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Yona’s skin tingles with energy as she follows her new husband toward their chambers, tiny hand held in his much larger one as the party roars on behind him. After months of stolen moments in dark alcoves and heated looks filled with promise as he kissed her knuckles in public, she is finally, finally allowed to be alone with him; their marriage tied her to him in the eyes of the law and the gods, their union the first since her grandfather’s to be blessed by a priest within the walls of Hiryuu Palace.
She forgets, sometimes, that Hak was raised a nobleman. That he knows all the courtly rules. He used to complain endlessly as a child about all the rules they were expected to follow and took great joy in casting them off as often as he could get away with. By the time he’d become her bodyguard, he’d learned to walk the fine line between being just respectful enough and just shy of impudence—with everyone but Yona herself, of course, but everyone overlooked his impertinence with her on account of the fact that they were old friends.
He’d done everything right, following Soo-won’s death. Once Soo-won’s people had been ejected from the Palace, he’d left her in the care of her dragons—for only eight days, but still the longest eight days of Yona’s life—to return to the Wind Tribe to begin the process of retaking the mantles of Chief and General. Yona had been surprised when, at the first meeting of the tribes following Soo-won’s death, Tae-woo had immediately presented her with a formal, written request for her hand in marriage from the soon-to-be Chief. She remembers being furious with him for making the request before even speaking to her about it—she was tempted to turn it down in a fit of pique, just to spite him—but the enthusiastic response of the Generals stayed her tongue.
Oh, but she’d let him have it when he returned to the Palace. And he’d just grinned that sarcastic little smirk of his and silenced her with the only kiss he’d given her in public.
It was kind of embarrassing, how quickly she’d forgotten how irritated she was with him.
Hak kicks the door closed behind them and breathes a tired sigh, hand flying up to pluck the crown from his head—their coronation as King and Queen of Kouka had immediately followed the wedding itself. He tosses it carelessly onto one of the chairs by the window as Yona makes her way to the large vanity, placing her own headdress carefully on the edge of the counter and removing her jewellery.
She catches him watching her silently in the mirror as she begins painstakingly removing a veritable mountain of pins and hair ornaments from her curly mane, letting it fall in waves to brush her shoulder blades. All is quiet in the room, the sounds of the party on the other side of the Palace a dim rumble in the night. She smiles at his reflection, feeling colour rise to her cheeks as his eyes trace over the features of her face.
“What?” She asks, her voice coming out softer than she anticipated. He steps forward, coming to her back and batting her hands away from her head. Quietly, he extracts the last few remaining pins, the last few trapped locks tumbling down. He bends to press a kiss to the crown of her head, and she twists in her seat. “Hak?”
“Nothing.” He murmurs into her hair. “I’m just glad that’s over.”
“It’s our wedding day.” She reprimands with laughter in her tone. “You could show a little excitement.”
“I am.” He noses down toward her ear. She shivers as his breath ghosts over the shell of it. “I’m excited that it’s over.”
The position is awkward; Yona is shorter than Hak at the best of times, but seated she barely makes it past his navel, forcing him to stoop down. Running her fingers through her hair, she stands and allows him to tug her into his arms. They’re strong and sure around her waist as he presses his chin to the crown of her head, and she feels him relax as she twines her fingers into the baby hairs at the base of his neck. Her ear presses against his chest and she hears the steady thrum of his heart under the skin.
Muscles shift under the fabric at her cheek as his hands move to cup her jaw, tilting her face up to claim her lips in a hard kiss that steals her breath. It’s all she can do to cling to the front of his robes as one of the hands on her jaw trails down and presses against her lower back, moulding her body to his. His hand slides into her hair and tilts her face to the side—a gasp gives him access to her mouth, and she whimpers against him as his tongue steals inside. He’s never kissed her like this before; she doesn’t know what to do with her hands as he positions her body how he wants her, settling for balling them up in the folds of his clothing.
She can’t bring herself to open her eyes when he pulls away to press kisses along the ridge of her cheekbone toward her ear. Her breath comes in heavy pants as heat courses through her blood—nothing she hasn’t felt before, where Hak is concerned, but the sheer intensity near knocks her breathless. She can barely hear her own thoughts with how loud her heartbeat thuds through her ears.
“All I could think about,” Hak presses hot kisses to the column of her throat, sucking lightly here, licking there, “all fucking day…”
She whimpers as she feels a tug at her waist, the fabric of her sash pooling at her feet. Hak crowds her, looming large, and she allows him to walk her backwards toward the bedding. Her heart beats at a rapid pace as he shrugs off his robes, kneels into the sheets, and tugs her forward.
This is it, she thinks. This is what the whole day has been leading towards.
They’d barely managed to be alone for the past few months, during their engagement. The most they’d gotten away with was a brush of lips against knuckles or folding their arms around the other’s while Hak escorted her about the castle. It frustrated her. Knowing what kissing him felt like, she’d driven herself to distraction thinking about it. They’ve had a few stolen kisses here and there, ducking behind corners and into shadows, but they were never far away from a guard, or an attendant, or a dragon. Not that the dragons cared—but Hak had, surprisingly been a stickler for propriety since their return.
“You don’t have the throne until you’re crowned.” He had said once. “I won’t do anything that might make people question your right to rule.”
It was sweet, in a maddening sort of way. But it’s over now. She is Queen. He is her King. And what they do behind closed doors is no longer anyone else’s business.
The silk of her robes pool at her feet as she steps forward, cupping his face in her hands and bending to plant a kiss on his lips. He grips her hips with trembling fingers and it makes her feel better to know that she’s not the only one nervous. His breath is hot as it fans over her face, and he tugs her closer; she breaks the kiss for a moment to kneel before him before one of his hands migrates to her back and tugs her flush against him to claim her lips again.
Her palms flatten against his chest, feeling the warm skin under her fingertips. His heart races as she caresses the long, diagonal scar that runs from his left shoulder across his chest; the first he’d received in her service. Smaller marks litter the surface of his skin—some puckered, some smooth and white, others still faintly pink. She presses her lips to the top of the jagged, raised skin, and he cups the back of her head.
“I love you.” She whispers into the damaged skin of his chest, but he hears her all the same. She feels his heart jump at her words.
He lowers her to her back, letting her scoot up the bedding to rest her head against a pillow. He moves to follow her, settling just off to the side, leaning half over her, and presses his face into her neck and pauses. She waits a moment. Then two.
“Hak?”
“Yes, Princess?”
She lets loose a breathy giggle. “I’m not a Princess anymore.”
“Sorry.” He lifts his face to give her a lopsided grin. “Old habits. What is it, Yona?”
The way his voice curls around her given name causes something to squirm low in her gut. She feels her cheeks heating up. “N-nothing. You were just… quiet.”
His eyes narrow and his grin takes on a decidedly wolfish tinge. “I apologise.” He props himself up on an elbow, allowing his eyes to trace the lines of her body, hidden only by her thin undergarments. It’s strange; she’s mostly covered, but the way he’s looking at her makes her feel naked. She squirms until his gaze returns to her face, his hand reaching for her waist. He leans in.
His kiss is warm and languid, driving her to distraction. She wants this—wants him— but she doesn’t know how to relax. “Hak?”
He hums in question, thumb running over her cheek, eyes half-lidded and burning.
“Have… have you done this before?”
She flushes beet red, averting her eyes. She berates herself in her mind. It’s not important. It’s so not important. But sometimes, with the confident way he conducts himself in her presence while she’s left feeling like a bumbling fool, she can’t help but wonder.
“No?” He leans back and blinks at her with furrowed brows. “Where did that come from?”
“Nowhere.” She clears her throat. “I was just… it’s nothing.”
“Yona.”
“It’s just… I thought, maybe… I’ve found you in some compromising positions, is all?” It comes out sounding like a question.
He sighs and shakes his head. “There has only ever one woman I’ve ever wanted.” His voice is low and earnest. “I told you before; I’ve loved you for a long time.”
She screws up her face into a pout. “You also said I was unattractive and would never land a husband.”
He gives her that cheeky grin she loves and brushes his nose against hers. “I suppose I’ll have to eat my words.”
He’s kissing her again before she can think to reply, rolling her onto her back. She surrenders to the throbbing low in her gut that ignites when his hands tug at the ties of her undergarments. Fingers map the planes of his abdomen as she’s exposed to the air, underwear discarded to the side of the futon. She tilts her head back when Hak moves his mouth down to her collarbone, eyes squeezed shut as his lips and teeth tug and pull at the skin.
His hand is warm when it comes against the naked skin of her breast. She jumps a little at the contact and he withdraws, eyes darting up to look at her face. She’s chewing on a knuckle, colour high across her cheeks. “You okay?”
She nods, swallowing thickly.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She lowers her hand away from her face and runs her fingers through his hair. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
“Alright. Tell me if I do something that… doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay.”
She closes her eyes again as his lips return to their previous spot, fingers coming back to rest on her breast. Her abdomen tightens as he runs his thumb over her nipple, biting her lip against the sensation that he evokes. Her back arches without permission, pressing her chest further into his hand. His lips travel lower, pressing against the skin of her other breast, sucking hard, leaving small red marks along the inner curve. She gasps when his mouth comes around her nipple, tongue tracing the areola and causing her thighs to press together to relieve the mounting ache blooming low in her belly.
His hand leaves her breast and travels down the skin of her stomach, curling around her hipbone to tug at the ties there. She lifts her hips to help him remove the last of her undergarments, leaving her naked below him; he props himself up on an elbow and traces his eyes over her body.
She fights the urge to cover herself. This is Hak. She loves him. She trusts him. She reaches up and cups his face, drawing his attention back to her eyes. He presses his lips to her forehead and exhales, sending warm air skittering down her cheeks and around her neck. He moves his face to her ear and whispers, “Can I touch you?”
She whimpers and nods, goosebumps erupting down her side from the sensation of him breathing in her ear. She feels his fingers trace along the skin of her hip, down the outside of her thigh. “Bend your legs for me.” He murmurs, and she obeys, bringing her knees up to rest either side of his hips. It feels awkward, and vulnerable, but she knows he’ll look after her.
He holds himself above her as his fingers trail up her inner thigh, and every scrape of his calluses against her skin makes her shiver. By the time he reaches the junction of her thighs she thinks she’s going to burn up alive, the throbbing in her belly having migrated between her legs in anticipation of his touch.
He swears under his breath when he encounters her slickness. She clenches her fingers against the hard planes of his chest as he traces the length of her, jolting with a strangled sound when he reaches the small bundle of nerves at the apex.
And then he sets to work, and Yona feels herself coil in every conceivable way as he touches her. She mouths at his temple, panting, whining, clutching at his shoulders as he lowers his fingers and dips them inside her. His thumb strokes her above as his fingers prepare her for him, and she feels her body tense. Sweat beads on her skin, barely cooled by the night air around them; she feels everything and nothing at the same time as she crests over the swell and releases with a high pitched whine around his fingers, fluttering around him and causing him to swear into the sweaty skin of her neck.
“I thought,” she pants when awareness comes creeping back to her, “you said this was your first time?”
He chuckles against her neck; she’s too far gone to feel embarrassed. “Men talk about these things.” He says. “Some talk too much.”
She experiences a moment of clarity, something that had been bugging her for the past few days suddenly making sense. “Is that why Jae-ha has a broken nose?”
“He’ll heal.” Hak’s dismissal is immediate. “I don’t want to think about him right now.”
Yona can’t help but giggle. “Remind me to thank him tomorrow.”
“Yona.” Hak’s voice is tortured, and she laughs at his discomfort. He lifts his head and narrows his eyes at her. She grins and watches as he raises himself to his knees, fingers working at the ties of his trousers; she can see the bulge of his arousal through the material and swallows, licking her lips as her eyes flicker up to his face.
“See something you like, wife?” He teases her for her blatant interest as he lowers his trousers, loincloth and all.
“I suppose you’ll do.” She forces herself to say, raising herself on her elbows and tossing her head, sending sweaty locks of hair tumbling every which way. She fights a blush as she deliberately eyes him from top to bottom, his hardness causing her to suck in a breath. She’s never seen a naked man before.
He laughs and returns to his position between her legs, pressing himself along the length of her body. She can feel his hardness against her, and her breathing quickens. He cradles her jaw in a large hand and presses kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her eyes. He ends with a peck to the nose before reclaiming her lips. “Are you ready?” He asks when they draw apart for hair.
“Yes.” She breathes. She’s nervous, but she wants him.
He shifts a little, holding himself steady as he presses into her, and Yona flinches at the stretching sensation. There’s no pain—and her mind whirls at that, because everything she’d heard had told her to expect pain her first time—but there’s mild discomfort from stretching unconditioned muscles.
He freezes. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” She takes a deep breath and, one by one, relaxes the muscles in her arms and legs that had tensed up when he began to enter her. Slowly, her body relaxes back into the sheets, and Hak finishes sliding all the way in.
He noses at the hair behind her ear, hot breath leaving him in a dreamy sigh. She clutches at his biceps and presses her face into his neck. He shifts to murmur into her ear. “Can I…?”
She rakes the fingers on her right hand through his hair and feels him shudder all the way down her body. His length throbs inside her and it causes a twinge of that something low in her gut to reignite. “Please.” She whispers into his ear, and he groans.
His pace is slow, but steady. An arm wraps around her waist to hold her body to his as his hips withdraw and press back inside; she widens her legs for him and he groans. The heat of him burns her from the inside out, sweat beading on his skin and blending with her own. She feels like she wants to crawl out of her skin, to thrash, to wrap her legs around him and never let go, to keep him trapped between her thighs forever. The heat washes over her every time he moves within, sloppy kisses pressing into her neck. Her fingers tighten in his hair and he groans hot against her skin.
“Yona…” he breathes, and his voice trembles. She whimpers as his hips jerk a little harder, and he kisses her, cradling her jaw in one hand.
It’s simultaneously too much, and not at all enough. She tilts her hips toward him and is rewarded when he brushes up against something inside that sends her crying out into his mouth. She tears herself away and gasps his name. She can’t think. She exists only as a mess of sensations. His forehead presses against hers and his warm breath washes over her face, faint with the scent of wine from the banquet. Her arms drape around his shoulders and fingers dig into the planes of his back.
“Please,” she breathes, unable to string together anything coherent. “Please…!”
“What?” Hak’s voice is as rough as the hand on her jaw tilts her face to the side to allow him to trace the length of her neck with his tongue. “What do you need?” He puffs against her ear. It causes her to shiver around him. She snatches at the hand holding her jaw and tries to shove it between them, but he resists. He withdraws the arm from her waist and braces his weight on it before allowing her to press his fingers against her clit. He swears as he begins strumming it with his thumb. “Like this?”
She whimpers and hikes her legs higher up on his hips, wrapping her ankles around him to make up for the lack of support without his arm. Fingernails scrabble at his shoulders and she whines, gibberish slipping from her lips into the space between them. His hips are moving in jerky motions now, his face screwed up and pressed into her neck. He groans and she rakes her nails down his chest.
His hips jerk once. Twice. A third time and he gives a long, raw moan into her skin, thumb moving faster as he spills inside her. She feels him throb within as his thumb works her, and she loses herself. Her thighs shake and her eyes screw shut as she cries out, hands flying to his hair to hold him in place. It washes over her in waves, skin tingling everywhere he presses against her as she convulses around him from within.
She comes back to herself a sticky, sweaty mess, Hak’s labored breathing hot against her neck. Spent, her legs slip from around his hips to rest on the sheets, her hands sliding out of his hair to rest on his shoulders again. He lifts his head and presses a kiss to her temple. “You alright?” His voice is low, rumbling through his chest against hers.
She hums in the affirmative, nosing at his cheek. He withdraws from her body and collapses beside her, reaching over to lazily tug her into his arms.
She settles against this shoulder, slightly sore, feeling the mess between her thighs as her legs shift. He yawns into a hand and she hums in agreement, lips pressed against his chest.
The sounds of the party are still in full swing, but Yona and her new husband drowse in a haze, spent and lazily affectionate. He falls asleep minutes before her, and she spends the rest of her waking moments simply listening to the sound of his heartbeat before succumbing to her exhaustion.
When they wake, there will be a country to lead, soldiers to train, and diplomats to entertain. But for now, they sleep, and the country celebrates their union.