the knight, once his king's favoured soldier, being cast aside in favour of an energetic, more outwardly eager man. someone so naïve it makes him feel sick. he knew that his king was fickle at times, but this... it's betrayal. he'd rather run himself through with his own sword than witness any more of this sordid affair.
still he watches, all other emotions in gaze veiled with envy, as his monarch gifts the other knight a token of his favour - a lovely red ribbon, worn only at the edges as if taken mostly to admire. they smile, and the other in the shadows feels his gut twist. he aches to make himself known.
but he waits, shrinking away from the light even further as the king exits his throne room, utterly sycophantic lapdog in tow. the royal shifts, his face twisting into a grimace, and the knight stiffens at his post behind a pillar. however, the king only brushes a hand over his furred cape, the hem ragged and torn in some unknown obstacle, and sighs.
it is only when they are gone that the knight slinks out of the shade, returning to his own quarters so that he is alone. he doesn't dare go to the armoury lest he encounter his vice, so he keeps his head down. he stops only to pick up something he sees on the floor - a private treasure from his liege, carelessly discarded.
the piece of torn fabric is something he keeps in his pocket, only drawing it out when the door closes. he raises it up to his face, thumb brushing away the thin layer of dust before he inhales. it was clearly a recent accident, judging by the way the monarch's scent lingered upon it. his king's.
he crawls under his bedsheets after stripping the last of his armour, humming contentedly at the sight of his prize. the immorality of the action passes through his mind without acknowledgement. why would he care, suddenly, if he had discarded them in just the same manner as the cape's worn hem? he feels his mind wander to a more unfamiliar place, and he finds relief in laying the fabric over his nose and mouth.
his eyes drift closed as his hands travel downward, the ache of his body only fuelling the need for relief in whatever form. so he indulges himself, inhaling the scent of the rag with each stroke. it makes him dizzy in a way he's never experienced before. it's special enough that he cares not for the time of day it is.
sunlight streams in the windows, after all, and there is still much to be done for other servants of the castle. he doesn't expect to be interrupted, much less by the familiar and melodic voice he had come to love so dearly.
"my knight, I have a need for you. meet me in the armoury. come quickly. this boy is impatient."
at the sound of his king's voice, the knight inhales sharply, almost gagging on the fabric over his mouth. he splutters when trying not to let them hear, and it gains their attention in mere seconds. how naïve of him to think that the one who knew him best wouldn't be able to see right through him, despite their more recent abandonment.
"my knight, are you alright? you do not have to come down if you are sick. i can ask if one of my other men can spar with him, but you are always my first choice. you know these weapons better than any of us, apart from the smith who crafted them."
the care in the other's tone forces a whine of longing out of the knight, and he clamps his lips down on the fabric to stifle the undignified noise. his reply is delayed enough that the king takes it upon himself to enter the room.
he stops short at the sight.
his loyal knight, so readily defiling himself, and with a stolen treasure?
instead, a coy smile spreads across the monarch's lips as he makes his advance. slow, deliberate, and accompanied by a solemn shake of the head as if disappointed. but the expression is witty. there's a gleam of hunger in their eyes that the knight had never seen before, and was consequently ill-equipped to deal with.
not even his sword would defend him from the way the king was acting. it was disarming in all manners. but he didn't think it was all that bad. in fact, it made his chest ache with a feeling that he thought had long abandoned him.
something that started small, barely an ember in his heart, but threatened to consume him within moments. his head was whirling.
this sight was an amusement for the king, who had never seen someone usually so noble and collected falling apart. he took the last few steps forward, leaning in to the bed and slipping the covers away from his knight's chest and torso.
luckily, for that moment, his indignity was still hidden beneath the sheets - though it was big enough that the king's eyes found it eventually. It only made his eyebrow raise, but what he was really interested in was the rag that they'd stolen.
he took it from them with little resistance, of course. despite their stoic exterior, he knew well that they would do anything for him.
"you really must take control of yourself, my knight. do you see now why I took to another? you're becoming sloppy... come to the armoury once you have cleaned yourself up. I'll be taking this, and I expect you to repent."
the knight only shifts himself when he was sure the king had left, the flush on his cheeks his only companion to take him through the motions of reassembling his armour. his helmet was missing, and he had no memory of misplacing it as he walked down to the sparring ground.
it would be a normal duel by all accounts, but one change was evident in his armour (and his alone) this time - the plumed helmet he often wore was cast aside, all but guarded by his king, and he was only allowed one thing on his head as a replacement.
"come, now. make an example. be a good boy. If you're so insistent on acting like a depraved mutt in private instead of the hunter I trained you to be, then you'd best learn to work around it. now, you know what I want."
the king took the rag, kissed it and tapped the knight's chin. obediently, he opened his mouth. a spared glance to the side confirmed to the man that his trainee was watching, which earned a rumbling laugh of satisfaction that made the other knight's heart swell.
"if you want this so badly, you can have it - if you win."
the knight was being treated like a dog, and he didn't mind it one bit.
he didn't mind it, at least, until the king decided to stuff the rag into his mouth. tears sprung to his eyes, but that wasn't the worst of it. the king produced a muzzle, still smiling serenely as his knight 'allowed' it to be tied around the back of his head.
the smell of the fabric was inescapable, but he was still going to fight through it. he looked up toward his adversary, bowing to them wordlessly as the king reseated himself.
"now, my sweet hound, make me proud. regain your honour."
