11. You will hang.

She was terrified. He could tell by the way she trembled underneath him like a single leaf on a branch in a strong wind. But like that adamant, stubborn, single leaf that refuses to bend to the wind and just give in to the overwhelming force of the strong breeze, she also refused to allow her fears show on her face.

She raised her chin high, and her straight nose pointed at him. Green eyes staring back at him defiantly, like he could do nothing to her.

She really is a spitfire. Barak said in his head. And he wanted to break her. She was a mere maid, why would she have this look of authority in those big green eyes? He towered over her, and yet the look in her eyes made him feel 2ft tall. He felt like a midget in her presence.

He was a strong man, a mighty warrior and a fearsome prince. He'd fought some wars alongside his father, and he'd led some himself. He'd faced fearsome partners, who were somewhat bigger than him. But he'd never felt so small and feeble in their presence before.

Hell, he respected and feared his father the king! The man was even taller than himself. About half a head taller, and yet, not even his father could send these kinds of jitters through his spine. What was this woman?

He'd break her, he'd break that pride. He'd bend her to his will, he'll make her submit to him!

"So you know I am a spy, well then you better know this also. I am not just any spy, I am also the personal maid of the princess. And if anything happens to me, if I am harmed in any way, manner or form, the princess will have your wretched neck hung! And you will struggle and dangle on the line, while the bones in your neck are slowly being crushed, and your breath is slowly being drained. Your eyes will swell and almost burst. And even after you are dead, your body will be left dangling on the rope as food for vultures and ravens. And this ungodly massive amount of flesh you seem to be proud of will shrink until it is no more than a thin dirty linen around bones!"

Oh she really was beautiful. Her anger was exquisite. The way her breasts rose and fell as she spoke was a lovely sight to behold. She was temptation, this little spitfire. Real temptation.

He wondered what she would look like upon his bed if these pieces of clothing were stripped from her body. Completely naked before him with her long red hair spread around her like endless strings of burning flames. Oh, just the mere thought of it was divine!

And by all the demons in hell, he would make his thought a reality! He'd seduce her if he had to.

"Your lips, my dear spitfire, should not utter those kinds of words." He squeezed her hands tight and she winced. "Your words are so detailed that it feels like you have witnessed or experienced it before."

"Nay, not witnessed, nor experienced. But I do take lots and lots of pleasure in reading about the disembodiment and decapitation of your kind!" she retorted.

"My kind?" His brows furrowed as his hold on her tightened again, forcing a shirek out of her lips.

Emerald eyes blazing and near to tears, she stared at him with so much hate and also something more, something she didn't let him see. Something even she didn't know was there, and yet she was trying to hide it. "Your kind! Disgusting dragon people! Damned barbarians! Repulsive creatu— Ahhh!" she cried out as he tightened his grip on her wrists yet again, successfully getting her to shut up. Or so he wanted to.

"You bastard! You will hang, I tell you. You will hang for this." she seethed. "You will be drawn and quartered, and—" she suddenly paused. He was laughing.

His laugh was deep, bold and annoyingly pleasant! What exactly was funny? No need to ask the question out loud, it was obvious from the look in his eyes. She was the funny one here. She was the jester who was entertaining him.

"I will hang, eh?" He was amused, but beneath that amusement was something darker. He was hungry, hungry for this little lamb that laid before him. Beneath him.

"Maybe I will be hung, drawn and quartered even. But I believe," His left hand moved again, and his fingers trailed her neckline, slowly, tenderly, desirably, "that all of this," his fingers went lower, to the arc of her breasts and he felt her tremble at his touch.

She was soft, so soft, and he wished to feel that silky softness upon his lips. He did.

He bent his head lower and kissed the arc of her breasts, slowly, seductively. A sound escaped her lips. Was it a plea, or a cry of yearning? If it was a plea, then what was her request? That he stopped? Or that he continued? For all his life, he would never know the answers to those questions, for she bit hard on her lower lip to hold back whatever sound tried to come out.

His eyes and lips ravaged the swell of her breasts. He wished to pull them out of her clothes, to hold the fullness of them in his hands. To see if she had gotten hard under his influence. To know the color of her areola. Although he could guess it. She would be pink, soft bright pink.

She squirmed and tried to wriggle, but he was stronger. He held her in place and still straddled her. He lifted his head back to her face, a smug grin on his lips as he said, "all this is worth any death a man could receive."