The color drains from her face, "This is your tent?"

He chuckles, shaking his head, "No. This is Quell's tent." Cutting off the conversation, his muffled hooves lead him out of the tent and into the night.

Coral stands there alone, trying to process everything. It never occurred to her that she would have a choice to mate with a centaur—she always assumed they would force maidens to do what they wanted. But now the question crosses her mind—would she? Her thoughts drift back to last night: the feel of his muscles rippling between her legs, his hand touching her face, his lips on hers, the way she brought pleasure...