"Arghhh my head fuck me."
I slowly blink my eyes open and realise I'm not on my bed… well I am on a bed, just not my bed at home.
"Why the fuck is it so dark…"
My vision swims as I stare up at a ceiling I don't recognise. Not the grey badly painted walls or St Andrews flag.
This one is smooth… curved… painted with strange patterns that almost look like nah it can't be who's puts Dragons on there walls I'm not fucking Welsh.
My brain tries to process that.
It fails.
Instead I decided to flop my arm out beside me trying to find the light switch.
SMACK
My hand collides with something soft and warm.
A low, pleased moan answers me.
"My Prince…"
My entire body freezes.
Slowly… very slowly… I turn my head.
Even in the dim candlelight I can see her.
Silver hair spills across the pillow like liquid moonlight. Pale skin. Violet eyes half-lidded with sleep and amusement.
She stretches like a cat, pressing herself lazily against my side.
"My Prince," she murmurs again, voice thick with sleep, wine and something more. "If you wished to wake me… there are gentler ways."
My brain stops working.
She's so fucking hot. This has to be a dream.
"Gods… you're beautiful," I mutter before I can stop myself. I can feel my face heat up.
The woman smiles slowly at that, clearly pleased, silver hair spilling across the pillow as she shifts closer.
"Flattery?" she teases softly. "You truly must still be drunk, my Prince."
Her fingers trail lightly across my chest, tracing lazy circles against my skin. The touch sends a small shiver through me.
Up close she somehow looks even more unreal. Silver hair cascading over bare shoulders, violet eyes watching me with quiet amusement.
My brain tries — really tries — to focus on the far more important questions.
Why am I here?
Why did she call me Prince?
Unfortunately, every intelligent thought dies the moment she leans closer.
"You are staring again," she murmurs.
"Can you blame me?" I replied.
She laughs softly, the sound warm and teasing.
"You were not this shy last night."
That… raises several concerning questions.
But before I can ask them, she shifts, draping herself half across me, silver hair brushing my shoulder like silk.
And whatever intelligence I had begun to recover vanished the moment something else began to harden.
"You drank far too much wine," she says lightly as she begins to rock back and forth. "And spent half the evening insisting you were the luckiest man in the Free Cities."
"…I stand by that statement," I say as I groan in a mix of pleasure and pain.
That earns another amused smile.
The curtains stir as a warm sea breeze drifts into the chamber, carrying the faint scent of salt and perfume.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then she tilts her head slightly.
"You are thinking very hard for someone who just woke up."
That is one way of putting it.
But at the moment the most immediate problem in front of me is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen watching me with a knowing smile. Gods, her eyes half-lidded…
Dear God, I've gone to heaven.
I reach up and gently pull her closer. This is all new to me, but I'm going to enjoy it — even if I have to wake up later for work.
"If this is still the dream," I murmur, "I'm definitely not waking up yet."
Her answering smile is slow and approving as she leans down to kiss me.