Kvothe was taller and thinner and more fragile than her prince; a creature who could easily be broken apart by his more powerful form. Yet somehow their bodies could not have fit together more perfectly than they did in those moments of full contact, the red mare so aware of Ironclad’s warmth and presence that she was overwhelmed by it. And when the dark stallion did break her apart, it was with gentleness and not strength; with the delicate contact of his lips along the base of her tail. So overwhelming were the sensations that coursed through her - like mulled wine in her veins - that her slender legs buckled, threatening to spill her onto the ground, and her breath hitched in a series of pants. She was drunk; drunk on the frigid air, the beautiful forest, and the companionship of the stallion who had claimed her in all ways save one.

And if things continued along their natural course, soon she would be bound to him wholly and beyond doubt.

When Ironclad pulled away, relief and regret pulled at Kvothe in equal measures. Only the soothing balm of his voice kept her still when she would sooner have pressed herself to him again - his words bringing her to the same blissful place that his touch did. She was flattered to hear that he found her beautiful, even if she did not share his confidence in that fact. And it comforted her to hear him speak of their future, as if it could not be anything other than certainty. Ironclad stood in front of her now, and their whiskered muzzles brushed as they breathed of one another, their chests rising and falling in the same rhythm. Still captivated by the greying stallion’s closeness, Kvothe found that she could not turn away even when she felt the young prince’s eyes on her flawed cheek.

Heat filled her at the reassurances that Ironclad murmured, however, and she leaned into his touch gratefully. When his teeth grazed the mending flesh, she jerked back suddenly, her pupils dilated - not with fear or pain or sorrow, but with desire. Kvothe might not have understood everything that her body screamed at her, but she knew that she wanted Ironclad - to be his forever, as he’d claimed. To be closer to him than they stood now. And so she took matters into her own, stepping forward to graze her left side along his body, then turning around to do the same in the opposite direction. Winding her body around him in a manner similar to a cat, and with a smile just as mysterious and beguiling as that of a sphinx. Her voice when she spoke, too, was low and husky; almost a purr.

“You don’t need marks to claim me,” she uttered, slipping her head into the hollow of his throat. “But I will be proud to wear any you choose to leave on me, Ironclad. I feel as if I was yours before we met - as if what happened, happened so that we could be together.” Kvothe let her eyes fall closed, basking in the joy of this moment - whether it was destined to be fleeting, or would truly last forever. “And as you have claimed me, so you can command me - and know that I will not only obey you, but do so with happiness. You have given me so much… a home, a future, hope. Surely there must be something that I can give to repay you - and in doing so, perhaps claim you as mine, too.”

Emboldened by Ironclad’s words, the Friesian did not hesitate to make her own vows. And though both had stopped just short of a declaration of love, the emotion still warmed the air between them when she withdrew her head, and wound around the stallion in another pass. They were both young, it was true, and could easily be speaking out of ardor as much as affection. And even when it was real, love was known to be fleeting - perhaps doubly so when it was this powerful. But none of these truths could give Kvothe cause to doubt her prince, or to turn away from him.

Even if the day should come that he no longer desired her, her heart would still sing every time that he was near.