The Princess Who Burned Her Crown.

The sun

The morning seeped through the wooden slats like a golden whisper, caressing the entangled bodies on the bed with the tenderness of a new day. Isabella opened her eyes slowly, letting the warmth of Tomás’s body—still pressed against her back—envelop her. She could feel his deep breaths vibrating against her nape, a low, steady murmur. His leg remained draped over hers, his arm coiled around her bare torso, as if their bodies refused to separate even as the sun rose.

Tomás was the first to move, slipping carefully out of bed, trying not to wake her fully. Isabella half-opened her eyes—just a sliver—and watched him walk toward the kitchen with that quiet, grounded confidence that seemed etched into his bones. His muscular back flexed as he reached for a pot, and his ass, barely covered by thin sleep pants, made her bite her lip with pure want.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, not turning around, his voice rough enough to raise goosebumps on her skin.

She let out a husky laugh, still wrapped in the warmth of the sheets.

"You."

Tomás turned, a smirk lifting one eyebrow, his eyes burning.

"Well... I could also make scrambled eggs."

"That sounds more legal," she teased, sitting up with the sheet pooled around her waist, her wild hair tumbling over her shoulders like a tamed fire.

As he cooked, Tomás began talking in that tone he used when lost in something he loved.

"But not just any scrambled eggs. We’re doing them French-style. Butter, low heat, patience. The secret is stirring, not whisking. And at the end, a touch of cream to make them silky."

Isabella watched him, intrigued, charmed.

"You know French cooking?"

"When my brothers were little and I took care of them, I didn’t want them living on rice and canned tuna. So I learned. First out of necessity, then for pleasure. I got obsessed with doing it right."

She smiled, surprised by the sweetness hidden beneath this rugged man.

"And you? Do you cook?" he asked, amused, as he chopped fresh herbs.

"No. Not at all," she admitted, standing and walking toward him with slow steps and a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And don’t think it’s because of my father or laziness. I’ve tried, really. But I’m an absolute disaster. One day I accepted it was better to quit and invest my time in what I am good at."

"And does that include men?" Tomás asked, a flicker of last night crossing his mind.

She laughed and nudged him playfully with her hip.

"Not exactly. Though..." She paused, biting her lip. "I am good at stocks and crypto. Made a few million."

Tomás looked at her with genuine surprise.

"Seriously?"

"I know, it sounds strange coming from someone in an oil family. But it seemed absurd to have money and not know what to do with it. I figured I should invest it smartly."

"I thought your father had people handling that," he said, still processing the revelation.

She gave him a tilted smile.

"Some things are better done yourself."

Tomás scooped a spoonful of eggs onto a wooden spoon and held it out to her. When Isabella took the first bite, she closed her eyes, savoring.

"This is... ridiculously good."

"Told you they weren’t just any eggs," he said proudly, gesturing for her to sit at the counter.

As they ate, Isabella noticed the way Tomás’s gaze lingered on her with a different intensity. There was something beyond desire—a curiosity that seemed to rise from deep in his chest.

"Will you come back today?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though his heart pounded.

"No. I’ll stay," she replied softly. "Unless you want me to leave already?"

He coughed, nearly choking on his coffee.

"No, no... I just... thought..."

Isabella reached across the table, brushing her fingers over his.

"I don’t want you to think I’m here out of obligation, or that last night was a trick to stay. I’m not looking for commitment. The truth is... I felt a lot with you last night."

He gave her a roguish, almost tender smile.

"Glad to know it was mutual."

They ate in warm silence, broken only by the creak of wood or the distant crowing of roosters. After a while, he spoke again.

"Want to ride? There’s a lot to see. The horses are restless this morning—like they know today’s special."

Isabella nodded eagerly. Tomás lent her one of his shirts—oversized, carrying his scent—and riding pants that hugged her curves with near-poetic precision. When she stepped out of the cabin, sleeves rolled up, boots dust-covered, and hair loosely knotted, Tomás felt something inside him stall.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was fire, wind, earth—a goddess forged in flesh.

The sun lit her skin, and every step toward the corral felt like a tremor. When she mounted the horse, she did it without hesitation, a wild confidence that left him stunned. She settled into the saddle, took the reins firmly, and merged with the animal as if she’d spent her whole life riding these lands.

The sway of her body, her absolute control, the laughter she let loose as she challenged him across the fields—everything about her was life in its purest form.

The sun was beginning to dip when Isabella veered slightly from the cattle, laughing as she tried to corral a stray calf. Her horse snorted, impatient with the energy she radiated. But just as she turned, a hare darted across the path. The horse reared, and Isabella’s scream split the air.

Tomás whipped around, his heart in his throat.

"Isabella!"

She lost her balance, her body sliding sideways as the horse twisted sharply. In a heartbeat, Tomás spurred his own horse and flew toward her. He caught her just before she hit the ground, leaping from the saddle with fierce precision. He wrapped her in his arms, twisting to take the impact himself.

They landed in the tall grass, dust and nervous laughter hanging in the air. His chest heaved, adrenaline still coursing, while she stared at him with wide eyes—surprise and something deeper swirling in them.

"You’re insane," Tomás whispered, his forehead pressed to hers.

"And you’re fast... and strong," she murmured, her gaze dropping to his mouth.

The silence between them was electric, taut and sweet. His arm still held her tightly, his hand splayed against the curve of her waist. She didn’t move. Didn’t want to.

"You scared me," he breathed.

"But you caught me..."

She kissed him with the same intensity, clutching his shirt, demanding more. Tomás’s hands slid down her back, his body responding urgently to hers.

"This can’t wait until tonight," he gasped against her lips.

"Then don’t let it," Isabella whispered.