The Warrior and the Petulant Princess Read online

  “There’s that quick, nasty tongue,” he remarked raising one scolding eyebrow. “Whether it be me or another, you need a man who will help you control that naughty temper and keep you happy and fulfilled, but in a manner that constantly reminds you of your place.”

  “My place? Larian, you forget I’m a Princess who will one day be Queen. I don’t have a place, and even if I did no such man exists,” she answered testily. “Take you, for instance,” she said looking up at him, challenge her in violet eyes. “You took advantage of an innocent girl, then left her, promising to return, but you didn’t, you didn’t even write.”

  “But I have returned,” he smiled. “Am I not here?”

  “A bit late if you ask me,” she muttered.

  “I thought we were going to start over, no more angry words.”

  “I’m given to mood swings,” she declared, “and when a mood takes me I go with it, and that, Larian, is just the way I am.”

  “Is that so? I disagree. You simply refuse to control yourself and that is not acceptable, especially not for one who will rule a kingdom, and I must say again, the manner in which you ride your horse; it’s not right. You lay claim to being a Princess, yet you set such a dreadful example. How is it you’re able to get away with such brazen behavior? Surely your father must object.”

  “My father has nothing to say about it, and as I said earlier, I shall ride as I like,” she snapped, then added, “This conversation is irritating to me. We shall speak of something else.”

  “Shall we indeed?” he said moving towards her. “You’ve decreed it have you?”

  Something in the way he was approaching her, his raised eyebrow, the look in his clear aqua eyes, made her stomach do the strange flippity flip; the flippity flip she had missed so much; the flippity flip she would feel when he once languished his lips upon her neck, or hold her hand, or trace her lips with his fingertips before kissing her. Feigning a confidence she did not feel, she replied,

  “I am a Princess, and will one day be a Queen, and as such I can dictate the conversation, and you, Larian, you will bow to my wishes.”

  “Lizbett, you may call yourself a Princess, and you may have been born a Princess, but you behave like a spoiled, recalcitrant, child. To own the title, Princess, you must behave like a Princess, have grace and charm, manners and-”

  “I have all those things,” she interrupted, angrily staring at him.

  “And as a spoiled, recalcitrant child,” he continued, ignoring her remark, “I feel bound to treat you as such. I cannot allow you to continue to behave in such an outrageous manner, it would be irresponsible. What I am about to do I must; I must for the Kingdom, but more than that I must for you.”

  “What are you babbling about now?” she demanded, and though she was feigning a brave front the flippity flip thing in her stomach was telling her something dramatic, and possibly unpleasant was about to happen.

  “I promised you that I would return when I was practiced and worthy. That time has come, Lizbett, and though you deny it I see in your eyes the true reason you have rejected all those who came calling for your hand. You have been waiting for me; in your heart you knew I would return to you.”

  His voice was soft, but confident and firm, and with a swift move he grabbed her hand, yanking her towards him.

  “No, you’re wrong,” she quivered, her heart beating against her chest as the threat of prideful tears stung her eyes. “Let me GO! How dare you, you’ve become a brute!”

  “Stop it, Lizbett, we both know I speak the truth.”

  He began walking, pulling her with him, and though she twisted and turned her wrist she was no match for his tight grip.

  “Where do you think you’re taking me?” she shrilled.

  “To that fallen tree trunk, and I told you to be quiet!”

  The will behind his command overwhelmed her, and she felt a vague, unfamiliar fear that sent her flippity flip tumbling furiously around her stomach.

  “Stop, Larian, please, you’re…you’re scaring me.”

  “You know I care for you, and any pain you’re about to experience is for your benefit.”

  “Pain? What pain? Larian, stop, what are you-?” but he’d reached his destination, and before she was able to finish he sat down and jerked her across his knee.

  “AAARGH! LARIAN!”

  “Now, Princess, we shall see who dictates the conversation.”

  Holding her firmly he began bouncing his hand off her upturned bottom, eliciting loud squeals of shock.

  “STOP! STOP!” she wailed. “HOW DARE YOU!”

  “You have been needing this for a very long time,” he exclaimed, his hand landing blow after blow. “I will not bare you completely, but I’m going to lift your dress in a minute so you’d better prepare yourself.”

  “No! Don’t you dare! I shall have you thrown in a dungeon and-”

  “Until I tell you otherwise you will address me as Sir,” he interjected, pausing his hand to issue his decree, “and if you continue to protest I will absolutely expose your flesh, so please, keep up your kicking and screaming, I would love to see the results of my handiwork.”

  Though her face was burning with humiliation and anger, it turned an even deeper crimson at the suggestion, and while she was appalled and astonished she wasn’t stupid; in her heart she knew him, and she had no doubt he would do as he threatened.

  A moment later she felt it; he was lifting her dress. She wanted to cry out, to protest loudly and kick with all her might, but his threat rang in her ears; she wouldn’t be able to stand it if he exposed her.

  Slowly, deliberately, he moved layer after layer of petticoats over her back; he had been taught well and was no stranger to the deed. He was hoping that his agonizing pace would propel her into protestations so he could keep his promise and pull down her drawers, but it seemed she was as smart as she was beautiful and willful. Finally staring at her round contours, hidden only by the thinnest piece of silk, he rested his palm, relishing the sight and feel of her almost naked backside.

  “Now, Lizbett, you shall feel the heat of my hand, and you shall take notice.”

  She was horrified that he was staring at her underwear, but at the first slap of his stinging hand her modesty fell away.

  “OW! That hurt.”

  “Yes, Lizbett, it’s supposed to hurt,” he declared landing a second.

  “OUCH! Sir, please!”

  “Now Lizbett,” he continued as his hand rose and fell, “you will no longer be rude, or ride your horse in that unladylike fashion, and you will listen to your father and do as he says.”

  “Yes, Sir, yes, I promise” she cried, wincing and crying out as each slap fell, “now would you, please, STOP!”

  “The days that you issue commands are over,” he admonished. “I shall spank you as you deserve, and if you dare to bark at me again I will keep my promise and remove this thin undergarment.”

  “NO! Please, Sir, no, I’ll be good, I’m sorry!”

  “Obedience! Finally! That’s something new for you, isn’t it Lizbett?”

  “Yes, sir,” she whimpered.

  “I am going to finish what I’ve started and spank you as I see fit. If you truly don’t want me to bare your bottom, I suggest you take your discipline without further argument. I will not warn you again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir, I understand,” she bleated.

  Resuming his work he laid on slow solid swats, allowing the impact of each to register, and when he delivered a final volley dispatched with stinging speed, though she gasped and wriggled she did not protest.

  “I’m done for a moment, Lizbett,” he said, his voice suddenly tender as he smoothed his hand over the flimsy fabric. “I’ve made very clear what I expect from you. Is there anything you don’t understand? It’s quite simple, behave as a Princess should.”

  “I understand, Sir,” she whimpered.

  “Next time I see you riding you’ll be in the proper saddle, correct?”<
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  “Yes, Sir,” she stammered.

  “And if someone, anyone, is kind to you, extends a favor, what will you do?”

  “Say thank you.”

  “Excellent. You see, you know exactly how to behave. Your lack of manners and grace is nothing more than conceit and attitude, isn’t it, Lizbett?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she murmured as a fresh streak of humiliation washed through her.

  “Good girl,” he crooned as his hand continued to rub away the sting. “The first step in correcting your ways is admitting you know better.”

  Lizbett felt a warm, strange, wonderfulness, and she suddenly had a great need to curl herself into his lap.

  “You may crawl off now. Lay at my feet and I will hold you as I used to.”

  As she slid off him on to the grass, her petticoats and dress falling around her, he dropped on the ground beside her and immediately wrapped her in his arms. The smell of her hair, the fit of her body against his, the press of her breasts against his chest, was familiar and warm and he felt gloriously complete.

  “My bottom hurts,” she whined.

  “I know, my sweet Lizbett, as it should. Your bottom should be made hot on a regular basis. You need strong, loving discipline.”

  “I’ll be good now,” she vowed shifting back and lifting her eyes to meet his. “I will, I swear it.”

  “You feel that way now, but in a little while, a day, a week, you will be petulant and stubborn again, your temper will blaze, and then you will need to be reminded, and that reminder will be in the form of punishment.”

  “But I won’t, honest.”

  “Oh, Lizbett, if only that were true,” he sighed, “but we will not speak of this further. There is something else that needs attention.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes, there, is,” he purred, and moving his hand to the back of her head he clutched a fistful of her long, curly, red hair. “Close your eyes.”

  She could feel her heart pounding and the delicious hot wetness surging between her legs. His lips brushed against hers, and uttering a moan of hungry need she surrendered her mouth, sinking into his kiss. The flippity flip transformed into a thousand butterflies as her arms moved around his neck, urgently clinging, and when he finally pulled back she let out a choked cry.

  “Larian, I have missed you so.”

  “Lizbett, such a heartfelt, honest confession. This is the real Lizbett and I am so happy to see you. I have missed you as well, very much. I could not write, I was far away, immersed in my education, but now that is over. Now I am here to speak to your father, about you and me, but only if you want me to.”

  “Oh, I do,” she breathed.

  “It will mean many spankings, Lizbett, all kinds of spankings.”

  “But I will be good, Larian, you won’t have to spank me.”

  The comment sent a broad smile across his face and he kissed her lightly.

  “I’ll do other things as well, all sorts of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tie you up, blindfold you, make you kneel in supplication before me.”

  A gentle shiver rattled down her spine as a fresh surge of sexual energy swept through her body, and her entire being began to tingle.

  “Larian.” she whispered, “I want you. Do what you will.”

  “Then we will ride back to the castle and I will speak with the King. He is expecting my visit.”

  “You wrote to him but not me?” she frowned.

  “I told you, I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right.”

  “Do I detect a little petulance from my Princess already?”

  “No, no,” she said quickly.

  “Will you be able to ride?” he asked releasing her from his hug and sitting up.

  “Um, yes, I think so, maybe a bit uncomfortably,” she replied feeling oddly shy.

  “I’m pleased that this will be the last time I’ll be seeing you straddled in such an unseemly fashion,” he remarked standing up and reaching for her hand.

  “I do prefer riding the way men do,” she sighed as she rose to her feet. “It’s so much easier.”

  “Perhaps there is a compromise,” he offered putting an arm around her and walking them back to their horses.

  “There is?”

  “In public, you will ride in a way that befits your station, as both a woman and a Princess, but when we are alone you will be permitted to ride as you like.”

  “Larian, that’s an excellent suggestion. I approve.”

  “You approve?” he grinned down at her.

  “I do,” she declared.

  Taking hold of Scarlet’s reins he handed them over to her. You have much to learn, Lizbett, and learn you shall.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As they approached the castle the guards in the turrets called for the drawbridge to be lowered. The moat’s baby pink water that appeared so inviting was lethal should anyone attempt to swim across; the pink was created by an algae that stung any living creature, man or animal, to its death. Though the times were peaceful, the King had created that peace through strength, but in so doing had made some vengeful adversaries.

  “There is nothing so inviting as a King who has not been beaten,” he’d once told Lizbett. “Treat the populace fairly, be generous and merciful, and if the Kingdom is ever in jeopardy they will rise to your aid, not side with the enemy.”

  Handerah was in his court listening to gripes and offering advice to those fortunate enough to have been granted an audience. He opened his doors often, and regardless of their reason for wishing to be heard he would listen patiently, then treat the visitor to a sumptuous buffet after their consult.

  But the King was no fool, and lurking in the crowd were trusted servants who listened to the conversations, determining if there was dissent and taking note of any praise. Handerah loved his Kingdom and its people, and he knew it was important to keep an ear to the ground so he could address any unrest quickly, whether by a strong hand or a generous one. The unknown spies in the crowd was only one of several covert methods he had in place to remain informed; his rule was stable and he intended to keep it that way.

  Though Larian didn’t know the details of Handerah’s methods, he was aware of the King’s strong but loving leadership, and how deeply he was respected and admired by the neighboring realms and noble families. Many had tried to emulate Handerah’s style but he was unique; it wasn’t just what he did, it was how he did it.

  For Larian, however, Handerah was a puzzle.

  How could a man so indomitable, have failed to raise his daughter with the same caring but unconquerable will? How was it that the beautiful Princess had ended up such a pampered, petulant brat?

  As they entered the courtyard the stable hands rushed to help her, but as she slid off her saddle and petted her mare the young men hung back, their heads bowed.

  “You may take her,” she finally decreed.

  Tholl had lumbered out to oversee things and recognized Larian immediately.

  “Larian, look at you. What a man you’ve become,” he exclaimed, “and what a steed you have.”

  “This is Thunder, because that’s what he sounds like at a full gallop.”

  “I can well imagine,” Tholl grinned. “Larian, I am so proud. I’ve heard tell of your many achievements.”

  “What achievements?” Lizbett interrupted. “Did you win some contests?”

  “Thank you, Tholl, and it’s marvelous to see how well you look,” Larian replied ignoring Lizbett’s inquiry.

  “Thank you, may I take your horse? What a beauty he is.”

  “Yes, please, he’s had a long journey. He needs water, as much hay as he wants and a soft bed,” Larian said pulling a large cloth bag from the side of the saddle.

  “He shall have it all,” Tholl promised with a slight bow of his head.

  “Larian,” Lizbett interjected again. “By achievements does he mean contests? Did you win some contests?”


  “No, Lizbett, not exactly,” Larian patiently replied, and slinging the bag over his shoulder he placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her to the door that would take them inside the castle. “I might tell you what Tholl was referring to later.”

  “Might? What do you mean, might? I insist.”

  “I thought you said you were going to be a good girl,” he remarked raising his one eyebrow.

  “I will, I am, I’m just-”

  “Being pushy and rude,” he finished. “My audience with your father is in a short while and I’d like to freshen up. He’s expecting me to stay at least a couple of days. Who should I speak with about my accommodation?”

  “Oh, that would be Delina. She’s in charge of our guests, but I’m surprised. Only important people stay here in the castle. My father invited you? For two days? I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain, but not right now,” he said firmly. “Where can I find her?”

  “She’ll probably be in the receiving room.”

  As they walked through the wide, opulent passageway, everyone they passed lowered their eyes, and if they were in conversation they stopped speaking as Lizbett passed by. It seemed to Larian they were afraid of her, and he wasn’t very pleased with the look in their eyes when their gaze dropped as she approached.

  At the end of the hallway was a large, arched double door, and pushing it open Lizbett gestured for him to enter. An older but handsome woman was seated behind a large desk, and stood up and smiled as he moved towards her.

  “You must be Larian,” she smiled. “First, may I say what an honor this is. The King has spoken of little else since he received your letter, and The Queen was deeply disappointed that she is missing your visit. She was so looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Thank you, Delina. Yes, I would very much have enjoyed meeting with the Queen. She is a remarkable woman.”

  Lizbett listened to the exchange in complete bewilderment. Larian may have improved his station in life, but Delina was carrying on as if he was a noble, and to say her mother was sorry to have missed him was very strange. Her mother met with the royalty of other Kingdoms all the time, and did nothing but complain about the chore. Larian had been a mere stable boy when he’d been there in his youth; none of what she was hearing made any sense.