Wyrn was late for dinner, he knew, but he couldn’t face the princess, not after what he’d promised but failed to deliver three weeks now. Prince Orm.

That louse hadn’t shown.

Standing by the wooden fence of their home, Wyrn leaned against it on his left side, eyes steadily fixed on Bluebell. The princess’s sheep, now strong and well, mingled with the flock without trouble. At least that much Wyrn got right.

Prince Orm hadn’t come. It had taken everything—absolutely everything in him to send for that bastard. Everything.

A familiar presence approached and Wyrn didn’t have to turn to look; he knew the flowers the princess liked to pick the most and wear in her hair. The aroma lingered on her all day.

It was one of his favorite things about her.

When she came into his line of vision, he focused on the red rose but hated seeing it. He didn’t know what compelled him to snatch it from her right ear and toss it back.

She opened her mouth to argue but surprised him by simply turning to brace forward against the fence, eyes fixed on the donkey in the distance as well.

“I suppose you’re still angry. And that you blame me,” she teased.

Today, he wasn’t interested in playing along but when he met her radiant gaze, he hardly stood a chance.

“You deserve that and more for what your dirty mule did to my Bluebell.”

Firing back with a witty comment was normal for her but today she only watched the animal, thoughtful.

“Is it so awful? Really?”

Rather than look back at the donkey, Wyrn turned to rest his backside against the fence instead.

“To be sure, at least you’ll get a new donkey. And for free. Isn’t that a good thing?” she mused.

But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that everything and everyone in this blasted place had companionship of some kind. Even his damn donkey.

And what was left for Wyrn? That had been why he’d decided to let the princess go. He hadn’t thought it mattered, not until the morning he didn’t see her come visit the animals and he could do nothing but look for her rather than focus on his chores. And the following day, even though she’d come after lunch, his gut ached for her until he saw that adorable, stupid grin headed his way.

Because that was when he’d known, he’d realized, that this was no longer safe. And he’d told her, boasted about letting her go, but that bastard Orm hadn’t shown.

Since telling the princess of that rescue, something strange had happened to her behavior.

For one, she started standing too close. Even now, she eased near, almost hip to hip with him when she turned to ask, “Are you hungry?”

He simply stared her down. He would have taken it for his imagination if she didn’t do this awful thing she’d made into a habit—she brushed the hair from his eyes.

When her hand lingered there too long, in danger of holding his face, he looked away. “I’ll be there late.”

He waited, and sure enough, tonight, too, she held his shoulder then began rubbing it after a time. Times like these, he hated her. He hated himself more, but her as well. She was trying to touch him—touch his back—and watching her work up the nerve only to pull away was slowly making him sick.

So now, instead of soothing him, he found her touches annoying.

He decided it wasn’t his imagination. When she brushed his hair, and moved so close their bodies touched, that wasn’t his imagination. Or when she raised her arms above her head and stretched.

Tonight, too, he moved away before she could hug him. It wouldn’t last. She couldn’t see past what was on his back and he couldn’t take any more reminders. Bonn and his first wife had love, proper love that wasn’t forced or manipulated into existence. Hell, in a sick way, he had it now with Shaza and yet he still worried. With those odds, Wyrn saw no future here with this princess—a princess trapped here by a spell, trying to make the best of it. Her interest in him now resembled the same pity she showed the animals, even that doomed lamb.

For weeks now, he’d been cold to her, but she still approached. He’d thought of pushing her away by hand, literally, not too hard, but sternly a time or two but didn’t want to risk losing her presence entirely which was what he suffered the next day.

Dawn to dusk, she was a ghost. He promised himself not to look but that was what he ended up doing. He was sweaty and miserable from hurrying with his chores by the time supper was ready. Not everyone around him washed daily—he was the only one he was aware of. Mostly because he didn’t mind cold water.

Today when he finished his work late due to her absence, he told himself not to care about whether or not he stunk.

He made it as far as his home before he gave up on that and headed back to the wash house. After dousing his head last, he changed into his new clean clothes and brought the old to his room rather than to deposit to be washed the next day.

Wyrn cleaned his own clothing—wives those of their husbands’—but he wasn’t about to have a princess washing his underwear.

He slowed once he reached his room door. What was he doing? What was he expecting?

Without a doubt, he didn’t know. But when he opened his room to find the princess sat on his bed, he hadn’t expected that.

Surprise stole his reasoning, and he wasn’t sure he’d closed the door until he took a step back and found it as a barrier.

Neither of them gave a greeting; instead, they stared at one another.

Wyrn decided to ignore her, which was difficult given that she was in his home. Once he threw his dirty clothes down into a basket, he turned to leave.

His feet felt heavy. His body felt heavy. His breathing felt heavy.

So he turned to her with the intent to tell her off finally. She should give him space. She should do whatever she did today and not interrupt his work. She should do the chores relegated to her without causing trouble.

What she shouldn’t do was unlace her dress, push it past her shoulders and allow it to fall to the floor.

Below it, she wore nothing.

The sight of her stole his ability to breathe. Once he regained it, it came out in a pant and his lips parted.

On any given day, she was stunning. He’d taken to cutting her raven black hair to her shoulders. In his mind, he intended to keep his eyes on her face, but they weren’t listening.

His gaze dipped down to her ample, bare breasts, roved over her pink nipples, then past her flat stomach and lingered where her legs met.

Something happened, and not just his body warming. Maybe he blacked out, because in one blink, she was a step closer, then two. When did she get so close he could smell the remnants of the flowers from this morning?

His trousers tightened as he went stiff.

He appreciated that she was too close to see. Any nearer, however, and his condition would be felt instead.

She was so close to his lips that he could almost taste her.

But what was she doing? Why was she doing this?

The moment she brushed her fingers against the back of his right hand, perhaps to take hold of him and guide his touch, he whispered, “Stop this.”

Light brown eyes trained on him, she no longer wore an aroused blush of daring, but one of embarrassment.

He wondered what caused it. The thought of him or the thought of his back?

“I don’t want you,” Wyrn breathed out.

Surprise propelled her away but not far; thankfully, not far enough for her to see how rock hard he was.

She trusted him. The way her eyes studied him said she was asking for his assurance in this. He didn’t know how love looked, but this wasn’t it. This was something else and he struggled to understand what. Because if they consummated, there’d be no going back—at least not for him. He’d die for her.

Today, he could have known she was a virgin even without the midwife’s confirmation. A proper temptress would have tried to entice him—to catch him off guard—to lower his defenses with touches and promises.

Hadn’t that been Shaza’s tactic? Was she the one encouraging the princess to do something like this or putting her up to it now?

But instead of reaching for him, or any part of him that would prove his lie, she looked him in the eye, pleading for mercy.

He had pleas of his own. “Why are you doing this?”

Her expression softened and she said, “Because I want to be with you.”

“Why?”

That one word stole all her drive and conviction. She didn’t seem to have an answer.

Now, her hands came up across her chest. They hid her for a moment before she countered that action.

“We’re married—”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Wyrn snapped. “I serve The Living Goddess. All Jaffo do. It requires dedication. You can barely roll out of bed in the morning.” Her stunned silence made him long to be gentler. “If we marry, I become leader and you must take on great responsibilities. And if you can’t, you’re the one who loses because I can always find another wife.”

“Whatever I can’t do, I’ll learn,” she vowed.

The sincerity in her eyes nearly convinced him. But then he imagined putting too much of himself into this only for her to walk away and he died a little inside instead.

“Whatever superstition you follow, I’ll learn it.”

Superstition. It was the wrong thing for her to say. His heart hardened.

She tried to reach for his face, and he asked, “Why do you think I’d even want you?”

Her hand still hovered. This was a princess. She could have been queen if not for him. If he hadn’t interfered with the tournament, she would be in a drafty old castle right now, ordering people about, having grapes peeled for her. Not standing stark naked in the bedroom of a nobody—and not just a nobody—but an embarrassment. He was no Bonn who could make anyone swoon. Instead, he was a hunchback, one with no chance with a princess. One who would die when her pity eventually ran out.

If she’d lowered her hand, he told himself, he wouldn’t have kept going but she wasn’t giving up.

“You can’t cook. You can’t clean. And your presence is cumbersome.”

The flinch drained all physical interest his body had readied itself for. He hated himself for this. But he also didn’t want this. Not now. Not with her freedom so close. Not with what was at stake.

“And besides,” he said, no longer in command of his senses, “your breasts are uneven.”

She let out a gasp and it worked—she no longer looked him in the eye.

Unshed tears shimmered in her desperate gaze, and he asked, “May I go now?” despite this being his own room.

“Yes,” she choked out, “I’d prefer it greatly if you did.”

That was the worst day of Wyrn’s life, he decided. It certainly was when he opened the door of his own home and slipped out, leaving a naked woman behind.

He sucked in a deep breath, taking in the fresh evening air but nearly vomited. What had he done?

“The right thing,” he decided. “This was the right thing.”

So why did he feel so awful?

He stayed in the main house, too afraid to go home even after two hours passed. She didn’t come for dinner—not that he blamed her. He couldn’t bring himself to eat either.

Every time he thought of where she might be, he wanted to die.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself. Now and again, he’d repeat those words over and over all through dinner.

When the meal came to an end, he expected to sit there all alone till morning.

A bulky body sat down beside him.

“She didn’t come tonight,” Father observed.

“Did you send for the prince like I asked?”

The answer took ages. “Of course not.”

Wyrn regarded him in betrayal. “What? But why?”

“Because you’re talking nonsense. What sane person invites another man to come for his woman, a prince no less? So, I figured you were confused—or crazy.”

Closing his eyes brought her naked body into Wyrn’s mind’s eye again and he wanted to cry.

“We can’t go on like this. She should go.”

“I didn’t imagine her sneaking into your room before dinner,” Father argued.

Wyrn rubbed his face. How many people had seen? Had misunderstood.

“I sent her away.”

The man snorted out a laugh. “A madman; I told you.”

Something happened to Wyrn. No matter how much he tried to speak, he, instead, began to shiver. He feared he’d actually cry.

“What do I have to offer her? What if she changes her mind? You know of my limitations. Of my back—”

“And she knows of your back. Everyone knows of it. So what?”

The nerve. Wyrn met him head on. Wasn’t this the man who told him he’d have to eventually steal a woman to find a wife?

He need not say it verbally; his father understood the source of his anger.

“That was wrong of me. And it was because I hadn’t believed in true affection. But I’ve seen the way you two look at one another.”

“Well, she won’t be looking at me that way again. Not after she stripped naked and asked me to take her and I refused.”

The man was too stunned to answer and Wyrn doubled over, intentionally banging his head on the table.

“While saying her breasts weren’t even.”

His father let out a heavy sigh. “Well, that’s forgivable. Any man who’d care more about how they look than feel is obviously making excuses.”

Wyrn closed his eyes. “I have nothing to give her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want anything.”

After a time, his father patted his shoulder then stood, telling him to rest. Despite Wyrn’s nod and agreement, he remained in that dining room all night.

The next morning, the princess actually came to breakfast—something Wyrn hadn’t expected.

He also thought she would sit further from him, a prospect he hadn’t relished even slightly.

When she’d entered the room, Wyrn felt sorry for her.

She looked stoic.

He supposed she was giving up; but wasn’t that what he’d wanted?

To his surprise, she walked around the table for a plate which she then stacked. Shortly after, it landed before him. Everyone took notice but only shared a glance. Once she returned with a bowl for herself as well, she sat and muttered, “We’re married and you’re going to acknowledge me as such.”

But true to habit, she chose his left rather than his right, tucked safely away from most prying eyes.

As rigid as could be, he managed to rotate his head until they faced one another.

Rather than back down from his gaze, she looked at ease. Left hand on the table, she patted his knee with her right.

He barely looked when he grabbed one of the carving knives and brought it down between her fingers on the table.

“Mind your hands,” he warned.

They were nearly face to face when she leaned in to answer, “You mind them because I’m not done with you yet.”

His lips twitched but he could think of no rebuttal.

“One month,” she challenged, “if I can do everything any wife here can do for one month, near perfectly, you stop fighting me.” She rose to her feet, shouting, “And the next time I come into your bed naked, you make good use of me, uneven bosom or not!”