breath away. Then, crack! Crack! Crack! Three more spanks fell in quick succession. “Ow! Ow!” She yelped in pain as Sir Roland began to apply a methodical spanking to her thinly clad bottom. It stung! She squirmed, but to no avail. The knight was too strong.
The sting of his descending palm was like a hot fire on her tender seat.
“This, princess, is a mild version of what it feels like. I’m only using my hand. That stable boy was whipped with a strap.”
“Ouch! Stop! I command you. My father will… he will…” she sputtered.
The knight paid no attention to her protests, but continued to spank her with sharp staccato blows that made her kick her feet up and wriggle around on his lap. Each spank was a new wave of heat layered onto the last. It was not only painful to be spanked like a lazy milkmaid, but it was horribly embarrassing. The stinging sensation was atrocious. She felt like she’d do anything to make it stop.
But then something happened. Tears began to well up. She’d been so terrified, and she’d had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. She’d been so cruel to others, something that was not in her nature. There was a part of her, she realized, that wanted the knight to keep going, to punish her for being so horrible to everyone. It wasn’t just the stable boy, it had been her maids, the pages—just about everyone. To convince them she was Juliet she’d been rude, autocratic, snobbish, and overbearing. She’d been too scared to do otherwise. So maybe he should spank her until her bottom glowed, she thought. She deserved it. Emotionally wrung out, she burst into tears and started sobbing.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Wahhh!” she cried, completely breaking down and bawling.
The spanking stopped, and the knight lifted her to her feet and stood her between his knees, his hands on her shoulders. She gazed into his eyes, and what she saw was a stern, but kind face. He seemed to bear her no ill will, instead, he seemed both concerned and chagrined at her total breakdown into tears.
She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He was taken aback at her reaction, but he put his arms around her in a comforting embrace and pulled her close.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s not like me. I’m not her. I can’t be her.”
Roland pulled away so he could look her in the eye. “What do you mean, you’re ‘not her.’ Not who?”
“The princess,” she cried. “I can’t do it.”
“Explain what you mean, princess,” he said softly.
She gulped. This was it, she had to tell him. He was just this rough-hewn knight and he was all alone. But who else was there to turn to?
“I’m not who you think I am. I’m not Princess Juliet of Westvale.”
Roland looked stunned. He stared at her, thinking. “Who are you, then?” he asked.
“A commoner… just an orphan, actually, from the convent at St. Agnes near Kern, far from here. I… they asked me to do it. But I had no choice. They said it was all for the realm, that it was to protect the princess and the kingdom, they said…”
“Sh-h-h-h,” said the knight, and he put a finger to her lips. She was blubbering, babbling, she knew. It was all just pouring out in a confusing mess. He spoke calmly and soothingly to her, assuring her that he would do her no harm.
“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Now, who are ‘they’ and what did they tell you to do?”
She told him the whole story.
Roland listened attentively, stopping her every now and then to ask a question. He nodded as he listened, his brow furrowed as he heard her tale. For Scarlett, it was liberating, an unburdening that lifted the great weight that she had been carrying. But whose side would he be on? She didn’t know for sure, but she sensed that this knight, this stranger, could be trusted. Still, he was only one man against what might be a whole cabal inside Greystone Castle. His next words nearly made her weep with
The sting of his descending palm was like a hot fire on her tender seat.
“This, princess, is a mild version of what it feels like. I’m only using my hand. That stable boy was whipped with a strap.”
“Ouch! Stop! I command you. My father will… he will…” she sputtered.
The knight paid no attention to her protests, but continued to spank her with sharp staccato blows that made her kick her feet up and wriggle around on his lap. Each spank was a new wave of heat layered onto the last. It was not only painful to be spanked like a lazy milkmaid, but it was horribly embarrassing. The stinging sensation was atrocious. She felt like she’d do anything to make it stop.
But then something happened. Tears began to well up. She’d been so terrified, and she’d had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. She’d been so cruel to others, something that was not in her nature. There was a part of her, she realized, that wanted the knight to keep going, to punish her for being so horrible to everyone. It wasn’t just the stable boy, it had been her maids, the pages—just about everyone. To convince them she was Juliet she’d been rude, autocratic, snobbish, and overbearing. She’d been too scared to do otherwise. So maybe he should spank her until her bottom glowed, she thought. She deserved it. Emotionally wrung out, she burst into tears and started sobbing.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Wahhh!” she cried, completely breaking down and bawling.
The spanking stopped, and the knight lifted her to her feet and stood her between his knees, his hands on her shoulders. She gazed into his eyes, and what she saw was a stern, but kind face. He seemed to bear her no ill will, instead, he seemed both concerned and chagrined at her total breakdown into tears.
She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He was taken aback at her reaction, but he put his arms around her in a comforting embrace and pulled her close.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s not like me. I’m not her. I can’t be her.”
Roland pulled away so he could look her in the eye. “What do you mean, you’re ‘not her.’ Not who?”
“The princess,” she cried. “I can’t do it.”
“Explain what you mean, princess,” he said softly.
She gulped. This was it, she had to tell him. He was just this rough-hewn knight and he was all alone. But who else was there to turn to?
“I’m not who you think I am. I’m not Princess Juliet of Westvale.”
Roland looked stunned. He stared at her, thinking. “Who are you, then?” he asked.
“A commoner… just an orphan, actually, from the convent at St. Agnes near Kern, far from here. I… they asked me to do it. But I had no choice. They said it was all for the realm, that it was to protect the princess and the kingdom, they said…”
“Sh-h-h-h,” said the knight, and he put a finger to her lips. She was blubbering, babbling, she knew. It was all just pouring out in a confusing mess. He spoke calmly and soothingly to her, assuring her that he would do her no harm.
“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Now, who are ‘they’ and what did they tell you to do?”
She told him the whole story.
Roland listened attentively, stopping her every now and then to ask a question. He nodded as he listened, his brow furrowed as he heard her tale. For Scarlett, it was liberating, an unburdening that lifted the great weight that she had been carrying. But whose side would he be on? She didn’t know for sure, but she sensed that this knight, this stranger, could be trusted. Still, he was only one man against what might be a whole cabal inside Greystone Castle. His next words nearly made her weep with
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