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Princess of Sweetness and Cherry Pie: "Husband!"

Hans My Hedgehog: ". . . how did you find me?"

Princess: "I have walked the world to find you. And have worn out the soles of three pairs of iron shoes. My hair is no longer red. But I come to claim you. And catch you up. And snoodle you and hug you to bits!"

_ _-- The Storyteller

Chapter 6

Princess Rhiannon's long fingers set the crystal decanter back on the table. The prince was lying in the large canopied bed behind her, naked and panting after a vigorous bout of lovemaking. She knew him well and always knew when something was bothering him. All throughout the wedding and reception, his smiles had been pasted on, his jokes made for the benefit of his family and parents, his laughter forced. How charming and dashing he was the day through, dancing with his mother, pulling out chairs for her, helping her into the coach, kissing her cheek playfully hard. But Rhiannon could see right through him. She always could.

Standing naked in the wide windows as the moonlight made her pink skin glow, Princess Rhiannon sipped carefully from her wine glass, then regarded Ronan thoughtfully. His chest was heaving and he was staring at the ceiling. She tilted her head and smiled to herself as her golden hair cascaded around her slanted eyes. High breasts, narrow waist, and high backside, she was the loveliest flower in her kingdom - and now, she was the loveliest flower in his. But somehow, she knew that he hadn't even been thinking of her as they were making love. She had ridden him fiercely, had slammed herself on him until the moisture of her arousal splashed, and yet still . . . his mind was somewhere else, with someone else. She could only suppose it had everything to do with the girl who had lifted his curse.

Princess Rhiannon took another sip of wine, her red lipstick staining the glass. She set the wine glass back on the table and folded her arms, displeased. She supposed it didn't matter. She hadn't been thinking of him either. Her lover, the Baron Emric, would be waiting for her this winter when she visited her parents for the winter festivals. And her mind had been there with him, with him on the rug beside the fire.

"Rhiannon," Ronan said apologetically as she came to the bed. "I don't think I can again tonight, darling."

Rhiannon perched her lips as she crawled to him, breasts swinging. He watched her swinging breasts with a glazed expression and quickly looked away. She smiled, snuggling up against him like a cat. He put his arm around her and they cuddled in the silence.

"Why did you make that face?" he asked after a while.

"You don't want to have sex again," she scoffed. "That's not like you."

"It's been a long day . . ."

"Yes, yes, and you have many things on your mind," she teased.

He looked at her quickly. "What are you on about?"

"What's the matter, Ronan?" She frowned, concerned. Her small hand with its gleaming red nails smoothed over his bare chest, soothing him.

He caught her hand and kissed it. "Rhiannon, we're friends."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Good friends. Even married friends now."

He laughed sadly. "So you'll understand if I tell you. . . ."

"You're in love with the girl who lifted your curse."

He looked at her in amazement.

"Darling," she said in a bored purr of a voice, "I know you like the back of my claw."

Ronan smiled at her. "So you don't mind that I was thinking . . ."

"Of her as I made love to you? No," she frowned. "Not a bit," she said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's not so much jealously. It's just that I like having all the attention when I'm working so hard, putting on such a show."

"It was a good show," he assured her.

"And it wasn't the first time you'd seen it," she added, conceding. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh and drew little circles on his chest with her nails. They'd been having sex for years, her and Ronan. Of course, he had not taken her virginity, but she had taken his, and she was the one who had instructed him in the ways of pleasing a woman. He had, no doubt, pleased many a peasant girl in his desperate attempt to lift the curse. She smiled proudly: she could only imagine the screams that had filled his summer home.

"This is our wedding night," Ronan further admonished himself. "You should have my undivided attention."

"Mm, no. I understand, Ronan. Neither of us wanted this marriage. I have always been content to be your friend with benefits. Father, however, believes this alliance could prove beneficial for both our kingdoms."

"And you are of a different opinion?"

"My opinion? You should have married my sister Othella. She could really use a good fuck."

"Rhiannon!" The prince moaned and pushed the hair back from his eyes.

The princess laughed. "It's true. And you know how crazy she is for you. The girl dissolves into blushing and stammering each time you glance in her general direction."

Ronan moaned and stared at the ceiling.

"Darling," the princess said soothingly, "what do you want? Because you understand that it matters, correct?"

"If you didn't want this, why did you agree? You could've gotten out of it. You've got your father wrapped around your pretty little finger."

"I married you because I thought it the best thing I could do with my life. What else was I going to do? Marry Baron Emric?"

"Ugh. You're still doing that old man?"

"He is not old," Princess Rhiannon insisted crossly. "You have strategically turned this conversation around to my wishes and desires. But I asked you what you wanted."

Ronan sighed. "I want her."

"Then why have you married me? Why are we sitting in this bed together, officially the Crown Prince and his Crown Princess?"

Prince Ronan stared at the ceiling as he realized, "I don't know."

Princess Rhiannon nodded. "Then you'd best be all clichéd and follow your princely heart. But before you go, I am going to make love to you again, and this time - you will pay attention to me!"

The prince laughed as Rhiannon climbed on top of him. He sighed as her hot sex closed tight over his sudden erection. They took hands, and she rode him, steadily and carefully. In the morning, his wife was gone, having left only an empty wine glass with her red lipstick staining the rim.

***

Cherry dragged the wet shirt against the washboard, her face grim, her hair in her eyes. She was on her knees in the dirt, scrubbing dirty clothes in a wooden tub of soapy water. Here she was again, on the farm, already filthy, in ragged clothes and a stained apron as cows mooed behind her in the grazing fields. She had refused all the prince's gifts, the clothes, the jewelry, had even refused his money and the physicians, for which her father called her a fool, but she did not care. She would take nothing from him! Not when he had used her, taken everything from her - her innocence, her love! - and then had disregarded her for another woman! She had been humiliated for him, had been paraded naked and in chains through town after town on the way to his miserable dungeon. Had been put through the pure hell of falling in love with him only to be rejected at once -- and for what? All of it so he could marry someone else!

And when she returned home, the other girls in the village mocked her. Many of them were jealous, that she knew. No doubt it was common knowledge that the prince pampered and spoiled his victims before the kill. And they mocked her for refusing his lavish gifts, they asked how many sex games she'd been forced to play, and they jeered that if she was lucky, perhaps she'd have the monster's litter.

The boys around town looked at her differently now, and she knew they were remembering her breasts and sex, the red pubic hair and freckles that were in places they never should have lived to see. One of them would ask for her hand, and she would say yes . . . because what else was she going to do? And she would raise his children and spend the rest of her life pricking her fingers sewing clothes for them and breaking her back over a hot oven . . .

With a burning heart, Cherry scrubbed the clothes harder, willing herself not to cry. She had been crying for days. She felt pathetic for it. How long had she known the prince anyway? A couple weeks? She glanced over at the basket of wash, on top of which the coat of quills lay. It was the only thing she had taken from the prince. The only thing. And she hated herself for it, but she had slept on it every night since.

"Going into town, girl," said a voice behind her. The clomp of hooves, the snort of a horse.

Cherry didn't look up. "Alright, Papa."

"You gonna be alright here alone?"

Cherry glanced at the double-barreled shotgun that lay in the grass nearby. "Yes."

"Alright. I'll be back by dusk. You do your pa a favor and have some of your famous cherry pie coolin' in the window."

Cherry smiled to herself. "Of course, Papa."

"Smile. That's my girl. Take care. Hiya!" He knocked his boot against the horse and Cherry listened to him galloping away.

She closed her eyes and got wearily to her feet. Cherry pie sounded good. They still had some ingredients left. He'd bought them to surprise her with when he received word that she was returning home. She had spent the week making their favorite desert, and they had spent the week eating it together.

The pie was cooling in the window when the sound hooves clomped up the road. Cherry frowned and looked out the window. It was too early for Papa to be back.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Cherry stepped outside, into the cool evening air. She gathered up the shotgun at once and stood grimly waiting. The boys in town had made several insinuating jokes about ganging up on her later. Somehow or other, having sex with the prince had made her a target for rape.

Cherry slowly lifted the shotgun as the hooves drew nearer. She was surprised to see a lone horse trotting up the road. She stiffened, unable to believe what she was seeing. Prince Ronan was riding toward her house, his cloak flaring out behind him. His toned body seemed one with the tight and bulging muscles of the black stallion he commanded. He pulled the horse to a stop at the end of the path leading to her house and dismounted. She hadn't lowered the shotgun.

"Amarantha?" he said in amazement.

She didn't blame him for his astonishment. She looked nothing like herself. She was filthy, smudged in soot and dirt, in a dull brown dress that was ragged at the hem . . . and her hair had turned white. White as snow. It tumbled around her face in a cloud of shimmering curls and clung to the sudden tear on her cheek, fell across her scowling eyes.

He took a step and she cocked the gun. He lifted his gloved hands, "Amarantha, it's me!"

"I know who you are!" she shouted. "Don't come a step closer."

He dropped his hands and scowled. "Oh, no, you don't. You know how long I've traveled, how far I've come to find you? I had to elude my royal escort, lie to my mother, and sneak behind my father's back to get here --"

"I don't care," she hissed, peering at him from behind the gun.

He shook his head. "You wouldn't shoot me. You still love me." He jerked his head at the coat of quills, which sat still on top of the wash.

She hesitated, cursing herself. She stiffened again when he started walking toward her, hard. She didn't lower the gun, so he moved until the barrels were pressed in his chest.

"What are you doing!" she cried.

"Go ahead," he whispered.

Her lip trembled.

"You can't do it. You know why? The same reason the curse lifted - you love me!"

She sobbed and lowered the gun. She watched dully as he took it and set it aside. When he took a step toward her, she backed away, whispering, "Can't you let me be?"

The prince shook his head. "I can think of nothing else. I come to make you my wife!"

"What?"

"I come to claim you . . ." he said, moving closer, quickly and deliberatively, "and catch you up and kiss you and love you --"

"No!"

"Yes, love you!"

She cried out when he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, slamming her to the wall. They kissed in a sudden frenzy. She touched him in all the places she had longed to touch him once the spell lifted: the smooth skin of his face, his sandy blonde hair. She wrapped her legs tight about his hips, and cupping his face, she carefully slid her tongue in his mouth. He gulped on her tongue as he fumbled with his trousers, as he fumbled to get her skirts up. Her panties were jerked to the side, and then he was in, thick and hot and strong. She arched her back against the wall as they rocked together, and he kissed her neck, kissed her breasts through her dress. His hands curled in her hair and he whispered that he loved her. He choked as he came inside. They sagged, breathless and content, their foreheads touching.

After showering her with lazy kisses, he noticed the cherry pie cooling in the windowsill. He laughed. "Now you will be my princess of sweetness and cherry pie?"

Cherry nodded against him and swallowed, swallowed the taste of his lips. "Yes."

"Good. Amarantha . . .!"

When she looked up, he was gazing at her in amazement.

"What? What is it?"

"Your hair. . ." he smiled his slow, handsome smile. "It turned red again."

*The End *