It was late by the time they said farewell to the dwarves and headed up to their bedroom. All Snow White’s good humour had dampened into tears as she squeezed each of the two goodbye, and she had insisted on watching until they had long disappeared into the night. He’d taken her hand and led her up to the bedroom where he’d just held her for a while as she’d cried, and he found her tears were something of a relief. She was helpless like this, her face pressed into his chest. He felt like a prince again. The man who’d saved her from imprisonment in the box. She was his perfect princess. Her breath was hot on his neck and her full breasts were pressed into his chest. His heart beat faster and he swallowed hard as desire crept up on him, warmth flooding his body. He’d imagined this moment so many times before, and now it was finally here.

He’d had his share of serving girls and even several of the ladies of the court at home, but never had he longed for a woman as he had Snow White. He’d studied the curves of her body as she’d laid in her glass coffin and he’d dreamed of touching her and feeling her respond beneath him. His breath became more uneven and hers steadied as he stiffened against her. Finally she looked up at him.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

‘I’ll go and . . .’ she hesitated, ‘and get myself ready. There’s a washroom in the corridor.’

He put a finger over her lips, not wanting to sully the moment with talk of hygiene and human sweat. That was for base lust and servants, not for a prince and his princess. He kissed her, and despite the beer and roasted meat she’d devoured so enthusiastically throughout the evening, she still tasted sweet, and her mouth was warm, wet and inviting.