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Court was buzzing with gossip that morning. The whispering of servants woke you before the Queen stirring in her bed did, if that was any indication for how the rest of the castle was behaving. You were groggy as you came to, blinking in the dim light of the Queen’s chambers as servants stoked the fire to life, their murmurs near your cot were half-intelligible as you rolled to your side. Thankfully Queen Elizabeth was still sleeping peacefully in her bed, it was not yet time for her to wake for her morning prayer.
She had kept you up most of the night. Her insomnia only worsened as more dignitaries arrived to court, her stress all-consuming. You had been given the honor of accompanying her in her chambers for the previous evening, talking with her until she finally tired enough to fall asleep and the moon was high in the sky. It was one of the more taxing roles as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, but you still were thankful she even thought to include you among them, lifting you from your station as a lesser noble to an integral part of the royal court.
You wanted to yell at the servants to shut up, the glimmering hope that you could have slept through the Queen’s morning prayer until breakfast diminishing like a pinched candle wick.
Instead you remained under the covers, your back to them as they heated water for her to bathe in and prepared a simple gown for her to don in the private chapel. You collected snippets of information as you watched the orange light of the fire flicker over the tapestry on the wall, the woven faces moving in and out of focus like secrets.
He was called Ezra, but there was no indication of a family name in the stories. Apparently his accent was foreign, but not from a country either of the maids recognized. The Duke of Norfolk had brought him along as a mercenary. But the image of him was incomplete in your mind: dark hair and dark eyes, a tuft of blonde at his hairline.
You wondered if he would attend court that day with the Duke. Just a few words about this man created a pocket of intrigue in your chest: the Duke had never brought a mercenary with him before, what was the occasion now?
The servants fell silent as Queen Elizabeth stirred, bringing a glass of water to her bedside as she roused herself. Your name was whispered in question by the maids as you listened to them help her into a simple frock, the potential of being forced to morning prayer making you stiffen on the cot.
“No, let her sleep,” Queen Elizabeth said dismissively, prompting you to exhale a soft sigh of relief. The room quieted as she washed behind the silk screen across the room, letting you fall back asleep for the last moments of the morning.
–
“You look wonderful, Your Majesty,” you breathed as you watched Lady Ashely finish painting the Queen’s cheeks with rouge. Dressing for court took longer than it should have, cycling through various wigs and accessories until Queen Elizabeth finally settled on one. You wished she had drank at least a few sips of the ale offered with breakfast, if not just to soothe her nerves for the day.
Her dark eyes met yours in the mirror’s reflection, a glimmer of relief passing through her gaze. “Thank you,” she breathed, reaching back to squeeze your arm with her gloved hand.
You produced a shimmering necklace from a velvet cushion on the vanity, stepping forward to clasp it around Queen Elizabeth’s neck. “Today will be fine, just as all the other days in court have been fine,” you assured, arranging the necklace so the large red ruby settled in the hollow between her collarbones. “There are just a few more people in attendance, that is all.”
She nodded, steeling herself before standing.
You let the other ladies-in-waiting worry about primping her, stepping away to finish preparing yourself. Thankfully Lady Knollys was willing to help, tightening your corset within an inch of your life as you held onto a chair in an attempt to stay upright.
“Sometimes I think you mean to watch me faint from lack of breath,” you said, wheezing dramatically as you secured your pearled and jeweled hair piece to the crown of your head.
“We should only be so lucky,” Lady Knollys murmured, rolling her eyes as she situated the sheer, black fabric attached to your French hood over your hair. It hung heavy down your back, part of you already itching to rip it off.
Having your hair uncovered was one of the privileges of being a lesser noble that you missed.
“I expect you all to be in attendance today,” Queen Elizabeth said, picking up the small compact and prayer book she often carried with her at court. “I need you to pay attention to whispers, and to report back to me with anything you hear.”
You walked a number of paces behind the Queen as she finally exited with her small retinue in tow. Guards flanked her, never more than an arm’s length away. It was hard to imagine being surrounded by such fan fare and not resenting it. You would go crazy, the constant scrutiny enough to finish you.
Queen Elizabeth ascended the dais and assumed the throne as the ladies-in-waiting dispersed quickly into the room. You marveled at how tight the space was in the room as you edged past lords and religious figures and merchants alike. They did not entirely take note of you—another faceless woman at court. The anonymity of being a woman in attendance of the court proceedings was both a blessing and an irritation.
You found a column to stand near, Lady Ashley joining you as you waited for Queen Elizabeth to give her opening remarks. The day would be busy, hunting in Saint James park followed by a lavish banquet and likely dancing into the evening. Court was always a spectacle.
The courtiers quieted as Queen Elizabeth settled into her throne to speak. You had listened to her practice the speech a thousand times the evening before, her voice fading to background noise.
The majority of men in the room were hardly of interest, dressed in embroidered jackets of various colors with ruffles around their necks. Swords were strapped at most hips, more decorative rather than useful. You doubted how many of those men could even lift the sword above their waists let alone use them. The thought made you smirk to yourself, you turned your head enough to tuck your lips into your shoulder to hide your expression.
Then a snicker accompanied yours, like someone was in on your private joke. Your brows furrowed before you could quite stop them, an unladylike frown finding its way onto your face.
Thank goodness Lady Ashley was actually paying attention to Queen Elizabeth or you would have been scolded for your scowl–she had taken a motherly role for the ladies-in-waiting. You had become a particular pet project for her, having heard far too many droning lectures about how each of Her Majesty’s ladies reflected on her as a ruler.
Your gaze met warm brown eyes, crinkled at the corners in a secret grin. The rest of a face formed around it as you took in this stranger . You had finally started to recognize most of the courtiers that were not foreign dignitaries, but this man was not familiar. His aquiline nose and dark eyes were unknown to you in previous.
He was out of fashion as well–essentially a crime in Queen Elizabeth’s court. His dark hair was short, his patchy beard trimmed close to his face. You could see a faint scar on his left cheek, a faint arc of white scar tissue just beneath his eye. The lack of embroidery or decoration told you that he was not a noble or a merchant, at the very least not a well-off one.
It was only when you saw the Duke of Norfolk lurking nearby that you understood: this stranger was the mysterious Ezra everyone had been whispering about.
You expected him to look more sinister.
For a startling moment you thought him attractive.
But then he looked at you like a co-conspirator, the familiarity of a perceived accomplice lingering in his gaze.
“I can’t help but agree with you,” he murmured, lips close to your ear so he could speak without disturbing those around you. You shivered, able to feel the shape of his words. He spoke strangely, an accent you had never heard before lilting over each word. “ This group is supposed to be the Queen’s best and brightest? I’ve seen scarier creatures out there in that garden.”
It was hard to understand if he was trying to impress you or provoke you. You decided it was the latter, eyes narrowing as you inspected him. A sword and dagger strapped to his hip, but you doubted that was all a man like him would carry.
“I have a hard time recalling saying anything to you,” you whispered, praying that Lady Ashley remained focused on Queen Elizabeth. Rebuking one of the courtiers would certainly earn you a scolding.
Rather than heeding your words, the man smiled, a soft chuckle behind his teeth. It looked like he wanted to say more, his shoulders sloping toward you as he leaned in toward your ear.
“We shall reconvene in Windsor Park for the hunt,” Queen Elizabeth announced, prompting the room to drop to a bow as she rose. The stranger at your side did so as well, smart enough to follow the social etiquette of court.
You rose before Ezra did, following Lady Ashley’s lead. The skirt of your dress brushed against his feet as you stepped around him, you could feel his fingertips give it a gentle tug just before you were out of reach. His chuckle crept after you like a shadow.
—
In most courts, ladies were not permitted to join the hunt, but Queen Elizabeth insisted that all of her ladies-in-waiting participate. The few bolts you loosed had gone into tree bark rather than flesh, be that on purpose or skill, no one would ever know. But you rode near the back of the group, crossbow across your lap as the rest of the hunters fanned out, following dogs in the underbrush.
A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, something too large and too dark to be a deer weaving through the tree trunks. The man had his cloak drawn over his head, his steps slow through the underbrush as he trailed behind the group. No horse to avoid drawing attention to himself. You went unnoticed, he passed you by as he followed the sound of baying dogs.
You recognized the curve of his nose in profile when an owl hooted in the distance. Ezra moved slowly, trailing behind a group of nobles, close enough to catch their voices on the wind.
Spies were common in Queen Elizabeth’s court, but something about him piqued your interest.
Maybe it was the self-assured way he moved through the castle and the grounds that irritated you, jesting about the nobles as though he was already one of them. Any other spy would try to creep on the edges of the room, sticking to the shadows.
But Ezra was different, stalking the Queen herself through the forest like she was the prey. Smart enough to keep his distance, but with enough gall to stand where no one would expect him to be.
Then you heard a shout of your name, they had finally noticed your absence. Ezra spun around like a top, his dark eyes focused on you as you sat up in your saddle. There was no use in pretending he escaped your notice, your eyes finding him and your jaw set before you snapped your reins once. You spurred your horse forward.
“My apologies, I thought I saw something unusual!” you shouted, your head turning as you passed to keep Ezra pinned beneath your gaze. “It turned out to be a trick of the light!”
He smirked, head nodding in acknowledgement as you passed.
The nerve on that one.
–
It was dusk when you caught him stealing away from the Duke of Norfolk into the hedges of the Queen’s Gardens. The men had been lounging outside with their smoking pipes while Queen Elizabeth retired for a rest before the banquet.
“I am going to retire to my chambers for a moment,” you said to the other ladies-in-waiting, excusing yourself quickly.
You diverged from the typical direction to your chambers, heading out a servant’s door to the gardens. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, the sky turning pink and orange as you kept to the periphery of the main garden. Your head was bent and you kept your face turned away until you made it into the cover of the tall hedges of the Queen’s Gardens.
“Well damn, I knew I’d be seein’ you again soon.”
Ezra emerged from an alcove of rose bushes like he had been waiting for you to turn up, his mouth turned up on one side. You wanted to wipe the smirk from his face, checking over your shoulder to make sure no one followed you before storming further into the shelter of the garden.
He followed you dutifully, snickering as you went into twists and turns of the hedge maze in an attempt to keep hidden. The last thing you needed was a noble stumbling upon the two of you. The Queen would dismiss you immediately if you were found unchaperoned with a man like this, her reputation would come into question due to the company she kept.
So you walked, twisting between two neatly trimmed trees into a private alcove bordered by ivy-covered stone walls and a statue of Saint Agnes adorning the center.
“Well ain’t you a thistle?” he mused, his boots crunching the twigs and leaves into the dirt as he circled you. His accent was peculiar: stretched vowels with soft consonants, contractions that belonged with the lower echelons of society combined with the theatrics of a man performing for a crowd.
“A thistle?” you repeated, arms crossing over your chest. You stayed rooted as close to the gap between the trees as possible, ready to bolt at any moment.
He laughed as though you said something entertaining. “A spiked flower. A tough nut to crack, most women soften with a kind word–you bristle. I find that… profoundly invitin’.”
You rolled your eyes, jaw ticking.
“I do not bristle,” you protested, practically digging your heels into the dirt. “As her lady-in-waiting, I am simply protective of the Queen and her interests.”
Your skirts rustled against the ground as you stepped forward, scrutinizing Ezra from his dark boots to the tuft of white hair at his hairline. He remained steady beneath your gaze, spine straight and shoulders squared. It was hard to say if he intended to intimidate you or entice you.
“And who’s to say I’m not workin’ in Queen Elizabeth’s best interests?” Ezra asked, a defiant glint in his dark eyes before his gaze dropped. “I have to admire any Queen who keeps such… invigoratin’ company.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Do you really believe that flattery will get you in my good graces?” you asked, tone lilting toward incredulous.
“Ah, but you’re still here talkin’ with me, ain’t you?” His smile was fetching.
He took a step toward the exit, making you move to block it with your body. It was foolish, cornering him, but if he were to strike you he already would have.
“What were you following us for on the hunt?” you asked, tracking his steps toward you. The sunset was dappled by the trees and hedges, diffusing by the time it reached you two. “You could have gotten yourself killed if anyone had noticed you. Queen Elizabeth does not take kindly to spies.”
“And you didn’t call the guards over, did you, thistle?” Ezra asked with a smirk. He was standing close enough that he could reach out and grab you if he wanted. But he was right, you had even covered for him, pretended he was just a trick of the light. Heat traveled up the back of your neck, you hoped it was indiscernible on your face.
He was sure with his movements, stepping toward you with a grace that reminded you of a fox readying to snap a mouse up in its jaws. You twisted away from him, backing up to the stone base of the Saint Agnes statue.
“You are reckless,” you hissed, pushing his sternum with your palm to make some space between you. He was getting too close, breaking too many rules of propriety. The heat was spreading to your cheeks, uncontrollable.
He let out a huff of air that could have been a chuckle, his dark eyes flicking down to where the crisp white partlet of your dress tucked into your bodice, a whisper of your cleavage visible beneath the fabric. “I am a man acquainted with ruin, true enough. But I reckon you ain't half so proper as your title suggests,” he murmured, voice low.
Your whole face burned. “I am a lady ,” you insisted through your clenched teeth, hands smoothing over your heavy skirts. “ You are the one who followed me here.”
You decided not to linger upon the fact that you had practically asked him to. The detail that you had followed him first after seeing him from the window remained firmly behind your lips, unsaid as you stared.
“Guilty as charged, darlin’. But when a man’s offered the chance to chase beauty into the green, well… some fates are worth the executioner’s axe,” Ezra said with a flourish, his drawl still strange to your ears. But the compliment was not lost on you, the way one of his hands snaked around your body to rest on the stone base of the statue behind you.
Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. It beat against your ribs like a caged animal trying to be freed, your breath hitching.
His other hand met stone on the other side, making your spine bend like a bow over the lip of the carved stone.
“I could scream,” you whispered, but the words fell hollow.
“I reckon you should,” Ezra murmured, pressing you firmly against the stone. Even through the layers of your skirts it was cold, the edge biting against the small of your back. You set a hand behind you to prop yourself up, your gloved fingers overlapping his bare ones on accident.
He leaned in, nose nearly brushing yours. You were stunned into stillness, breath locked in your throat. It should have been easy to scream, but you found yourself struggling to make a sound aside from a whimper.
“What’s keepin’ your voice so quiet, thistle?” Ezra asked, his voice low. You shook your head minutely, lips parted as your gaze darted over his face. He looked like a cat that had finally cornered a mouse, smirking as his dark eyes blazed with the success of his conquest.
His hand moved from the stone behind you to run over the whalebone stays of your bodice, almost reverent in his touch. “So many layers,” he mused, testing the ribbon lacing the center of your gown together, he untied the bow with a swift tug. “You English girls hide such tempting playthings under all this fabric.”
Then he was kissing you with greed rather than grace.
Your gasp was swallowed by him, the taste of tobacco and whiskey and sin overwhelming you. His tongue slid into your mouth as though he had the right, twisting in a way the footmen you tangled with had yet to master.
There were a few trysts in your past—your propriety mattered little when you had already pledged yourself to a life of being a spinster. Getting selected as one of Queen Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting gave you the freedom to avoid marriage out of necessity. If anything, it was easier to be unwed in your position, you could devote more time to the Queen rather than worry about your husband’s needs.
Your fingers found the crop of his dark hair, twisting in the strands to pull him closer. There was no point in pretending his advances were unwanted now, not when his touch was undoing the ladder of your corset laces like it was second nature as he pressed himself into the space between your thighs.
“Ezra-“ You were cut off by him peeling apart your bodice like it was made of paper. Both halves of the elegantly embroidered fabric hung loose, your skin illuminated by the mauve tones of dusk.
If the Queen came out to the garden you would certainly be disgraced, but you were hard pressed to care.
It felt like you were possessed, need burned through you like wildfire as Ezra bent to mouth at the curve of your breast. His tongue practically burned your skin, flattening over your nipple as his dark eyes flicked up to take in the wanton way your mouth fell open.
His teeth bared against your skin in an indulgent smile. Mischief twinkled in his eyes, lighting up the ochre depths of them as his thick lashes fluttered. He teased the bud with the blunt edge of them, earning a gasp from you before he gave your opposite breast the same treatment.
He hiked your skirts up high with his free hand, baring you to the night air as he hastily yanked your smallclothes aside just enough to slip his hand beneath them. The wet heat he found there made him groan.
“God’s wounds,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re soaked . I ain’t even touched you proper… What would the Queen say if she knew her lady-in-waiting was so desperate to be had in the garden?”
Your face got hot at the mirth in his tone, the press of his fingertips over your clit making your eyes roll for a moment. “The Queen would hang you,” you breathed, your breath stuttering as your head dropped back. The footmen certainly had a lot to learn, considering the way Ezra’s calloused fingertips moved over your clit made you squirm.
Saint Agnes looked down upon you, her face serene. You would have to pray for years to earn forgiveness for desecrating her statue–it would be hard to look upon the saint and her lamb without remembering the way–
“Oh Christ ,” you gasped, completely unprepared for the sensation of Ezra’s tongue lapping at your cunt. The muscles in your abdomen tightened, the heel of your boot pressing against Ezra’s spine and forcing him closer. He took his time. Tasting you like he was indulging in sacrament rather than sin, his hands gripping the thick of your thighs and skirts to hold you in place.
He tilted you to him with the confidence of a man who had spent an entire lifetime sinning, forcing your skirts back to your waist as his tongue stroked in languid passes.
Your eyes were rolling back, a hand fisted in the thick fabric of your overskirt as your breath caught behind your ribs. There was an aspect of devotion that you would have never expected, his knees in the dirt and whatever information he had intended to search for was seemingly forgotten.
Maybe if you had been in your right mind, you would have considered that defiling you had been his intention.
But instead you just whimpered his name, fingers twisting into his short locks as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Ezra earned himself a low moan, suction paired with the flick of his tongue underneath drew you nearer to a precipice of pleasure that you never knew existed. His thumbs spread you wider, holding you firmly as though he intended to stay there for the rest of the evening.
The sound of it was filthy, wet slurps and sighs as he alternated between laving his tongue and sucking between puckered lips, a finger finally satiating the ache of emptiness that was starting to arise. The rhythm he found had you bucking your hips like a woman without self control.
“That’s it,” he murmured into the mess of your cunt, the words wet. “Grind yourself on me.”
Your legs began to tremble, the tension building in your belly snapping taught. He moaned against you, a man starved tasting food for the first time. Grateful. Satiated.
It started as a ripple, a stone dropped into a pond that built into a wave. You were gasping, spine arching as pleasure crashed over you without any indication of stopping. It ripped through you like lightning across a night sky, your toes curling in your boots as your fingers twisted in his hair for some semblance of control.
“ Ezra ,” you sighed into the twilight, your voice taking on a higher cadence than normal. “Oh, please–”
You cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut as your muscles spasmed, core tightening as you rocked your hips against the Ezra’s nose and chin. His finger crooked inside of you, your cunt clenching around it with needy pulses. It was impossible to keep quiet, a breathy moan pulling from your throat as your thighs squeezed his head.
He let out a wet chuckle, unrelenting with his ministrations until every tremor had completely run through your body. You were left empty as you sagged back against Saint Agnes’s legs.
Your head was spinning as Ezra stood, obscenely sucking his fingers clean. His dark eyes were partially-lidded as he looked down at you, stepping between your spread legs as he bent over your limp form.
“You taste like you were made just to be devoured,” he murmured as he tilted your chin up so he could kiss you. You melted into it, lips parting for his tongue. The taste of you coated his mouth, tangy and earthy and sweet. He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath warming your skin and his lips ghosting against yours. “Like summer peaches stewin’ in their own heat. I could live off of you.”
Your face warmed at his praise, eyes rolling at his exaggerations. It seemed like everything he said was a performance. He was a man that belonged on a stage rather than as a spy.
He leaned in for another kiss when you heard it: laughter, voices. Distant, but growing louder beyond the hedge. Gravel crunching beneath boots and the clink of a flask being opened and passed around.
Ezra paused for a beat, dark eyes looking in the direction of the noise. A smirk found its way to his face, his expression becoming downright unholy as he leveled you with his stare. “Sounds like the party is stirrin’,” he murmured, voice low like the undercurrent of a stream. “Oughta be gettin’ back before anyone notices you’re missin’.”
You shifted, trying to close your legs and fix your skirts. Disappointment bloomed in your chest, need still coiling around your sternum as you gathered your rumpled petticoats in your trembling fingers. But he held fast. He pressed closer, wedging his hips between your thighs as he pulled the fabric from your hands.
“You think I’d leave you wantin’ like this, thistle?” he asked, voice low and hungry. His hand slipped back to the apex of your legs, pressing two thick fingers inside of you. You groaned through your clenched teeth, squeezing around him as you grabbed at his coat. “Look at you, flutterin’ around my fingers. Hell, you’re drippin’ all the way down my wrist.”
He let out a huff of air that could have been a chuckle, his mouth lifting into an indulgent smile. “No, ma’am. I take thorough care of my ladies, I can promise you that.”
You rocked gently against his fingers as he fumbled his breeches open with his other hand. The sound of you panting covered the rustle of fabric, your desperation tightening in your gut.
Ezra’s cock was already thick and hard as he grabbed your hips, the shine from your pussy smearing over the embroidered fabric as he pulled you to the edge of the pedestal. The stone was cool beneath your skin, errant pebbles scraping against you.
You fisted a hand in his doublet, pulling him closer as your head tilted back. It was hard to not feel dizzy with want, only a small sliver of your consciousness worried about being caught as you shifted your hips for him.
“Let me finish what I started, thistle,” he murmured into your temple, smearing the wet between your thighs with a filthy reverence. “I’ll fill you while the court’s just steps away… gossipin’ about pheasants and dress colors and politics.”
The head of his cock was already nudging at your cunt, making you squeeze around nothing as you exhaled. You were so stupid for inviting the devil into your life like this. It still would be possible to call the guards, to act like he had forced himself upon you. They would take your word over his, a snake-tongued stranger.
But you whimpered, nodding. “ Please , Ezra,” you sighed, brows knitting together as you rested on the edge of begging.
You braced yourself against the statue of Saint Agnes, your hand flattening against her marble foot as the other fisted the thick black wool at his shoulder. He sank into you in one smooth, desperate thrust.
Tomorrow you would come and beg Saint Agnes for her forgiveness.
“ Jesus Christ ,” he hissed, biting down a groan as he stilled inside of you. His head bent toward your throat, teeth setting against the delicate skin in a threat of a bite. “You’re so damn tight, I might lose my mind right here.”
The stretch was otherworldly, satiating as you let out a breathy sigh. It had been a long time since a man filled you like this. Your legs curled around his waist, clutching him close as you tried to catch your breath.
Torchlight danced over the top of the hedges, the threat of being caught looming ever closer.
Ezra paid it no mind, he was already fucking you. Each thrust of his hips was sure and steady, making you keen as your head tilted back. He pressed his palm over your mouth to muffle your cries, his hand calloused from what you assumed was years of fighting with swords. Your breath fluttered over the back of his hand with each knock of his pelvis against yours.
Your cunt fluttered around him with every rut of his hips, slick and hot. He grabbed the curve of your hip hard enough to bruise, anchoring you to the pedestal. The shame and thrill twisted into something unbearable in you, your moans muffled against his heated skin.
The rhythm he fell into was filthy–deep and fast, meant to finish both of you before anyone had the chance to stumble into your private alcove. He was grunting in your ear, sounding almost wounded as he bottomed out over and over, the consistency of his rhythm almost reminding you of a military march.
“That’s it, darlin’,” Ezra drawled into your ear, voice so low it was barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. “Takin’ me so good. This pussy’s fuckin’ heaven-sent just for me.”
The stone pedestal bit into your skin with each movement, the bite of rough stone only adding to the coil of tension in your stomach. The air was thick with roses, crushed ivy, hot breath. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in your ears.
“You’ll walk in that banquet hall glowin’,” he growled against your ear, teeth scraping over the shell of it. You shivered. “Everyone will wonder why your head is so high, no one’s gonna guess it’s because this pretty cunt is so full.”
You made a broken sound against his hand, the filth he was spitting in your ear mixing with the ecstasy building within you. Then Ezra shifted his angle, his cock hitting that spot that made you see stars. He must have noticed the change in you, your thighs tightening and your muscles convulsing as he started to focus on drilling there mercilessly. Your jaw went slack under his palm, the scrape of the stone and the potential of voyeurs completely forgotten as everything built up… up… up…
It broke like a fever.
Your second orgasm hit all at once, spreading from the base of your spine in a rush of energy that was white-hot and shattering. The sunset and the dark green hedges blurred while your cunt clenched around Ezra in frenetic, helpless pulses.
Every soft and high moan from your throat was drowned in Ezra’s hand, tears pricking in your eyes as you drowned in the holy fire of your pleasure. Each wave of it was long and rolling, sending you adrift in a tempest you could not navigate. He held you there, still driving into you–deeper now. He was chasing the feeling, wringing every last tremor from your body like he craved it.
“You came on my cock so pretty , thistle,” he growled, voice low and tight in your ear. He was on the edge, too. You could hear it in the way his words were clipped, like he lacked the control to get them out all in one piece.
You were nothing but gasps and clenching heat, your fingers digging into his doublet like you meant to tear it apart.
Through the haze you felt him come.
His cock twitched deep inside you as he groaned, ragged and almost wounded, spilling into you with a shudder so fierce he had to let go of your hip to brace on the statue pedestal. He pressed his mouth to the collar of your dress, seemingly trying to drown out the sound.
The laughter of courtiers faded away, the only sound in the alcove was your breaths and the soft rustle of fabric.
Ezra ground his hips against yours for a few moments longer, weathering the aftershocks of his orgasm as his eyes fluttered closed. It was as though he did not want to part from you, the soft thatch of dark hair pressed snug against your clit. Your eyes rolled back, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Then he finally stilled, the two of you breathing the same air as his hand dropped from your mouth.Your lips were smeared with shiny saliva–you were drooling without even realizing it.
Your legs barely held you up when he finally let them down.
The pedestal and Ezra’s hands steadied you as your knees knocked together like a newborn foal’s, blood rushing back to your toes after so long of being contorted. His breath ghosted on your throat and your jaw, lips pressing lightly to the skin–not quite a kiss. Still, more gentle than you expected from a man so willing to ruin you.
He was already tucking himself back into his breeches with the practiced motion of a man well-acquainted with sin. If she had any questions of how often he debauched ladies after that, the way he laced her back into her corset with ease answered them. There was no hesitation in his motions as he stitched the two halves of your bodice together like a surgeon, feeding the pink silk through the eyelets with steady fingers and fashioning a bow the other ladies-in-waiting would have been jealous of.
You felt a bit unmoored, heat of embarrassment rushing to your face as you stared at him, lips parted.
His come was dripping down your thighs, catching on your smallclothes and slip as you pushed your rumpled skirts back into place. You finally found your footing, righting yourself as you attempted to wipe the crushed twigs and leaves from the back of your skirts.
Saint Agnes looked down upon the two of you, serene as ever, as though she had no idea what blasphemy had just occurred at her feet.
Ezra moved in once more, lips finding yours. There was no urgency in this kiss, the press of his lips almost earnest against yours. He kissed you as though he meant to stay. His dark eyes looked at you as though you were his, but that could never be so. You were promised to Queen Elizabeth long before he arrived, and you would do well to remember that.
Trumpets blasted in the distance, the brass instruments wringing true over the gardens. The banquet would be starting soon, the Queen surely would look for you.
“I have to go,” you said, the words firm and decidedly final.
But you were still. You realized leaving him was easier in words than in practice. It was foolish to think that he wanted you for more than information or at the very least, a decent fuck to get it out of his system, but still you stayed.
He looked at you like you were holy. Touched you as though you were his last rites.
It was hard to forget that in the silence that came after, no matter how much you hated him for that.
Surely that was the feeling curling around your heart.
He nodded once. No argument or protest spilled from his lip. Just that slow smile like candle smoke in the fading light of day. “Then go,” he said, nodding his chin in the direction of the space between the hedges. His hair was tousled from your fingers, his wool coat tugged out of place. “Ain’t gonna stop you.”
You looked at him once, a breath leaving you as your brow furrowed. Then you turned and walked away.
–
The hall that evening glittered with candlelight. The air was heavy with roasted meats and crushed flowers, the murmur of nobility and courtiers carrying like a bubbling brook. Chuckles rippled across long tables running the length of the room, goblets were filled over and over again with wine.
You were at your seat, head high and spine straight. If anyone had noticed that you looked particularly satisfied, no one had mentioned it. You could still feel the remnants of it between your thighs, the sticky mess having ruined your slip and smallclothes by now.
It was easy to find Ezra in the crowd, seated to the right of the Duke of Norfolk. He had left his hair a tousled mess, but his doublet was fixed neatly. He was still dressed oddly for a courtier, but the way he spoke with the nobles surrounding him made it seem like he was a fish in water. To anyone observing he seemed harmless. Charming, even.
As though his knees had never touched the loam of the Queen’s garden.
Then his eyes lifted to yours, the smile on his face shifting.
It sharpened, eyes flashing as he leveled you with his dark gaze. For a moment your skin burned, you wanted him again.
But you stayed still, your grip on your goblet tightening. He was something you could not have. You knew beneath all the platitudes and charm and ritual, he was a liar. He was a spy.
But he raised his goblet to you. Too slow, just subtle enough that you noticed.
Painfully private.
You lifted yours back.