The Crown Princess Faked Her Death and Married the Mercenary King novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: The Cot

Ha-rin ran her first war council the next morning, in a coat three sizes too big.

Twelve Company captains sat around the map table, and every one of them watched her.

"The Governor has lost fourteen men and his ram," she said. "He won't try the south gate again. He'll try to starve you."

"How?" said a grey-bearded captain.

"By the grain road. It runs through three villages and a pine wood, and he can burn any of them."

The captains looked at Gwang-ho.

Gwang-ho looked at his boots.

"She's right," he muttered. "We have six weeks of rice."

"Then we move the rice," said Ha-rin. "Today."

Do-gyeom sat at the head of the table with his chin on his fist and said nothing at all.

He only watched her.

When the council ended, the captains filed out, and he stayed in his chair.

She stayed too, rolling the map.

"You haven't looked at me all morning," she said.

"I looked at you all morning."

Warmth climbed her neck.

"Your room," said Ha-rin. "Tonight. After the lamps are out."

His hand tightened on the arm of the chair.

"Yes, Strategist," he said.

He lived over the north gate, in the plainest king's chamber in the world.

It was a bare stone room with a table, a brazier, a sword rack and a narrow soldier's cot with an army blanket.

"I never changed it," he said, when she raised an eyebrow. "I was a captain on this cot. I haven't felt like a king on it."

"Take off your coat."

He took off his coat.

"The shirt."

He pulled the shirt over his head.

Her mouth went dry.

He was broad and heavy-muscled, with a chest and a stomach cut hard from years of marching.

Scars crossed his ribs, his shoulder, and one long pale line from his collarbone to his hip.

She put her palm on the one over his heart.

"This one?"

"Spear. I was nineteen."

"This?"

"Sword. A cavalry captain. He didn't get to brag about it."

She traced every scar with her fingertips, and he stood still and let her, and his breath grew louder with every inch.

"The rest," she said.

He unknotted his belt and let his trousers fall.

He was already hard.

His cock was thick and long and flushed dark at the head, curving up against his stomach, and it twitched under her gaze.

She took a long breath.

"You're big," she said, not lightly.

"I'll go slowly."

"You'll go as I say."

"Yes, Strategist."

She stripped off her own coat and shift, and stood in the lamplight with her hands at her sides.

Then she pushed him back until his knees hit the cot, and he sat.

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