A princess sat nestled in her throne, boredom readily apparent on her features. Her eyes scanned the room in vain, waiting for something—anything—to happen. Her father was on a hunting trip. Of course, he had offered to come home early, but she had insisted he enjoy himself for a while longer. Today’s chore, audiences with the public, were a responsibility that she could handle on her own.
She was beginning to regret that decision. The only sounds were her own breath and occasional birdsong. She found it quite boring, if she was being honest with herself. Hours had passed, and the sun that had begun in the east was now setting in the west. Finally, there came a new sound. Rhythmically, footfall thumped down the hallway. From outside where her guards were stationed, voices. Finally, the door to the throne room swung open and then shut.
A familiar man stood before her, eyes widening as he realized who his audience would be with for the day. He dared not step forward. Quickly, he dropped his gaze to the floor. Dark, shaggy hair fell into his warm brown eyes. The princess' lips turned up in a mischievous smile.
"Ah... Ser Danyel. Returned at least I see— And in one piece, no less. I had begun to worry about you. Truly, I had sent a prayer that you would not come back too battered to bow before me," her voice lilted across the grand room. "I trust your task is complete?"
His face flushed red, and the knight's heart quickened in his chest. It reminded him of war drums. No monster had ever made him so aware of his mortality as he was in this moment. Yet obediently, he took to one knee in a bow. His answer was steady as it came.
"Your Highness... I live to serve. And to bow, should you command it. Though I fear I am not fit for courtly eyes in such a state as I am in now. As for my task, you needn't worry. The manticore is slain, and the settlement is safe."
Perhaps Danyel had a point. He did seem a little worse for wear than he had been before he departed those long months ago. The royal's eyes traveled to a scar along his jaw that hadn't been there prior, then along his broad frame, and came to rest at his large, calloused hands. There they lingered before she leveled her gaze.
"Unfit for courtly eyes? Do you mean the dirt upon your cheek? Or perhaps you mean that old blood at the cuff of your sleeve. Could it be that weary slump to your shoulders? And yet, you thought this an appropriate way to seek my father." The last word was dangled over the hero's head like a treat with which to tease him, though in his eyes it felt more like a trap.
"Nay— It is a fine trophy of your valor, I should think. Quite the sight to behold. Almost... Fetching."
Perspiration beaded at the warrior's brow. In the name of all that was holy, he couldn't figure out why this conversation was feeling more akin to a dance with the reaper. The good Lord knew he had been close to death before.
"Your Grace jests at my expense," he finally said. "I would not wish to bring offense with so coarse a presence before you—"
"—Offense?" The princess giggled, seemingly dismissive of the fact that she had interrupted. "Nonsense. You are my knight, returned from danger. Each scar is a gift to my keeping. And should I wish to see you polished and shining again, perhaps I should see to it myself."
His jaw dropped but for a moment before snapping shut, and his face flushed red. For what felt like ages, thoughts of the chivalric code tore through his mind like a cyclone. Honor. Decency. Respect. Surely, the lady could not be implying what he was so guiltily hoping for. It would be best to ignore it.
Then, her voice came low. Maybe it was playful. Perhaps it was dangerous. "Don't look so startled. I said I may bathe you by hand. A reward for your troubles. Unless, of course, the thought frightens you more than the manticore."
"It is not fear, my lady, but propriety. Such an honor..." He paused, allowing a shaky breath to fill his lungs. It failed to soothe his burning chest. "I could not presume—"
Once again, she interjected. "Presume nothing. I am the princess, and you are mine to reward as I please. If I command you into the water, dripping and obedient, would you defy me?"
No answer came. A minute passed, and then two. The princess rose from her seat, and silence screamed in the knight's ears. His stomach dropped, even as the ball of heat in his abdomen grew. Perhaps he had made a mistake. As she approached, his apprehension grew. Finally, she stopped just inches from him. "Well," she softened her voice. "Would you?"
"I wouldn't dare..." He grimaced as his voice cracked. The words that were meant to be certain and assuring escaped his cracked lips as more of a whisper. "Yet the heat in your words tempts me beyond what a knight ought to bear."
There it was, like an admission of guilt. He wanted her. Had fancied her for quite some time now from a distance, but pushed those feelings deep down inside of him. Buried them in bodies and blood and glory. Nothing good could have ever come from it.
The knight steeled his resolve and doubled down. Should he be punished for this breach of trust, he would accept it with grace. No knight deserving of his position would ever dare.
"Good." He froze at this unexpected answer, quite frankly shocked that he wasn't being commanded to leave. Soft lips pressed against his own, and he drank them in like a desperate man in a desert. They were sweet.
"Let temptation be your burden, and obedience be your shield. Now— Off with your clothes, Ser Knight. Slowly. I should like to see the man beneath them."
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