hand.

Then, his thumb pressed hard against your clit while his fingers hooked deep inside you, and your vision went dark around the edges, a pleasure and a pain so intense and so unlike anything you had ever felt before.

A violent wave of pleasure crashed over you, so pure and intense that your back arched completely off the mattress. You could feel your muscles clenching around him in tight, frantic pulses. You cried out, the sound muffled against his bare shoulder as you thrashed beneath him, completely unravelled by the rush of the release.

Harry let out a ragged groan as he felt you break, the tight clamping of your walls nearly driving him over the edge right then. He pulled his hand away, slick and glistening in the silver moonlight, pushing his fingers past his lips, collecting your juices on his tongue before instantly reaching for the fastening of his breeches. His breathing was entirely ruined, his chest heaving as he pushed the fabric down and hovered over you, the hot, heavy tip of his length leaking as it pressed against the throbbing pulse of your cunt.

Harry sank the tip of his cock into you, drawing a long, trembling cry from somewhere deep in your chest, your knuckles white as you gripped the blanket. He stilled, giving you time to adjust to the stretch of him, reaching up to pin your wrists to the bed, locking his fingers with yours. His eyes were hard and yet fiercely tender as he stared down at you, a low, pained groan escaping his throat.

"If we had forever," Harry rasped, "I would take my time. I would spend hours letting you get used to me. But we only have tonight."

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscle jumped beneath his skin. His fingers tightened around yours, anchoring you to the mattress.

"I am going to ruin you for him, princess," he whispered, a fierce, possessive heat at the edges of his words. "You are going to wake up tomorrow sore and completely exhausted, and every single ache in your body is going to remind you of me. Tell me to stop now, or I swear to the gods I will not leave a single part of you unbroken."

Your response was a desperate arch of your hips against his, silently begging him for all he had to give.

With a low, animalistic growl, Harry began to move. As if he couldn’t hold himself back a second longer, he sank into you in one deep push, burying himself to the hilt.

Your legs tried to close around his body as the pain tore through you, his fingers having done nothing to prepare you for the size of his cock. Tears pricked at your eyes, your hands straining at their restraints.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, his voice soft and laced with regret as he whispered apologies against your skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Is it too much?”

You shook your head, the searing pain in your core slowly giving way to something much more tolerable as your body reluctantly yielded to his size. The burning dulled into a deep, stretching ache that throbbed in perfect sync with the frantic hammering of your heart.

Harry let out a ragged breath against your temple, his forehead resting against yours as he stayed perfectly still inside you. He granted you every second you needed to adjust, though the violent trembling in his biceps showed exactly how much it cost him to hold back.

"Keep looking at me," he ordered, his voice thick and strained.

When you blinked away the tears, you found his dark eyes searching yours for any lingering trace of pain. "Tell me you're not hurt. I need to hear it."

"I can take it," you breathed, the words a little choked, but the desperate tilt of your pelvis up into his heavy warmth proved it. You untangled your fingers from his grip, reaching up instead to wrap your arms securely around his neck, pulling him down closer. "I don’t want to stop."

A twisted sound escaped his throat at your compliance, not unlike the wolves that howled in the distance.

He began to move again, pulling back slowly before driving deep into you once more, establishing a hard, relentless rhythm that threatened to make the heavy bed frame groan against the floor. Every thrust was deep, and punishingly thorough. He was a man possessed, his calloused hands sliding down to anchor your hips against him, guiding your body to meet his brutal, beautiful pace.

The heat inside the room grew stifling, the quiet of the night entirely swallowed by the slick sounds of skin against skin and the pained, needy cries escaping your parted lips. You were entirely undone beneath him, your mind fixed only on the absolute fullness of him breaking you apart, and the terrifying certainty that he was marking your body in ways that would never truly heal.

He kept his large hand splayed wide across the high curve of your hip, the weight of his palm anchoring you firmly against his rhythm, while his other hand roamed back up the flushed, sweat-slicked skin of your stomach and chest. It came to rest at the base of your throat, his long fingers stretching wide to squeeze lightly around your neck.

“You are a goddess,” he murmured against your skin, the words muffled and dark as he leaned down to take the aching peak of your breast into his mouth. His tongue swirled over your nipple with a slow, tormenting heat, tugging gently until the sensation set you completely alight, electricity sparking at the point of contact, shockwaves rippling through your core.

“You should not speak the Gods names in vain,” you breathed. The voice that came out of you sounded faint and distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. The thick haze of pleasure was clouding your mind, heavy and sweet, making the solid stone walls of your bedchamber feel like they were dissolving into the dark.

Harry paused for a single fraction of a second, his finger tightening just a fraction against your throat, his blown out eyes lifting to lock onto yours with a pure devotion that made your heart feel as though it had fallen off its perch.

“They could strike me down right now and I would not complain,” he whispered, his voice a rough rasp. He drove into you again, a deep, bruising stroke that filled you to your absolute limits and drew a broken whimper from your lips. “What more could there be in life than this?”

The question hung in the air between you, answered only by the frantic slapping sound of your bodies colliding. Harry’s pace turned fierce, every thrust growing deeper, harder, his gritted teeth catching the silver moonlight as his head tilted back, a low growl tearing from his chest with every punishing drive.

You were entirely blind to the rest of the world, anything but him in total darkness, your hands clawing wildly at the muscles of his back, your legs locked high around his waist to pull him closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you. The coiling heat inside your stomach tangled into a violent knot. With a shattered cry of his name, your body fractured, your muscles clamping down around him.

That tight, pulsing squeeze was the final blow. Harry let out a ragged, strangled noise, and drove into you one last time. His body stiffening, his hand clamping tight around your throat, every muscle in his back locking like iron as he came inside you, a hot, heavy release that seemed to shudder through his entire frame. He collapsed over you, his chest heaving not unlike a dying man's, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck as he held you so tight it stole the air from your lungs.

But he didn't pull away. Even as the wild adrenaline began to cool and the heavy, aching reality settled back over your skin, Harry remained buried completely inside you. His weight comforting and solid, the pressure of his body against your front, his length still thick and nestled deep in your slick.

Minutes bled into the dark, and still, he didn't move. He simply shifted his arms, wrapping them securely around your waist to pull you flush against him, closing his eyes as if he could freeze time by sheer force of will. He savoured the heavy, melting sensation of being joined to you, feeling the faint, fading aftershocks of your pleasure pulsing gently around him.

"Harry," you whispered into the quiet, your voice small, your fingers idly tracing the line of his spine.

"Just a moment more," he rasped into your skin, his voice thick with a profound, aching sorrow. He nudged his face closer into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin, his fingers tightening against your hip. "Let me have just a moment more of pretending you belong to me."

When he finally pulled out, the sudden absence of his heat left a cold, hollow frost over your body. But he didn’t move away. He shifted his heavy frame onto the mattress beside you, his breathing slowly calming from ragged gasps into deep, steadier breaths.

For a few quiet moments, the space between you felt vast, as if the spell of it all had broken the second your bodies parted.

Until Harry reached out. His large, rough hand slid gently beneath your neck, lifting you slightly so he could tuck you into the warm curve of his chest. His other arm wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers splaying flat against your lower back, pulling you in until your thighs tangled together and your forehead rested right against the hollow of his collarbone.

It was a quiet and unhurried, even with the threat of dawn just behind the clouds. It felt entirely more intimate than anything that had proceeded it.

He had been a man possessed, driven by a desperate need. But his movements then were tender and soft. You could hear the slow, rhythmic thudding of his heart right against your ear.

His thumb began to trace slow, soothing circles into the bare skin of your lower back, a gentle, repetitive motion that seemed designed to soothe the lingering tremors in your muscles. Every now and then, he would lean his head down just an inch, his lips brushing softly against the crown of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as if he were trying to anchor it deep into his memories.

You let your hand rest against his ribs, feeling the smooth rise and fall of his chest, craning your neck slightly to see his face, the reality of what you had done beginning to take shape.

"How can you know that I won’t be with child?" you whispered suddenly, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the silence.

Harry let out a low, wry laugh. "There is no way I can assure you of that, my sweet girl. Only time will tell."

“But the Lord-"

"The Lord would never know the babe wasn’t his," Harry interrupted, his voice rough and low. His arm tightened around your waist, his palm pressing flat against your stomach. "Only you and I would know that the swell of your body was holding our secret."

You watched the steady, unblinking focus in his eyes. "You’d like that?"

A dark, primitive spark flickered in his gaze. "If I wasn’t pleased by the idea of sowing my seed so deeply inside of you that it grew into a babe, I would not be a man."

You didn't reply. The sheer gravity of what he was admitting, the danger of the thrill, left you entirely speechless. You simply stared at him, your breath hitching in your throat.

Harry studied your silence, his thumb tracing a slow line over your cheekbone. "Does that frighten you?"

"I don’t believe you know what you’re saying," you whispered, shifting slightly against his chest.

"Have you ever known me to speak words I don’t mean?" he countered.

"No, my Lord."

"Then trust that I know what I’m saying."

After that, Harry’s breathing finally shifted into the heavy, rhythmic cadence of sleep. Even then, his body refused to fully let you go. His large arm remained draped securely over your waist, the heavy warmth of his palm anchoring you to his side as if he could keep the morning at bay by sheer force of will.

You stared at the dark canopy above you, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat against your shoulder. As desperately as you wanted to sink into sleep, to bury yourself in the rare, fragile tenderness of his embrace, that old, suffocating weight began to press down on your chest.

The night was an island. Tomorrow, when the castle woke, the wedding preparations would be finalised, the white silk gown would be laced up your spine, and you would be handed over to a Lord whos touch would hold none of the tenderness Harry had offered you. The future stretched out before you, bleak and devoid of the very warmth you were currently wrapped in. Remaining in his arms felt less like a comfort and more like a mocking rehearsal for a life that would never be yours. The walls of the bedchamber suddenly felt too close, the heavy velvet blankets too hot. You were suffocating underneath it all.

Carefully, breath by breath, you began to pull yourself out from Harry’s grip. You lifted his heavy forearm with trembling hands, easing out from beneath his weight so slowly that he merely murmured something incoherent in his sleep, his fingers twitching against the mattress as he rolled onto his side, searching for the lost warmth of you.

Shivering against the sudden chill of the room, you swung your legs over the side of the mattress. As your feet touched the cold stone of the floor, a sharp, deep ache flared through your stomach and thighs. Your body was sore, so sore, bruised and tender, a physical manifestation of the promise he had made to ruin you.

You drew a thin, discarded linen sheet around your bare shoulders, walking with stiff, careful steps to the heavy stone alcove of the window.

Sinking onto the wooden bench, you rested your chin against your knees and stared out into the darkness. The town below was still completely dead, wrapped in the thick, grey mist that rolled off the river before dawn. You sat perfectly still, watching the shadows slowly shift, the physical ache in your core acting as a constant reminder of what you had done. It would hurt so much more to let go of passion now that you had experienced it, more than you ever expected it to. The idea of never feeling the unbridled throes of pleasure had threatened to destroy you in the weeks leading up to that night, but you hadn’t realised how much harder it would be to leave it behind once you knew of the thrill.

You watched the horizon for hours, your mind completely blank yet entirely overwhelmed, until the very first, pale grey rays of the sun began to bleed through the mist, catching the tops of the trees below.

Behind you, the mattress shifted heavily. The low rustle of sheets broke the quiet, followed by the sound of a sharp, sudden intake of breath as Harry’s eyes opened to an empty bed that wasn’t his own.

"I cannot be found here," Harry murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp.

His steps were heavy as he crossed the floor. You didn't turn around, but you could hear the rushed, clumsy sounds of him dressing in the shadows, the slide of linen, the heavy pull of leather.

You knew it couldn’t last, that you only had until the sunrise, but you still couldn’t bear to watch Harry leave. To watch him to carry your heart and your virtue with him as he stole away before anyone realised where he had spent the night. You were foolish in brushing off his warnings, in insisting that you could handle having him in the corner of your eye, just out of reach, for however long he stayed at your side.

It wasn’t until he finally approached the window alcove, bringing a gentle breeze with him, that you felt the wetness coating your cheeks. You hadn’t realised you were crying.

Dropping his boots, Harry knelt at your feet. He reached up, his rough hands framing your face with a desperate, crushing gentleness, forcing your eyes away from the dawn breaking outside. When you looked down at him, his own eyes were dark, shadowed with an exhaustion that had little to do with his lack of sleep.

"I don't want to ever let go of what you have given me," you whispered.

"You must, sweet girl," he muttered, his thumbs coming up to wipe the tears from your cheekbones.

"Take me as your wife," you begged suddenly, the words tumbling out of you recklessly. "Run with me. We have time to leave before the castle wakes."

"You know that I can't," he replied softly, his jaw clenching. The kingdom, your family, his own sacred vows. The cage around you both was too strong, too suffocating, and both of you knew it.

“My heart will never be his.”

“It was never his to take,” Harry whispered, pushing a stray hair from your face. “It is mine, as is the entirety of you.”

You wanted him to kiss you. You felt entirely raw, empty and hollowed out from the inside. You had tried so hard to fight off the dread that had washed over you the moment he fell asleep, but it had consumed you anyway. The fire he had set aflame within you had burned itself out, leaving nothing but cold ashes and an emptiness behind. You needed him to spark it back to life, as much as you thought it could physically pain you to feel his mouth on yours for the final time.

And when his lips finally met yours, it did nothing to soothe the ache set deep in your bones.

His kiss wasn't anything like it had been in the dark. He was devastatingly soft, and kind. The weight of the pity he must have felt for you bled entirely into his movements. The eagerness of a lover’s touch had been replaced with a bleak, heartbreaking goodbye.

He pulled back, searching your empty eyes for a fraction of a second, and then he kissed you again. One final, lingering time, his lips pressing against yours with the quiet solemnity of a prayer.

Then without another word, he stepped back into the shadows of the room, pausing by the door to slip on and lace his boots. The clock across the room ticked loudly in the silence, a sharp death knell announcing the end. When the last buckle was fastened, he turned toward the heavy oak door.

"Harry," you called, the sound fractured and desperate as you turned to face him.

He paused, his hand gripping the iron latch of the door. His shoulders tensed beneath the weight of his leather coat, but he didn't turn back. The door opened and shut, taking him with it, leaving you entirely alone in the pale, unforgiving light of the dawn.

hope u enjoyed!!!!! please please please let me know what you think, and interact with this post if you’d like to join my taglist!!!! i have more ideas for this pairing and i will write them if even one person asks me to