Chapter 4: The Carriage Ride
The doors to the great hall had barely closed behind them before Ray felt the weight of a hundred stares pressing against his back. The court had gathered to see them off—nobles in their silks and velvets, servants lined up along the walls, the captain of the guard with his polished breastplate gleaming in the morning light.
Amber walked beside him, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow. She had changed into a traveling gown of deep green wool, cut high at the throat and low at the bodice, a silver chain cinched around her waist. Her hair had been braided and coiled at the nape of her neck, not a single strand out of place.
She looked every inch the queen. Composed. Regal. Untouchable.
He knew what she tasted like. He knew the sounds she made when she came. He knew the way her nails bit into his shoulders when he fucked her hard enough to make her forget her own name.
The thought made him hard beneath his breeches.
"The carriage is ready, Your Majesties," said the master of the household, a thin man with a perpetually worried expression. "Provisions have been packed for the journey. The outriders will flank you at all times. We expect to reach the outer castle by nightfall."
"Good," Ray said.
Amber smiled at the man—a warm, practiced smile that made him flush with pleasure. "Thank you, Lord Harmon. We appreciate your diligence."
The man bowed so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. "Your Majesty is too kind."
They made their way through the courtyard, past the fountain with its marble horses, past the rose gardens that had been planted by Ray's grandmother. The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and the air smelled of dew and cut grass.
The carriage waited at the gates. It was a massive thing, all black lacquer and gold leaf, with curtains of deep purple velvet drawn across the windows. Four white horses stood harnessed at the front, their manes braided with ribbons.
Ray handed Amber up the steps, his palm pressed to the small of her back. He felt her shiver at his touch.
"Cold?" he murmured.
"Not even a little."
He climbed in after her and pulled the door shut. The latch clicked into place, and the outside world disappeared.
The interior of the carriage was plush and dim, lit only by the thin sliver of light that crept through the curtains. The seats were upholstered in the same purple velvet, soft as a whisper. A small lantern hung from the ceiling, unlit. The floor was polished oak, gleaming faintly in the shadows.
Amber settled onto the rear-facing seat, arranging her skirts around her. Ray sat across from her, his long legs stretched out until his boots nearly touched her hem.
The carriage lurched forward. They were off.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the creak of the wheels, the clop of hooves on stone, the distant shouts of the driver urging the horses on.
Then Amber leaned forward, her green eyes glittering in the dimness.
"That was quite the send-off," she said.
"Half the kingdom turned out."
"More than half." She smiled. "They love you."
"They love the idea of me. The crown. The spectacle."
"And you? What do you love?"
He reached across the space between them and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, and he pressed them to his lips, breathing warmth onto her skin.
"You know what I love," he said.
"Say it."
"You."
"Just me?"
"You. Always you. Only you."
She pulled her hand free and sat back, but her smile had softened. "Good answer."
The carriage rattled over a stretch of uneven road, and they both swayed in their seats. Outside, the city walls gave way to open countryside. The curtains fluttered, letting in glimpses of green fields and distant mountains.
Ray watched Amber as she watched the landscape. The way the light caught her hair. The way her fingers tapped absently against her thigh.
She caught him staring. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Looking at me like you want to eat me alive."
He grinned. "Maybe I do."
"Maybe you should."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with promise. The carriage swayed again, and Amber's hand slipped from her thigh to the seat beside her, gripping the velvet as she steadied herself.
Ray's gaze dropped to her legs. The traveling gown was modest, but the fabric was thin, and he could see the outline of her thighs beneath the wool. He imagined pushing the skirts up, spreading her legs, burying his face between them.
"Stop," she said.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me like that."
"You started it."
"I didn't start anything."
"You said 'maybe you should.' That's starting something."
She laughed—a low, throaty sound that made his cock twitch. "You're impossible."
"You've mentioned that."
The carriage hit another bump, and Amber bounced in her seat. She grabbed the edge of the bench to steady herself, and her gown rode up, exposing a sliver of pale thigh.
Ray's mouth went dry.
"Amber," he said.
"What?"
"Come here."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because I want you to."
"That's not a reason."
"It's the only reason that matters."
She held his gaze for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she rose, gathering her skirts in her hands, and crossed the narrow space between them.
She didn't sit beside him. She straddled him.
Her knees pressed into the velvet on either side of his hips, her skirts bunched around her waist, her hands braced on his shoulders. The carriage swayed, and she swayed with it, her body brushing against his.
"This what you wanted?" she asked.
"This is exactly what I wanted."
He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh through the wool of her gown. She was warm, and she smelled like lavender and something sweeter underneath. Her breath was quick, her pupils blown wide in the dimness.
"We shouldn't," she said.
"Why not?"
"The driver. The outriders. They'll hear."
"Let them."
"Ray—"
He silenced her with a kiss.
She melted into him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Her mouth was hot and demanding, her tongue sliding against his, tasting of mint and honey. He bit her lower lip, and she moaned into his mouth.
His hands found the hem of her gown and pushed it higher, bunching it around her waist. Beneath, she wore nothing but a thin linen shift, damp with the heat of her body. He could feel her cunt through the fabric, hot and wet.
"You're not wearing anything," he breathed against her mouth.
"I didn't see the point."
"Fuck."
She laughed, low and wicked. "That was the idea."
He pushed the shift aside and touched her. She was slick, her folds slippery under his fingers, and she gasped when he found her clit.
"Ray—"
"Shh."
He circled the sensitive nub with his thumb, watching her face as she bit her lip to keep quiet. The carriage rocked beneath them, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart.
"Please," she whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me."
"Like this? On the road? Where anyone could hear?"
"Yes. I don't care. I need you inside me."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He fumbled with the laces of his breeches, his fingers clumsy with need. When he finally freed his cock, hard and aching, Amber reached down and guided him to her entrance.
She sank onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.
They both groaned. The sound was swallowed by the creak of the wheels, the clatter of hooves, the endless drone of the road.
She was so fucking tight. So wet. Her cunt gripped him like a fist, and he had to close his eyes to keep from coming right there.
"Fuck," she breathed. "You feel—"
"I know."
She started to move.
It was awkward at first, the rhythm of the carriage fighting against her own. But then she found it—a syncopated beat, a push and pull that made the velvet seat creak beneath them. She rode him hard, her thighs straining, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Ray gripped her ass and pulled her down onto him, slamming up into her with every bounce. The carriage lurched, and she cried out, a high, keening sound that she tried to muffle with her hand.
"Don't," he said, pulling her hand away. "I want to hear you."
"The driver—"
"Fuck the driver."
She laughed, breathless. "You're the king. You can't fuck the driver."
"I meant—"
"I know what you meant."
She kissed him, open-mouthed and sloppy, and he fucked up into her harder. The carriage swung around a bend, and they both nearly toppled off the seat. Amber grabbed the curtain for balance, and the fabric tore under her hand.
"Shit," she gasped.
"I'll buy a new one."
"You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want. I'm the king."
She laughed again, a sound that dissolved into a moan as he hit a spot deep inside her. Her head fell back, her throat exposed, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
"Ray—"
"What?"
"I'm close."
"Already?"
"It's been—" She gasped as he drove into her again. "It's been building since the bathhouse."
"Then come."
"I want to wait—"
"Don't wait. Come for me. Right now."
He reached between them and found her clit, slick and swollen. He pressed his thumb against it, circling hard, and she shattered.
She came with a scream that echoed off the velvet walls, her body convulsing around him. The carriage swayed, and she swayed with it, her nails raking down his chest through his shirt.
Ray kept fucking her through it, chasing his own release. The world narrowed to the heat of her cunt, the slap of skin, the wet, obscene sounds of their coupling.
"Come inside me," she panted. "Fill me up. I want to feel it."
That was all it took.
He came with a roar, spilling inside her, his hips jerking with the force of it. She held onto him, her forehead pressed to his, her breath hot against his mouth.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The carriage rattled on, the wheels churning over dirt and stone, and the world outside continued to exist.
Finally, Amber lifted her head.
"I think I tore the curtain," she said.
"I'll buy a new one."
"You said that already."
"I meant it."
She laughed and kissed him—soft, this time, almost tender. Then she climbed off his lap and settled onto the seat beside him, her skirts falling back into place as if nothing had happened.
But her cheeks were flushed, and her braid had come loose, and there was a mark blooming on her neck that she would need to hide before they arrived.
Ray tucked himself back into his breeches and reached for her hand.
"Again," he said.
"What?"
"Before we get there. I want to do that again."
She looked at him, her green eyes glittering in the dimness.
"You're insatiable," she said.
"You made me this way."
"I made you?"
"Before you, I was a perfectly respectable king. Dignified. Controlled. Then you climbed into my lap."
"You pulled me into your lap."
"Details."
She laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. The carriage swayed, and the wheels turned, and somewhere ahead, the outer castle waited. But for now, in this small velvet world, there was only them.
"Fine," she said. "Again."
He smiled and kissed the top of her head.
"That's my queen."
Amber's head found the hollow of his throat, her breath warm and slowing. The carriage wheels ground against the road, a steady percussion beneath the velvet quiet. Outside, the world rushed past in streaks of green and gold.
"You're thinking too loud," she murmured.
"I'm always thinking."
"About what?"
He hesitated. The words sat heavy on his tongue, demanding release. "About how long I waited. How many years I watched you across the dinner table and pretended I didn't want to drag you upstairs."
She lifted her head, her eyes searching his. "You weren't pretending very well."
"Neither were you."
"I was flawless."
"You bit your lip every time I walked into a room. You practically drew blood."
She laughed, a soft exhale against his neck. "That was the wine."
"That was me."
She didn't argue. Instead, she kissed the corner of his jaw, slow and deliberate, her lips lingering on his skin. The gesture said more than words could.
The carriage lurched over a rut, and she braced herself against his chest. Her hand splayed over his heart, fingers pressing into the linen of his shirt. She could probably feel how fast it beat.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"Not about the castle."
"Then what?"
He caught her wrist, turning her palm up and pressing his lips to the center. Her skin tasted of salt and lavender oil, remnants of the bathhouse. "About being king. About being good enough. About fucking this up like my father did."
Her expression shifted. The playfulness drained away, replaced by something sharper, more serious. "Your father was a drunk who let the council run the kingdom while he chased serving girls through the corridors."
"I know."
"You're not him."
"I know."
She pulled her hand free and cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Then stop acting like you're going to fail before you've even started."
The carriage swayed. He held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle into his bones. She believed in him. That was more than he deserved and more than he'd ever expected.
"I love you," he said.
"I know." She smiled, the wicked edge returning to her lips. "Now stop brooding and touch me again."
He laughed, surprised by the abrupt shift. "You're serious?"
"Always."
"We just—"
"And now I want you to do it again. Different this time. Slower."
The carriage hit another bump, and she tumbled forward, catching herself on his shoulders. Her gown had fallen back into place, but the fabric was rumpled, and the laces at her bodice had come loose during their earlier frenzy. He could see the swell of her breasts, the shadow between them.
"Slower," he repeated.
"Unless you can't manage it."
He grabbed her waist and hauled her onto his lap, facing away from him. She gasped, her hands flying out to brace against the opposite seat. The position left her back arched, her ass pressed against his half-hard cock.
"Slower," he said against her ear. "I can do slower."
He lifted her skirts again, bunching the wool around her hips. The shift beneath was soaked through, sticky with his come from before. He pushed it aside and found her cunt, still slick and swollen.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're dripping."
"Whose fault is that?"
He dragged two fingers through her folds, coating them in the mess he'd left inside her. She shuddered, her hips jerking against his hand.
"Ray—"
"Shh. Slower, remember?"
He circled her clit with his thumb, barely touching, and she made a sound between a whimper and a growl. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her breath coming in ragged pulls.
"That's not—" She gasped as he pressed harder. "That's not slower."
"It's slow enough."
He slid two fingers inside her, curling them against the spot that made her thighs shake. She was so fucking wet, so open, and he could feel his own come coating his fingers as he fucked her with them.
"Please," she whispered.
"Please what?"
"I need your cock. Not your fingers. Your cock."
He withdrew his hand and positioned himself at her entrance. She tried to sink down onto him, but he held her hips, keeping her still.
"Wait," he said.
"I don't want to wait."
"You said slower."
"I changed my mind."
He laughed, low and rough. "Too bad."
He pushed into her inch by inch, drawing out the moment until she was trembling with need. When he was fully seated, he paused, letting her feel every ridge and vein of him stretching her open.
"Move," she demanded.
He did.
But slowly. So fucking slowly. He lifted her off him and brought her back down, controlling the pace with his hands on her hips. The friction made her moan, a long, drawn-out sound that filled the small space.
The carriage rocked, and they rocked with it, a rhythm that was half their own and half the road. Her cunt clenched around him with every stroke, greedy and hot.
"Harder," she gasped.
"No."
"Ray—"
"You said slower. We're going slower."
She cursed under her breath, a string of profanity that made him grin. She was so used to getting what she wanted. It was good to remind her who was in control.
He kept the pace maddeningly slow, dragging her pleasure out until she was practically sobbing. Her fingers clawed at the seat, at his thighs, at anything she could reach.
"I hate you," she panted.
"You love me."
"I hate that I love you."
He nipped at her earlobe, then soothed the sting with his tongue. "Say it again."
"I hate—"
"Not that part."
She was silent for a moment, her breath hitching as he thrust up into her at a new angle. Then, so quiet he almost missed it: "I love you."
He rewarded her with speed.
Just a little. Just enough to make her gasp and arch her back. He fucked up into her with quick, shallow strokes, and she met him halfway, her hips grinding down.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asked.
"Yes. No. I don't know."
"Tell me what you want."
"I want—" She broke off with a moan as he hit something deep. "I want to come. With you inside me. I want to feel you come inside me again."
"That's specific."
"Shut up and do it."
He drove into her harder, abandoning the slow pace entirely. She cried out, her back arching, her nails digging into his thighs. The carriage swayed wildly, the wheels rattling over stones, and he hoped the driver couldn't hear the obscene sounds coming from inside.
But he didn't care enough to stop.
"Come on," he growled. "Come for me."
She did.
Her body clenched around him, a ripple that turned into a wave. She threw her head back and screamed—no restraint this time, no hand to muffle the sound. The scream echoed off the velvet walls and probably out into the countryside.
He came a heartbeat later, filling her again, his hips jerking with the force of it. The pleasure crashed through him, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The carriage slowed, the horses pulling back to a walk. Outside, the sounds of the road returned—distant birdsong, the rustle of leaves in the wind.
Amber stirred first, lifting her head. Her braid had come completely undone, and her hair spilled over her shoulders in a tangled mess. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from biting them.
"We need to fix ourselves," she said.
"What?"
"Before we arrive. We need to look presentable."
He looked down at the chaos of their clothing—her rumpled gown, his unlaced breeches, the torn curtain swaying in the breeze from the crack in the window. "We have time."
"The driver said we'd arrive by nightfall."
"And it's still afternoon."
She twisted to look at him, still seated on his cock. "How do you know?"
"Because the sun is still high. Look." He gestured toward the crack in the curtains, where a sliver of light leaked through. "We have hours yet."
Her lips curved. "Hours."
"Hours."
She bit her bottom lip, considering. Then she lifted herself off him, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. She turned, settling onto the seat beside him, and began to fix her clothing.
He watched her lace her bodice with swift, practiced fingers. Watched her re-braid her hair, weaving the strands with quick twists. She looked nothing like the woman who had been screaming his name moments before.
"Will you help me with the back?" she asked.
He turned her gently and began lacing the gown, his fingers slow and careful. The wool was warm from her body, and he could feel her heartbeat through the fabric.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"How lucky I am."
She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes soft. "You've mentioned that."
"Because it keeps being true."
When he finished the laces, she turned back and kissed him—a quick, light press of lips that promised nothing and everything. Then she reached up and straightened his collar, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt.
"There," she said. "Presentable."
"Barely."
"Barely is enough."
The carriage picked up speed again, the wheels finding a smoother stretch of road. Outside, the sun was lower now, casting long shadows through the trees. The air that seeped through the cracks smelled of pine and damp earth and approaching night.
Amber leaned her head against his shoulder. Her hand found his and held it.
"What's the outer castle like?" she asked.
"Cold. Old. More stone than comfort."
"Sounds charming."
"It's where my grandfather kept his mistress."
"Scandalous."
He snorted. "She hated it. The mistress. Used to complain about the drafts and the lack of windows. He built a solarium just to shut her up."
"Did it work?"
"Not really. She left him for a stable hand the following spring."
Amber laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I think I would have liked her."
"She was a horrible woman."
"Then I definitely would have liked her."
The carriage swayed, and their shoulders pressed together. Ray watched the trees pass, the light dimming as afternoon bled into evening. The outer castle was still hours away, but he could feel it approaching—a weight on the horizon.
"We'll need to be careful there," he said.
"Careful how?"
"The servants are loyal to the crown, but they're not ours. Not yet. They've served three kings before me. They'll be watching."
"Let them watch."
"That doesn't bother you?"
She turned to look at him, her eyes sharp. "I've spent years hiding what we are. Smuggling glances. Stealing moments. I'm done hiding. If they want to watch, let them. They'll see a king and queen who love each other. That's more than most couples in these castles can say."
He kissed her then—soft and slow, a promise more than a demand. She melted into him, her hands rising to cradle his jaw.
When they broke apart, the light had shifted again. The forest thickened outside, the trees pressing close to the road. Somewhere ahead, the outer castle waited with its cold stone and old secrets.
"I want to do it again," she whispered.
"Now?"
"Now. We have hours, remember?"
He laughed. "You're going to exhaust me."
"That's the plan."
She climbed back into his lap, her skirts already bunching around her thighs. The carriage swayed, and she swayed with it, and somewhere outside, the trees gave way to open fields.
But they didn't notice. They were too busy with each other.
The hours passed in a blur of warm skin and tangled limbs. They fucked until Ray's legs shook and Amber's voice went hoarse. They collapsed in a heap on the velvet seat, exhausted and laughing, their clothes in absolute ruin.
The sun set beyond the trees. The carriage lamps were lit. The driver called back once to ask if they needed anything, and Ray had to stifle a laugh as Amber frantically pulled her gown up over her bare breasts.
"No, thank you," he called back, his voice surprisingly steady.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
The carriage rolled on through the darkness. Amber curled against his side, her head on his chest, her breathing slow and even. He thought she might be asleep until she spoke.
"Are you nervous?"
"About the castle?"
"About everything."
He considered the question. The weight of the crown. The expectations. The inevitable conflicts and betrayals and the thousand small compromises that came with ruling.
"No," he said. "Not with you."
She smiled against his chest. "Good answer."
"I'm learning."
"You're a natural."
The carriage slowed, the horses pulling to a walk. Outside, Ray heard voices—guards calling out a challenge, the driver responding, chains rattling as the gates were opened.
Amber sat up, smoothing her hair. Her gown was rumpled beyond repair, but she did her best to look presentable. Ray tucked his shirt back into his breeches and ran his fingers through his hair.
The carriage passed beneath the gatehouse. The walls rose on either side, dark and imposing. Torches flickered in iron brackets, casting dancing shadows across the stone.
THE CASTLE GATES LOOM.