A Furry Problem

She stopped in the doorway, between her room and his, fingers curled around the doorknob. You seem so certain, that the physician will declare you healthy. There's no need for me to wait around, and smother your confidence. Her words were pointed, like sharpened knives. Each carefully chosen, to let him know that he was the reason she was going to her rooms.

A pause, and she exhaled quietly, Besides, I'd hate for the physician to get the wrong idea and assess me instead. She was well-aware the physician had been trying to pin her down for an assessment; he wanted to figure out when there might be a royal heir. She'd deftly avoided his pressing requests.

She turned the doorknob, as he insulted her outright. At least they keep my interest. She spat, turning to glare over her shoulder. Any attempt to seem cordial was gone, now. I'd rather fuck the maid, then touch someone who doesn't have the balls to make a move. Harsh, given she'd rejected many of his attempts early on. Eventually, he'd stopped attempting to initiate.

And she grew to miss the puppy-dog pleas. Resented him, because he respected her decision. She pushed the door open, and shut it roughly behind of her.

@Byron Wulff