The days in the cottage blurred into a haze of simple joy, far from the palace's gilded shadows. Lucian—Primus to the world, but hers alone—taught Hazel the art of the bow, his hands steadying hers as arrows whistled through the air toward distant targets. They hunted together in the misty woods, her laughter echoing when she startled a deer, his praise warm when she felled a rabbit with a clean shot. Evenings brought music; he sat at the ancient piano in the sitting room, fingers dancing over keys worn smooth by centuries, guiding her hands through simple melodies until her notes intertwined with his.
It was freedom. It was them.
One evening, after their bath in the warm stream, they lay tangled in soft sheets. Hazel rested her head on his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his skin as they talked of everything and nothing—childhood stories, dreams of impossible futures, the way the stars seemed brighter here.
"Hazel," Lucian said suddenly, voice low and serious. He shifted to face her, crimson eyes locking onto hers. "I love you."
The words hung in the air, simple yet profound. He had not said them before, not when she had confessed her own heart. Now, here in this sanctuary, he laid himself bare.
Hazel's breath caught. They stared at each other, time stretching thin.
Then—a flash.
A voice, not quite Lucian's but achingly familiar, whispering "I love you" in a different time, a different life. Promises of protection, vows broken by blood. "I will never kill your family…"
Her brow furrowed. Lucian noticed, tension coiling in his frame. Regret flickered—had he pushed too far? Would this awaken what he both feared and craved?
"Lucian," she whispered, "did I put you in that coffin centuries ago?"
He went still. Silence stretched. Better she remembers now, he thought. Better to know if I lose her forever.
"The one who cursed me might be from your bloodline," he said carefully. "Or perhaps… you are her reincarnation."
Hazel froze. Tears welled, spilling hot down her cheeks. Questions crashed through her mind: What if she was the monster who had condemned him to endless darkness? What heartless cruelty had she wielded? Guilt twisted like a knife.
"I'm so sorry," she choked out. "For what you endured. I wish I could remember—ask for forgiveness—"
Lucian cupped her face, thumbs wiping her tears. "Hazel, wait until the memories come. I… somehow deserved it. We're here for our honeymoon. Let's speak of this later. I promise—I'll tell you everything."
He kissed her then, soft at first, a seal on his vow. Hazel responded with a hunger born of emotion—guilt, love, need. Their lips moved together, slow and deep, whispers of "I love you" slipping between breaths.
Lucian shifted, claiming the space above her on the bed. His hands roamed, igniting fire wherever they touched. He tugged at the ties of her nightdress, exposing her skin inch by inch. The fabric fell away, baring her breasts to the cool air. He lowered his head, lips closing over one nipple—sucking gently at first, then harder, tongue swirling in hot, wet circles. Hazel arched, a moan escaping as pleasure shot through her like lightning. He lavished the same attention on the other, nipping lightly, soothing with kisses, while his hands traced the curves of her body.
Lower he went, kisses trailing fire down her stomach, her hips. He parted her thighs with reverence, eyes dark with hunger as he gazed at her fully exposed. "Gods, you're beautiful," he murmured.
Hazel tried to cover herself, cheeks flaming with embarrassment, but he caught her wrists gently. "No hiding, little rabbit. You're mine."
He dipped his head, lips brushing her inner thigh, then higher—to her core. His tongue flicked out, tasting her clit with a slow, deliberate stroke. Hazel gasped, hips bucking involuntarily. He held her steady, sucking gently, then lapping with firm, rhythmic pressure. Sensations overwhelmed her—wet heat, building pressure, a sweetness she'd only read about in forbidden books. Fuck, she thought, mind reeling, I never imagined it could feel this good in reality.
Lucian groaned against her, the vibration sending shivers through her body. He slid three fingers inside her slick heat—slow at first, stretching her with care—then began to thrust, curling them to hit that perfect spot. Hazel's moans grew louder, her body moving in time with his, chasing the rising tide. He sucked harder on her clit, fingers pistoning faster, until the world narrowed to that exquisite edge.
She shattered—first release crashing over her in waves, body trembling, cries echoing in the room. But he didn't stop. He coaxed her through a second, then a third, each orgasm more intense, leaving her boneless and gasping.
Lucian rose, his arousal straining against his trousers. He stripped quickly, revealing the full length of him—thick, veined, impossibly hard. Hazel's breath hitched again, eyes wide. "That… it's too big," she blurted, clapping a hand over her mouth.
He chuckled darkly. "We'll go slow."
He positioned himself between her legs, rubbing the tip along her folds, coating himself in her wetness. Hazel closed her eyes, anticipation mingling with nerves. He pushed in gently—inch by agonizing inch—stretching her to the brink of pain. She bit her lip, whimpering.
He froze. "Does it hurt too much? I can stop—"
"No," she gasped, hands gripping his shoulders. "Don't stop."
He moved then—slow thrusts at first, giving her time to adjust. The pain ebbed, blooming into pleasure as her body accommodated him. He groaned, burying his face in her neck. "You're so tight… so perfect."
His pace quickened—hips snapping with controlled power, each thrust deeper, harder. Hazel wrapped her legs around him, nails raking his back, screaming his name as ecstasy built again. The room filled with the sounds of their joining—skin on skin, breathless moans, whispered endearments.
Lucian lost himself in her, the world narrowing to this moment. He drove into her relentlessly, chasing their shared release until she clenched around him, pulling him over the edge. He spilled inside her with a guttural cry, collapsing atop her, spent and sated.
They lay tangled, breaths mingling, until sleep claimed them both.
──
Two days later, they returned to the palace.
Reality crashed back—duties, expectations, eyes watching every move. Hazel assumed her role as the lord's wife, guided by Lara, a stern council woman with silver-streaked hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. Lara taught her protocol: how to host teas, review petitions, navigate the web of alliances. Hazel attended mandatory balls—glittering affairs of silk and false smiles—hating every moment among the sycophants who pretended affection while whispering behind jeweled fans.
Meanwhile, in shadowed chambers, Tobias and Morwen plotted.
"The witch needs entry," Morwen hissed, pacing. "Zakri's disguise must be ironclad."
Tobias nodded, eyes cold. "A guard vacancy opens next week. We'll make it happen. Once inside, the potion does the rest."
Their voices dropped lower, plans weaving like poison vines.