That Prince Is A Girl The Vicious King's Captive Slave Mate by Kiss Leilani

Chapter 565:

And occasionally, when she walked past him, he’d cup her butt or touch her breasts unexpectedly, making her jerk. But it all ended there.

Despite the nights when his arousal pressed against her through the dark hours, or the mornings when he woke clearly aroused, he hadn’t tried to take her body again.

She tried not to let it trouble her, but it did.

Emeriel missed him in that way. She longed to feel him again. She couldn’t believe how often she thought about it.

It worried her—how much she yearned to open her legs for him, to let him inside her again. Such unladylike hunger. Emeriel never imagined herself this way.

Just three years ago, the idea of sexual intimacy had filled her with dread. Her heart had been torn out of her chest and handed to her every time she had to save her sister from yet another aristocrat.

What she shared with her beloved was nothing like the sickening, demeaning act those ministers had forced upon her sister. Emeriel knew that. What they had was different—it was special, and oh, so beautiful.

want it this badly. She shouldn’t think about it as much as she did, like some harlot in a whorehouse. So she kept silent, suppressing her desires even as they left her in a constant state of

stared off into the distance with a look of sorrow, but whenever he saw her, the look cleared, and his stance relaxed. Always fully present and attentive, as though nothing else in the world mattered but her. Emeriel basked in it. She relished the feeling

she knew the reprieve was temporary. Duty called. They would

tales on

finishing in the kitchen, Emeriel went

bedroom was empty,

the archery range—one of his favorite places to spend his time. But it was silent.

the garden and spotted the

gave a respectful bow. “Your

her hair away from her face as the breeze toyed

in this direction.” He pointed behind

She gave him a slight nod.

the dense tree line. Shadows stretched long in the fading light, birdsong greeting her as she stepped under the canopy. The wind moved through the trees, rustling the leaves, sending her long hair swirling around her shoulders, her garments

“My King…?”