Vadim leans forward, the tender apprehension of his trembling lips meet her, the forbidden yearning of the kiss felt as much as the sorrow. He pulls back, resting his forehead against her, his voice but a whisper, “You will always be my one and only true love.”
Knowing the boldness of his actions and words, he pulls back from her, stepping away. Offering a tight smile and a slight bow, he turns on his heels and leaves.
Her heart shatters, her body aches in his absence. She finds it difficult to breathe. Hearing soft hooves on the carpet, followed by the quiet murmurs, she knows that Quell has encountered Vadim in the hall. She turns her back just as he walks in, hastily drying her face before grabbing a plate.
“I see we had the same idea,” his sweet voice says to her.
She puts on a smile, speaking over her shoulder, “I was going to bring it back for you.”
His hands gently wrap around her waist, “I saw Vadim in the hall.”
She nods, afraid that anything more and she will cry. He takes the plate from her hand, setting it down. Turning her towards him, he pulls her in close, his hug tight and comforting.
“I know that you feel for him too, Coral. I am sorry that you hurt, having to choose between us, though I am happy you have chosen me. Thank you, for telling him. It is only right that he should learn it from you and none other.”
She draws in a deep breath, forcing herself to keep the tears at bay. He looks down at her, she up at him, seeing the vast devotion in his eyes. He leans forward, pressing his lips to hers, his kiss sure and confident in comparison to his brother’s. She melts into him, knowing that if anyone can comfort her, it will be him.
With full plates, Quell stands opposite the table from where she sits. His disposition is contented happiness and it affects Coral enough that she shares in his feelings.
“Tomorrow, we will have your things moved to my room,” he smiles, “to our room.”
The thought of sharing quarters with him brings an earnest smile to her lips. She eats some meat before asking, “Is there any sort of… ceremony? That centaurs have when they take a mate? A human male generally makes a proposal to a woman and they have a wedding,” when she sees the inquisitive look on his face, she continues, “it is a ceremony where someone of standing makes their union official and notates it in the town’s records. There is a big party, after which the couple…” she trails off, her face flushes, “well, after the party they do the actual mating part. The woman moves in with the man and changes her last name.”
He tilts his head slightly, “Why does she change her last name?”
Coral thinks on it, “I guess she is considered to belong to her husband at that point. I-I don’t even know your last name,” the thought hits her.
Quell laughs slightly, “We only have one name, not like humans. We do have titles, though. Officially, as you say, I am known as Quell, Second Prince of Centuarna.”
“Oh,” she says, somewhat surprised, “then I am Coral Blackthorn, Mate of Quell.” She can’t help but smile when he grins at her.
“Yes, you are,” he says contentedly. He motions to her wrists, “I will have a fine pair of bracelets made for you, to dictate your status.”
Coral glances down at the leather cuffs, having forgotten for the most part that they were there. She frowns slightly.
“What is the matter my love?” Quell asks.
“I don’t know,” she says, “they just remind me of… binds. Where I grew up, we always saw them as a way for centaurs to distinguish their property.”
His brow raises, “On the contrary-we do not believe that a human can be property. All humans within our realm wear cuffs but so centaurs from other realms know that they are citizens of Centuarna and under our protection. If you ask anyone in town, they will tell you that the cuffs are worn with pride. Much like a metal given to a soldier.”
She starts to realize that it was yet another aspect of the centaurs that was skewed into a lie by outsiders, “Vadim does not wear cuffs,” she points out.
“We do not consider Vadim to be a human,” he retorts. “He is a centaur through and through. Though he is missing a few legs, I can assure you he has the capacity to be a horse’s ass.” Coral laughs hard at his statement, Quell soon joining her. He smiles, loving to see her happy, “We do not have a wedding like humans do. Once two mates have chosen each other and made their commitments, they make it known to their family and friends,” he grins, wryly.
“How?” she asks, seeing the cheekiness in his eyes.
“Just as you have already done, by letting my seed remain seeping down your thighs. We will mate a few more times before morning until we are saturated with each other’s scent-then, at breakfast, our commitments will be known to all we come across.”
Coral chokes on her water, coughing. Her face burns red.
He smirks at her embarrassment, “You are too modest, my love. In Centurion, the couple is expected to mate in front of their family as proof of their commitment. Rainer had to take my mother in front of her father, the King of Centurion,” he waves his hand, “but that is not how we do it here. The mixed scent is enough proof. Then, tomorrow night, we will have a small celebration, Coral Blackthorn, Mate to Quell.” He smiles.
She continues eating, realizing she will need all of the nourishment she can get if she is to survive the remainder of the night, “Who gives the centaurs their titles?”
“Their parents,” Quell says, taking a long drink of ale, “Though the commoners generally only carry titles like ‘Son of’ or ‘Daughter of.’ The King or Queen can bestow a title as they see fit though it isn’t very common place, much as my mother gave you the title of Lady.”
Coral thinks on it, her mind wandering and her mouth speaking before she stops it, “What title will you give to our children?”
Quell freezes in his movements, his gaze locks on hers. He gets a pained look in his eyes before he forces himself to look away while setting down his glass, “I should have talked to you about this before we mated, Coral, but I do not want children.”
Her heart sinks. She always pictured a future with children of her own, wanting to provide them with the love and security that her parents weren’t able to give her, “Is it… is it because of what happened to Searra?” Her voice is quiet.
Quell winces at the mention of her name. He doesn’t speak at first, but takes another long sip of his ale, “That is another thing I should have spoke with you about before we mated. I am sorry, Coral, you must think the worst of me.” He cannot bring himself to look at her.
Coral aches; she had such dreams of a happy family and even taking a centaur as a mate she never gave a second thought to change those dreams. But her pain at losing something she never had is nothing compared to the pain she can see Quell carries. She draws in a deep breath, locking her wishes down, choosing to make the sacrifice for him, “No, I don’t, Quell. I can’t even fathom what that must have been like for you. I can understand though why you… why you don’t want to have children with me. Maybe, some day you will change your mind but know this-I love you. And for me, that is enough.”
He finally meets her gaze, his eyes glistening with tears though they do not break free, “I cannot imagine any man could deserve a woman like you, Coral. I promise I will do my best to be a centaur worthy of your affections.”
The pain and adoration in his eyes makes her sad, though she does not wish to spend her night dwelling on what could have been. She forces a sly smile on her lips, getting out of her chair, “Come, my love. Let’s… saturate each other with our scents.”
…
Coral wakes up in a fog to the sound of someone knocking on the door. A man’s voice, muffled by the wood, reaches her ears, “Prince Quell? It is time to wake up. May I come in?”
Quell groans and stretches; he glances at Coral, a sleepy smile on his face before he answers his manservant, “No, you may not, Oren. Please fetch Gladys.”
“Of course, your highness,” Oren replies.
Coral rubs her eyes; her entire body aches. She looks around, realizing that she is laying across Quell’s palomino back, a blanket barely covering her body. Wrapping it around herself, she tilts upwards, sitting on him like a bench. Drawing in a deep breath, she is mortified that the stench of sweat, sex and spilled seed is strong enough for her nose to detect.
“Ohh,” she says, making a face, “how long until I can bathe?” When she sees his sly look, she stands up, “Seriously, you can’t expect me to smell like this all day?”
He reaches for her, pulling her close. Nuzzling his face through the blanket, he buries it in between her breasts, drawing in her smell, “You smell amazing. You smell like you are mine.”
Her face burns red, though she wraps her arms around him. She can see spots where his fur is matted by dry seed, which must have seeped out of her while she slept. He looks up at where her eyes are focused and laughs, “I am very proud smell of you, my love, but if you wish you can wash up a bit.” His hands run over the slick sheen dried on her stomach and grasp her waist, “Just nothing below here.”
She nods, smiling at the look of accomplishment in his eyes. As she leans down for a kiss, there is a knock on the door and it opens; Gladys walks in, though her eyes are down and her head turned to the side in case she has stumbled upon something private.
“You called for me, Prince Quell?” she says tentatively.
“Yes, Gladys-would you please bring my Lady some clothes?” Quell says cheekily.
“Oh,” she says, surprised; she looks over at them, finally catching a whiff of the air, “OH! Praise be! Congratulations, Lady Coral, Prince Quell!” She beams at the couple, “I will fetch you some clothes right away, then I will move all of your things here. OH!” Excitedly, she rushes out of the room.