The hut smelled of warm earth and smoked meat, the banked fire casting its low orange glow across the packed dirt floor. I ducked under the low lintel and let the door swing shut behind me, the leather hinge sighing like it was settling in for the night.

Mara stood by the hearth, her back to me, one hand braced against the clay. Her chestnut hair hung loose past her shoulders, the practical braid undone, and I caught the tremor in her fingers before she hid them in her skirts.

"Your Grace," she said, and her voice caught on the title like it didn't fit her mouth. "I didn't—James is at the fields. He won't be back till dark."

"I know." I crossed the room slow, the way you approach a horse that's spooked. "I saw him on the road. He told me to come."

She turned then, and the firelight caught the fear in her brown eyes before she could bank it. Her hands were trembling, knuckles white against the rough wool of her dress, and she kept her distance like I was a fire she'd already been burned by once.

"He shouldn't have—" She stopped, swallowed. "I'm not—this isn't what I—"

I stopped an arm's length away. "Mara."

Her name hung between us, and she flinched like it was a touch. The fire popped, sending a spark skittering across the dirt, and she watched it die instead of meeting my eyes.

"Last time," she said, and her voice was barely a breath. "Last time was—I didn't know what I was doing. I was just—" She shook her head, a strand of chestnut falling across her cheek. "I'm a village woman. I don't know the court. I don't know the rules."

"There are no rules here." I took the last step, close enough to smell the woodsmoke in her hair, the dried herbs on her skin. "Just you and me and this hut."

She looked up at me then, and I saw the war in her eyes — the fear, the want, the memory of what we'd done on this very floor. Her hands were still trembling, but they were reaching for me now, stopped halfway like she didn't trust them.

I cupped her cheek, my callused palm against her sun-kissed skin, and she flinched again — but she didn't pull away. Her eyes searched mine, looking for the trick, the blade, the lie.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said.

"I know." Her voice cracked. "That's what scares me."

I kissed her then. Slow, the way you drink water when you've been in the sun too long, and I felt her breath catch against my mouth. Her lips were chapped, rough, real — nothing like the silk and rosewater of the palace wives. She tasted of smoke and bread and the salt of her own fear, and I kissed her until that fear melted into something else.

Her hands found my chest first, pressing flat against the fine wool of my tunic like she was checking I was real. Then they fumbled at my belt, clumsy and desperate, and I felt her callused fingers scrape against the buckle as she tried to work it free.

"Let me," I murmured against her mouth, and she made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

"I'm not good at this," she said. "The court ladies—they know how to—"

"I don't want the court ladies." I caught her wrists, gentle, and her breath hitched. "I want you."

Her eyes went dark, and she stopped trembling.

I walked her backward to the straw pallet, her bare feet leaving prints in the packed dirt, and she went down easy, her skirts bunching around her thighs. The firelight painted her gold and shadow, her chestnut hair spread across the rough blanket like a promise, and she looked up at me with her brown eyes wide and her lips parted and her chest rising and falling like she'd been running.

"Your Grace," she whispered, and this time the title sounded different. Softer. Like she was tasting it.

"Xavier," I said, and her eyes went wider.

I knelt over her, my hands finding the hem of her dress, and she lifted her hips to help me work it up. Her thighs were strong, sun-browned, the skin warm from the fire, and I traced my hand up the inside of one until she shivered.

"I'm not—" she started.

"You're perfect." I kissed her again, deeper this time, and she moaned into my mouth — unguarded, raw, a sound no court lady would ever make. "Don't think. Just feel."

She didn't need telling twice. Her hands found the laces of my breeches, and this time they worked them free with a desperation that made my cock strain against her fingers. She wrapped her hand around me, rough and eager, and I hissed through my teeth at the contact.

"I remember," she said, stroking me slow, her callused palm dragging along my shaft. "I remember how you felt inside me."

"Show me."

She pulled me down onto her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and I felt the heat of her cunt through the thin linen of her shift. Her hand guided me to her entrance, and she was already wet — slick and ready, her hips tilting up to meet me.

"Please," she breathed. "Please, Xavier."

I pushed inside her, slow, and she cried out — that same raw, unguarded sound, loud in the small hut, bouncing off the clay walls. Her cunt gripped me like a fist, hot and tight, and I buried my face in her neck as I sank to the hilt.

"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, yes."

I pulled out and drove back in, and her nails raked across my back through the wool of my tunic. Her moans were getting louder, dirtier, the words tumbling out of her like she couldn't hold them back.

"That's it," I growled against her throat. "Let me hear you."

"Oh gods—" She arched under me, her back bowing off the pallet. "Right there, right there, don't stop—"

I didn't stop. I set a rhythm, hard and deep, the straw rustling beneath us, the fire popping in the hearth, her moans filling the hut like smoke. Her legs were locked around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, and she was meeting me thrust for thrust, her hips grinding against mine.

"You like that?" I asked, driving into her. "You like my cock inside you?"

"Yes—" She was breathless, her chest heaving, strands of chestnut stuck to her damp temple. "Yes, yes, I love it, I love your cock—"

I reached down and found her clit, rough and swollen, and she screamed. Her cunt clenched around me, her whole body shuddering, and I felt her coming apart beneath me.

"That's it," I said, working her through it. "Come on my cock, Mara."

She came with a wail, her hips bucking against mine, and I kept fucking her through it, driving into her slick heat until she was limp and gasping.

"More," she begged, her voice hoarse. "Please, more."

I flipped her over, pulling her onto her hands and knees, and she cried out as I slammed into her from behind. Her ass slapped against my thighs, the sound sharp and wet in the close room, and she buried her face in the straw pallet and screamed.

"Yes—" Her voice was muffled, desperate. "Yes, fuck me, fuck me—"

I grabbed a fistful of her loose chestnut hair, pulling her head back, and she moaned at the sting. Her back arched, her spine bowing, and I drove into her deeper, harder, the rhythm breaking apart into something desperate and animal.

"You're going to make me come," I gritted out. "You're going to make me fill your cunt."

"Do it," she begged. "Please, please, I want it, I want your cum—"

The door creaked open.

I froze, my cock buried to the hilt inside her, and turned to see James standing in the doorway, his hoe dropping from his hand to clatter on the packed dirt. His eyes went wide, his weathered face breaking into a grin that split his graying beard.

"You came back," he laughed, already unbuckling his trousers. "This is the best thing ever — don't stop, Your Grace, please."

Mara made a sound that was half moan, half laugh, her hips grinding back against me. "James—"

"Don't mind me," he said, pulling his cock out, already hard and leaking. "Just—gods, look at you two. She's so beautiful like that, isn't she?"

I started moving again, slow at first, and James's eyes went to where I was buried inside his wife. His hand moved on his cock, stroking fast, his breath coming in short, sharp pants.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's it, Your Grace. Look at her take it. She was made for that cock."

Mara moaned, loud and dirty, and James's eyes rolled back.

"She'd make a fine queen, wouldn't she?" he said, his voice cracking. "A king needs a woman who knows how to—ah, fuck—"

I drove into her harder, and she cried out, her cunt clenching around me. James was stroking himself furiously now, his eyes locked on where I was splitting his wife open.

"Don't stop," he begged. "Please, Your Grace, don't stop. I want to watch you fill her. I want to see your cum dripping out of her."

Mara's moans were getting higher, more desperate, and I felt my own climax building, coiling low in my gut.

"I'm close," I gritted out.

"Inside her," James gasped. "Please, inside her. Give her your seed. Make her yours."

I drove into her one last time, buried to the hilt, and came with a groan, my cock pulsing inside her as I flooded her cunt with cum. She screamed, her body convulsing around me, and I felt her come again, her walls milking me dry.

James let out a cry, his own climax hitting him as he spilled over his fist, painting the packed dirt floor with ropes of cum. He kept stroking, milking himself, his eyes wide and worshipful.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, yes, yes—"

I pulled out slowly, my cum leaking from her cunt, and she made a small sound of protest. James dropped to his knees beside the pallet, his hand reaching out to touch the mess trickling down his wife's thigh.

"Look at that," he murmured, reverent. "Look at what you did to her."

Mara rolled onto her back, her chest heaving, her loose hair spread across the straw. Her eyes found mine, and there was something new in them — not fear, not hunger, but something deeper. Something that looked like a promise.

"You came back," she said, and her voice was soft. "I didn't think you would."

"I told you I would."

James laughed, wiping his hand on his tunic. "She's been talking about you for a week, Your Grace. Every night, lying in this bed, talking about how you felt inside her."

"James—" Mara's cheeks flushed, but she was smiling.

"What? It's true." He grinned at me, his eyes bright with worship. "She'd make a fine queen, wouldn't she? A king needs a woman who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty."

I looked at Mara, lying on the straw pallet, my cum still leaking from her cunt, her chestnut hair tangled and wild, and I felt something shift in my chest.

"Maybe she would," I said.

Mara's eyes widened, and James let out a laugh of pure, unbridled joy.

Outside, beyond the hut's thin walls, a rider in plain clothes reined in his horse at the edge of the village, watching the smoke rise from the chimney. He'd been sent to find the King — and what he'd found was a scandal that would set the palace ablaze.