Bedding a princess isn't all it's cracked up to be...or maybe it is.

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Except from my Medieval romance novel, The Marauder

“You are as daft as you are stupid.”

The Princess puffed with outrage. “No one else would dare speak to me the way you do. Why do you dislike me so?”

“You are spoiled and selfish.”

“But I am very beautiful.”

Phalen sized up her perfect features and shimmering golden locks with a shrug. “I do not care for fair hair.”

“You are so rude! I wish you lay gutted and dying with the rest!”

“Disembowelment would be a sweeter fate than this.”

She socked him hard in the chest, wriggling furiously beneath him.  “You must have soot in your eyes to not think me beautiful—I cannot understand! You should fall to your knees and thank the heavens for this night! You are a lowly blacksmith and I am a princess! My beauty is talked of across the land—across the oceans even! The Picts call me ‘Fairest of Britons’. Men go to war for me!”

With a disgusted grimace, he captured her fists and slammed them hard into the cushions. “Having men die for you is nothing to be proud of. They are blind fools to fight over you.”

“I am the shining jewel in my father’s crown!”

Phalen gave a snort. “My horse’s rubbish has more luster than you.”

She got one hand free and smacked him upside the head. “You awful boy—no wonder your parents did not want you!”

They began to tussle in earnest. The furs fell away from her body and their limbs tangled together in the blankets.

“Stop fighting me,” he hissed.  He tried to get his knee between her thighs, but she held them tightly closed. “You must open your legs. I will not be able to put myself inside you otherwise.” 


Faxon Russ